All in all, being dead wasn’t so bad. There were no white lights, the black eagle had gone. There was just a slow, grey dimming, and Jonah hovered above the ground on a cool, wet cloud.
Gradually, the cloud grew warmer. Something soft was put over his body, thawing his frozen limbs, making them shake violently as they were gently coaxed back into a harsh and painful life.
He was aware of sounds, horrible beeping, shallow, wheezy breath – his own.
Jonah moaned, semi-conscious, opening his eyes to a noisy, blurry world.
‘He’s awake again.’
Not for long, Jonah thought. Not if I can help it, anyway.
The pain was duller than it had been before – a nagging, persistent ache. It was hard to breathe, too. He had to force himself to move his chest up and down, in and out, in time with the beeps. It took so long, though. Breathe in slowly . . . wait . . . out. . .
Was that enough? Was he taking in enough oxygen to keep himself alive?
He looked around. A white, windowless space, a wall that supported the labyrinth of tubes attached to his body. A hospital room. No, the ceiling was too close to his head. An ambulance, that was it.
‘You must be Jonah.’ A woman in a green jacket, with curly reddish hair was sitting at his feet – a female leprechaun, but taller, and without the hat and pipe. ‘Jonah? Is that right?’ Her voice was soft, calm. She wasn’t scared or panicky. She was just doing her job.
He felt himself nodding. God, it was hard work.
‘Can you wiggle your toes for me, Jonah?’
He could, a little.
‘Can you wave your fingers?’
That was easier.
‘Right now, what we’re doing is we’re waiting here until a helicopter comes so we can take you to the Cities. We don’t have the right equipment to take care of you up here, so we’re gonna fly you over to Minneapolis. Doctors are waiting there to operate on you.’
Operate?
He heard the beeps get faster. Memories seeped into his brain. Blurred images faded in, out – a face above his. The last things he remembered – hitting the ground, pain, like fire, a face looking down on him – Etta’s face.
‘Keep breathing, Jonah.’
He moved his mouth. He had to talk. Up and down – that was good. See? He could talk and breathe at the same time. He swallowed. His mouth was dry and tasted of straw. He moaned softly, half-humming, half-grunting the word. ‘Etta.’
‘Oh, she’s fine. The other kid, too. Everybody’s just fine. Nobody died.’
Jonah imagined that he was nodding. Good. Good. Better now.
He closed his eyes. His vision went funny again – the painkillers doing their trippy stuff. He saw sweeping lights across a midnight-blue sky – green, yellow – behind them a bright face, getting bigger, huge as the heavens. Two black eyes shining – wet with tears.
His mom?
He needed to call her. Now. She’d be panicking, worried sick. He had to let her know where he was – right now – explain everything that happened, tell her that. . .
The beeping got faster, louder. The paramedic jumped out of her seat, grabbed something, shoved it onto Jonah’s mouth like a muzzle.
‘Jonah, you need to calm down,’ she said softly, keeping a firm grip on the suffocating mask. ‘Come on now, take deep breaths.’
He wanted to pull it off, kick her away from him, but there was something in her voice that made him obey.
‘In. Out. You can do it.’
The beeping slowed down. The paramedic loosened her hold on the mask. After a few seconds, she attached it to his ears with two stretchy cords. That was better, Jonah thought, easier, with the mask on. Easier without fighting against it. Easier letting this nice lady help.
The colours were coming back, pink and silvery when he closed his eyes. He heard his mother’s voice, softly singing. He felt her hand on his forehead, her fingers through his hair.
‘My mother,’ he croaked. ‘You need to call my mom.’
Then he drifted off again, to a happier sleep.