The Amazing Spencer Gray by Deb Fitzpatrick

‘Dad! Dad, wake up.’ A stronger shake. ‘You’ve got to wake up, Dad,’ Spencer said clearly, right at his face. ‘You need to wake up.’
    This time, there was movement across Dad’s face. His eyelids shifted and fluttered.
    â€˜Dad!’ Spencer said urgently. ‘I’m here. Can you open your eyes?’
    They opened, for a nanosecond. Then they rolled back into his head like a bad party trick.
    â€˜Dad, keep your eyes open! I’m right with you, Dad. But I need you to stay awake.’
    His eyes flicked open again, this time with more focus. Spencer rubbed his hand across his chest, to warm him up and get some blood moving around—but mainly in an effort to keep him awake.
    â€˜Mmmggh,’ Dad grunted.
    Spencer thought it sounded like he was in pain, so he moved his hand to his Dad’s arm, and ran it up and down from his wrist right up to his shoulder. He was really quite cold. His jacket. Spencer looked around. Everything had been flung about; there was stuff everywhere. It took his eyes a while to settle in thegloom and begin to make sense of the mess. He grabbed Dad’s fleece and yanked it toward him, copping a zip in the eye. While it watered, he bundled the jacket over Dad’s chest, and spread the softness about him.
    Dad’s eyes had closed again.
    â€˜Dad, Dad,’ Spencer said quietly but urgently. ‘You’ve got to do your best to stay awake.’
    â€˜Mmmmphaff.’
    â€˜I can tell you’re ... in pain. You’re gunna need to tell me what’s hurting and what I can do to help you, okay? You’re the doctor, Dad! You need to tell me what to do, okay?’
    â€˜Neefff.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Kneef.’
    Spencer looked closely at his dad’s mouth. ‘Did you say “knee”?’
    It was a breath more than a word: ‘Yesh.’
    He looked down at the hideous angle Dad’s lower leg was making. ‘It ... yeah, it looks broken to me, Dad. It looks really ... weird. It’s definitely broken, actually.’
    â€˜Slice.’
    â€˜What’s that? Slice?’
    â€˜Eysh.’
    â€˜Ice?’
    â€˜Mmph.’
    â€˜Ice! I can’t believe you, Dad. Is that the first thing you have to say— ice?!’
    Dad managed a dry-lipped half smile.
    Can you stop being so calm?! Spencer wanted to scream, looking around in a panic. We don’t have any stupid ICE, Spencer thought sickly. But ... ‘The food bag! The esky bag Mum packed for us, she might have chucked a couple of those frozen cooler things in it. Let me check, Dad. Hang on a sec.’
    Spencer clambered over and rummaged frantically behind the seats, using his hands for eyes, breaking out in a sweat as he did so. It was close in the cockpit. He finally felt the familiar canvassy fabric of the cooler bag, and tugged the zip along its rectangular path around the lid. Spencer’s hand thrust in and landed on a wet cold brick.
    She did! ‘You’re a bloody legend, Mum,’ he muttered.
    â€˜Humph.’
    â€˜Two ice bricks, Dad, Mum packed two!’ Spencer moved back so he was at Dad’s feet. ‘Now, shall I put them ... on top of your knee, or either side of it?’ He felt a little nauseated just looking at the munted angle of it.
    Dad lifted one of his hands then, weakly reachingout. His eyes were still closed. Spencer’s hand met his dad’s. They sat there for a moment.
    â€˜Ice now,’ he breathed painfully.
    Spencer made his best guess and put the cold blue blocks either side of his knee, and held them lightly in place.
    Dad winced, then nodded.
    Then he fell unconscious again.
    Spencer had no idea what was he was going to do. Dad had broken his leg, that was for sure, and maybe it was really badly broken—in several places—but you didn’t lose consciousness from broken bones, did you? It would be painful, yes, but you’d be able to keep your eyes