The Bike Man's Rescue.

Chapter3

Chapter Three- Fifty Calls

Night crept over the city, and Ada’s restaurant sat unusually quiet. The last customers had long gone, the benches stacked, the firewood ashes cooling in the pot. But Ada remained, her phone clutched in her hand, her eyes fixed on the screen as though sheer willpower could make it ring back.

She had called once. No answer.

She had called ten times. Still nothing.

By the thirtieth attempt, her hands shook.

“Chike, pick your phone, biko,” she whispered, pacing the small space. Her heart thudded so loudly she thought her chest might burst.

It wasn’t like him. He was not the type to vanish without word. No matter how busy his day became, Chike always showed up—sometimes to eat, sometimes just to greet. But now, hours had passed. Silence.

The fear gnawed at her until she could no longer sit still. She dialed again—fortieth, forty-first, forty-second… By the fiftieth call, tears brimmed in her eyes.

“Ada, you are acting like a mad woman,” she muttered aloud, wiping her face with the edge of her wrapper. But deep inside, she knew—something was wrong.

Finally, she made a decision. “If he won’t pick, then I will go to his house myself.”

She locked up the restaurant in haste, her hands fumbling with the rusty padlock. The night air was cool, but her body burned with tension. As she hurried down the dimly lit street, her mind conjured images she could hardly bear—Chike lying unconscious by the roadside, Chike trapped in some accident, Chike… dead.

When she reached his compound, she hesitated for only a second before pushing the gate open. The yard was dark, quiet, except for the faint croak of frogs nearby. She climbed the steps to his room, her heart pounding louder with each one.

The door was shut, but when she turned the handle, it gave way easily. Unlocked.

“Ada, stop,” she whispered to herself. “Maybe he is just sleeping.”

But when the door creaked open, the sight before her froze her blood.

Chike lay sprawled on the floor, his body trembling, his lips foaming, his breath shallow and ragged. His helmet was discarded nearby, his shirt soaked with sweat.

“Chike!” Ada screamed, rushing to his side. She shook him desperately, tears blinding her eyes. “Chike, answer me! Please!”

No response.

Her heart felt as if it would tear out of her chest. She stumbled back into the compound, shouting at the top of her voice:

“Help! Somebody help me! Chike is dying!”

Doors flung open, neighbors rushed out, voices filled the night. But Ada knelt beside him, clutching his hand, praying silently through sobs.

Please, God, don’t take him. Not like this. Not tonight.

The Race to the Hospital!

The compound erupted in chaos. Men shouted, women gasped, children peeked from doorways. In the center of it all, Chike lay twitching weakly, foam spilling from his lips, his body slipping further away with every shallow breath.

Two neighbors, Okafor the carpenter and Ikenna the tailor, pushed through the gathering crowd.

“What happened?” Okafor demanded, crouching beside him.

Ada, her face streaked with tears, shook her head. “I don’t know! I just found him like this. Please, we must take him to hospital now!”

Without hesitation, Okafor barked orders. “Ikenna, go start your car! You—call the night guard to help us lift him.”

In moments, rough hands lifted Chike’s limp body. His head lolled to the side, his eyes barely open. Ada ran alongside them, her hands trembling but never leaving his arm as though her touch alone could tether him to life.

The compound gate banged open. Neighbors spilled onto the street, some muttering prayers, others shouting for more help.

By the time they laid Chike in the backseat of Ikenna’s small car, Ada was already inside, cradling his head on her lap. “Drive fast!” she urged, her voice breaking. “Please, he is dying!”

The car engine roared, tires screeching as it sped through the dark streets. Horns blared as Ikenna swerved past slower vehicles, headlights flashing. Ada bent low over Chike, whispering through her tears:

“Stay with me, Chike. Please don’t leave me. You can’t leave me like this.”

His body shivered violently, then went frighteningly still. Ada’s heart nearly stopped. “No! No, no, no!” she cried, shaking him desperately. “You cannot die, not like this!”

At last, the hospital gates came into view. Ikenna drove straight to the emergency entrance, his horn blaring nonstop. Nurses and orderlies rushed out with a stretcher.

“He’s poisoned,” Ada cried as they lifted Chike. “Please, save him!”

Inside, bright lights and urgent voices filled the emergency room. Doctors surrounded him, attaching tubes, injecting fluids, flushing his stomach. Ada was forced to stand outside, the door shut in her face.

She sank into a plastic chair in the waiting area, her entire body trembling. Her hands were sticky with his sweat and saliva, her clothes damp with tears. The clock on the wall ticked mercilessly, each second a knife against her heart.

Neighbors who had followed tried to comfort her. “He will be fine,” one woman murmured, rubbing her back. “The doctors know what to do.”

But Ada shook her head. “If anything happens to him…” Her voice cracked. “If anything happens, I don’t know if I can survive it.”

The night dragged on, filled with prayers, whispers, and waiting.

At last, near midnight, the doctor stepped out, removing his gloves. His eyes scanned the anxious faces.

“Are you his relative?” he asked.

Ada jumped to her feet. “I am… I am his friend.”

The doctor gave a tired but hopeful nod. “He is stable for now. But it was close. Very close. Another hour, and we would have lost him.”

Ada’s knees buckled. Relief and fear collided inside her as tears poured freely. She pressed her palms together, whispering, “Thank You, God. Thank You.”