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The sun was high in the sky, casting wavy shadows out over the orange sand. Johnny was on his skateboard, headed home from the gas station where he’d been keeping Ripp company. Sweat was beading on his forehead and dripping down his neck, forming a half-moon stain on the back of his t-shirt. He’d been out much longer than he’d planned, too long, and the late-afternoon heat was making sure he was well aware of it. On his back, the collar of his shirt itched uncomfortably– he’d put on sunscreen before leaving the house, but apparently not enough. People sometimes asked him– once they’d gotten comfortable enough to think it was cool to ask weirdly specific questions about his body– whether or not he could get a sunburn.
The answer was, for all inquiring minds, yeah? Why wouldn’t I? , and the sputtering as people tried to explain their reasoning was kinda funny. Sometimes. Almost made up for ending up looking like a watermelon all summer long.
As he was skating along, he noticed something a little ways off and slowed down to check. The sidewalks were empty– most people had the good sense to stay inside on a day like this, or at least stay in the shade, but there was definitely someone there, leaning heavily against a street sign, wearing… oh, shit . It was him. Tank Grunt, clad in full camouflage gear– very un-camouflaged, to be wearing dark green in a desert– with a pack on his back and a helmet on his head. And he looked fucking miserable . His eyes were half-closed, his cheeks flushed, his chest heaving as he panted for air. Technically, Johnny had the choice to go past him. Tank was already ill-tempered enough even on a good day, much less on what looked to be a very, very bad one. But– no, he really couldn’t. He couldn’t just walk away. Skate away. Whatever. This wasn’t a day to be out here dressed like that, not for anyone.
“Hey!” he said. Tank didn’t respond at first, so Johnny repeated himself. “Hey! You good?” He offered out his water bottle. It was still half-full-- Johnny had gotten a chance to refill it earlier. “Here. Want some water?”
“Fuck off, Smith.” Tank mumbled. But despite all his posturing, he was still staring earnestly at Johnny’s water bottle. A trickle of sweat dripped from his helmet.
“C’mon. Take it.” Johnny offered it out again. “I don’t have cooties or anything. Just take it.”
Tank’s eyes darted back and forth, as if checking to see if anyone was watching, then he held out his hand. “Thanks.” he said roughly, uncapping the water bottle and taking a drink.
“Easy now.” Johnny warned, watching Tank chug it down. Tank shook his head, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and recapping the water bottle, handing it back to Johnny. Johnny tilted it a bit before putting it back in his bag. Empty. Damn, that was quick.
Now that he was done, Tank went back to leaning against the signpost. His head sagged down, almost touching the metal. Johnny watched him swallow hard, once, then twice. Uh-oh .
Grimacing, Tank doubled over and started to gag. Instinctively, Johnny rushed over to help hold him steady. Ugh. Gross. He tried not to look. Once Tank was done, Johnny carefully helped ease him back upright. “You good? You okay?” he asked. Even under that hideous facepaint, Johnny could tell Tank was looking pretty pale. “Maybe you should, uh, sit down or something?”
Tank shook his head and tried to push Johnny away, stumbling a few steps, but it looked like his body was done letting him make the decisions. Luckily, Johnny had good reflexes and managed to hook his arms under Tank’s armpits just in time as Tank’s knees buckled and his body went limp.
“Oh, shit. Shit. Shit.” Johnny knelt down slowly, lowering Tank to the ground– or maybe just falling with him, he wasn’t sure. “Okay. Okay. We’re good. You good? You okay?”
Tank blinked his eyes open wearily, lifting his head a little. He groaned and wrapped his arms around his stomach.
“Oh. Okay. Not so good. Got it.” Johnny glanced around, looking for the closest place they could find some shade. Not much around. Empty road. Sand. There were some large rocks nearby, casting a bit of shadow across the orange ground. Okay, that’d work. How confident was he that he could drag Tank over there? Not very. But taking off that pack might help, at least. Tank protested weakly as Johnny wrestled the pack off of him, grabbing at the straps and shaking his head, but it didn’t take much for Johnny to overpower him.
“It’s fine. We’ll come back for it.” Johnny unceremoniously dumped the heavy pack onto the ground. Damn, what was in that thing? “C’mon. There’s some shade over there. Hold on to me. Put your feet on the ground. Like that. You got this. And if you gotta hurl again–turn the other way, okay?”
Tank clawed frantically at Johnny’s shoulders and very nearly collapsed again as he struggled to stand up, but eventually Johnny was able to half-lead, half-carry him over into the shade. It already felt a little better, being out of the direct sunlight, but he knew that for Tank it wasn’t gonna be enough. The exertion of standing and walking had left him panting for air, his eyes were glassy and unfocused, and he’d started shivering. Shivering? The sinking feeling in Johnny’s own stomach was getting worse. Heatstroke could kill people. He knew that. But this wasn’t…no, this wasn’t that bad, right? Right?
He reached into his pocket and dug out his cell phone. It was bad enough. However bad it really was, it was bad enough. “I’m gonna call an ambulance,” he told Tank. “Just…just lay there, okay? Lay still.”
Johnny’s advice went thoroughly ignored. As soon as Tank saw Johnny take out his phone, he reached out– surprisingly quickly– yanking at Johnny’s shirt and trying to knock the phone out of his hands.
“What? Hey!” Johnny scooted away, out of Tank’s reach. “What was that for? I’m trying to help you!”
“I gotta get home.” Tank said weakly. “I took too long. Dad’s gonna have a fit. Let me go.”
“Go where? You can’t even stand up by yourself.” Johnny pushed him back down, gently. “Stay there. It’s gonna be fine. They’ll take you to the hospital. They’re gonna help you. “ Johnny tried to keep his voice firm, but it was difficult. He didn’t need to imagine what it looked like when the General had a fit . The things he’d heard from Ripp were plenty enough.
Just as Johnny was about to dial, Tank lifted his head again. “Wait. Wait.”
“Hmm?”
“Call my mom.” Tank said insistently. “She’ll come get me. She won’t tell Dad. Please. Just call her. Please.”
“I…I…” A lump formed in Johnny’s throat. “I’m gonna call you an ambulance, alright? They’re gonna help you. It’s gonna be fine. It’s gonna be okay.”
His voice cracked a little as he spoke. Was he talking to Tank, or to himself?
Tank shook his head vigorously, his helmet slipping a little as he did so. “You bastard.” he said, in a small, pitiful voice that Johnny would’ve never expected to hear coming out of Tank’s mouth. “I said please.”
He slumped back onto the ground, wrapping his arms around his stomach again and curling up slightly. The lump in Johnny’s throat was growing worse. His hands shook slightly as he dialed 9-1-1. This was gonna be fine. It was gonna be fine . He fumbled his way through the call, telling the operator what had happened, where he was. All the while keeping a close eye on Tank, watching as his eyelids fluttered open and then sank closed. After he hung up, he reached over and gently shook Tank’s shoulder.
“Hey. Hey. Wake up.”
Tank groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, recoiling from Johnny’s hand.
“Shh. Shh. They’re on their way, okay? I’m gonna take your helmet off. C’mon. That thing’s gotta be heavy.” Carefully, Johnny undid the straps under Tank’s chin. Underneath the helmet Tank’s head was sticky with sweat, his skin hot to the touch, and, when Johnny’s hands brushed against the side of Tank’s neck while undoing his helmet straps, he could feel the flutter of Tank’s heart racing. Surprisingly, Tank wasn’t trying to fight back, not even when Johnny decided to test his luck and take his jacket off, too. He winced and bit his lip as Johnny maneuvered his arms through the sleeves, but he cooperated without a struggle. Once it was over and the bulky helmet and jacket had been discarded into a pile by Johnny’s feet, Tank sank back onto the sand, exhausted, barely moving.
Finally, the ambulance showed up. The EMTs loaded Tank onto a stretcher, checking his pulse, checking his breathing, tucking ice packs under his arms and against his neck. One tied a rubber tourniquet around his arm and began threading an IV needle into his forearm. Johnny stood by and watched. Tank was still lying almost motionless, making no noise except a soft whimper when he was picked up.
“Is he…he’s gonna be alright, right?” Johnny ventured.
“He’ll be just fine,” one of the medics said reassuringly. “You’re Jenny’s kid, right? We’ll get your friend here fixed up in no time, okay?”
Johnny nodded. Tank wasn’t exactly what he’d call a friend, but he didn’t bother correcting her. He watched as the ambulance drove away, then sat back down in the shade, feeling hollow. On the ground, Tank’s helmet and jacket were still lying in a pile. Over by the signpost, his pack sat abandoned. He’d definitely want those back. The General was probably gonna be pretty pissed off, finding out that he’d lost them.
The smell of sweat and puke was still lingering in the air. Johnny leaned back against the rocks with a sigh. He didn’t want to carry that stupid pack all the way back home. He’d picked it up, he knew how heavy it was. And he was tired, and sunburnt, and he’d been out all day, and…and…
And Tank had carried that stupid pack all the way here. Farther, probably. Carried that stupid, heavy pack while wearing that stupid, heavy jacket and for what? It kept playing over and over in Johnny’s mind, the way Tank’s back had trembled while he was being sick, the look of panic in his eyes when his legs first gave out, the sight of him slumped on the ground, flushed, shivering, pained. Call my mom. Please, just call my mom .
Johnny stared out numbly into the distance. It was late afternoon now, and the sun was hanging low and heavy in the sky like an overripe fruit about to fall. He took his phone out again, this time to call home. While it rang, he traced circles in the loose sand with his finger.
“Smith residence, Jenny here.” His mother’s voice came through, pleasant and chipper but slightly distracted. Johnny swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.
“Hey, uh…Mom?”
“Oh, Johnny!” her voice brightened “I was wondering where you were. Thought maybe you’d decided to stop by Ophelia’s house.”
“No, I, um…I was wondering if I could get a ride home. It’s, uh…I kinda ended up with a bunch of stuff to carry, and it’s late, and it’s hot, and…” he trailed off.
“Sweetie? Is everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah, I mean– I’m fine, you don’t have to worry or anything.” He realized abruptly that this was the exact kind of thing you’d say if there was in fact a reason to worry. “I’m totally fine, it’s, it’s, it’s kind of a funny story, y’know” His voice cracked. “I ran into Tank on my way back, and now I’ve got his…backpack, I guess, and some of his other stuff too, it’s, uh…” Johnny let out a long exhale. Somehow, he’d been talking and holding his breath at the same time. “He was in real bad shape. Heatstroke or something, I guess, cause he had all this army gear on, out in the sun, and he was puking and shaking and couldn’t stand up, and– I called an ambulance, I didn’t really know what else to do.”
“Oh, sweetie .” His mother’s voice softened. “You did the right thing. I’m proud of you.
“Mmhmm.” Johnny retraced one of the circles he’d drawn.
“You said you wanted me to come get you? Where are you?”
“I’m, uh…” He squinted around. “A bit past the gas station. But before the turn onto Dead End Lane.”
“Alright. I’ll find you.”
“...Thanks.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The drive back home was pretty quiet. Johnny didn’t feel much like talking. His mother did ask a few questions– about Tank, about what had happened, about what he’d been doing. She pursed her lips and tapped on the steering wheel when he recounted what Tank had said– I gotta get home. Dad’s gonna have a fit.
She wasn’t very fond of the General either. But there was only so much she could do about it.
When they got home, Johnny went right upstairs to take a cool shower. Afterwards, he put on some clean clothes and flopped down onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling, hair dripping damp patches onto his pillow. He was still thinking about Tank. The whole time Johnny had sat there with it, not a single other person had passed by. But they weren’t waiting that long, were they? If Johnny hadn’t been there– surely someone else would’ve come along, right?
But what if they hadn’t? Or what if no one had been around ? Johnny had seen Tank out jogging before, in that stupid, stupid army getup. Sometimes he was out pretty far. Farther into the desert than most people bothered to go. All in the name of training , right? And if, one day, he pushed himself too hard, collapsed like that when no one was there to find him…what then? Who would go looking for him?
How long would it take?
The next day, late morning, he went over to the Grunt place to drop off Tank’s things. He’d made sure to wait til he saw the General leave, not wanting to chance running into him by mistake, and for some reason he’d assumed that Ripp or maybe Buck would be the one to answer the door. But after he knocked, he found himself face-to-face once more with Tank.
“Oh, uh…hey!” Johnny said. Tank glared him down, wordlessly. He looked like shit. Better than the last time Johnny had seen him, of course, but still like shit . He was wearing baggy jeans and a grey t-shirt, half tucked in, half not. His usual facepaint had been scrubbed off– mostly, at least– revealing the dark circles under his eyes. Overall he just looked…defeated. The complete opposite of his usual belligerent self, he more resembled a wrung-out dishrag. On one wrist, a hospital bracelet still dangled.
“I brought you your things back,” Johnny said, holding out the pack, helmet, and folded-up jacket. “I washed the coat. It’s clean.”
Tank snatched his things back, slinging the pack over one shoulder, still without saying a thing. Johnny made the mistake of hesitating before he turned to leave.
“You, uh…you feeling better?” he asked awkwardly.
Tank shot him the iciest look Johnny had ever seen. “You should’ve fucking left me there.” he hissed.
The door slammed in Johnny’s face, and he was left standing there on the porch, bewildered. For a moment he wanted to knock on the door again, talk to Tank, apologize for…something. He wasn’t sure what. But somehow he didn’t think that that would go over too well.
So he turned around.
And headed back home.