Page 4 of Over & Out

I try to speak again, but it comes out a rough groan.

“Don’t try to talk.” A hand cradles my shoulders. I can smell him. He smells like sweat and outdoors. And something spicy. Soap or aftershave.

He’s carrying me. That’s why I can smell him. That’s why I’m floating. Dirtface is carrying me, like he cares about me.

Like I’m as light as a feather.

I haven’t been carried like this since I was a child. Since my dad picked me up?—

No.

“I’m just going to set you down here, okay?” Dirtface says. “I’m getting help.”

I feel myself being set down gently in something soft. Grass, I think. I can smell it. It’s cold and damp under my jeans.

As I shift, trying to sit up, my shoulder screams in pain. No,Iscream in pain. It twangs in sharp bolts.

“I’m sorry,” Dirtface says, his voice strained. “But you need to stay still. I’m going to get help.”

There’s only the slightest bit of pain as something is settled on me with what feels like great care. That spiced scent envelops me, and I’m instantly warm.

It’s his jacket.

“Yes, I need an ambulance,” his voice says a moment later. Or is it a while later? He’s got the kind of tone that commands attention. There’s a calm authority there.

I inhale, and that spiced scent fills my nostrils. My heartbeat seems to slow just a fraction, like the scent is eliciting some kind of soothing response. Warmth tingles over my body. My face, my neck. My chest, my stomach?—

“Don’t—” I croak, my eyes blinking open for the first time since I landed. Panic can do what I couldn’t on my own, Iguess.

Everything’s kind of fuzzy, but I see the shape of him, his arm bent, his phone up to his ear. He’s got dark hair.

“Don’t what?” the voice asks. It’s soft and gentle. “Yes, she’s conscious,” he says into the phone, switching to that authoritative tone again. “I don’t think so. I didn’t move her until she moved on her own. It’s her shoulder.” Pause. “No, I left the helmet on.”

“Don’t what?” he whispers, leaning in low enough I feel his warm breath dance over my neck. I can hear chatter on the other end of the phone.

“Sh-shirt,” I say, reaching up with the arm that doesn’t hurt. I grasp his collar. His t-shirt is soft under my hand, and I realize I’m confusing the matter by holding on to his.

Dirtface gently flattens my hand against his chest. He’s hard and warm, and I can feel the thud of his heartbeat under my palm.

“I don’t understand, sweetheart,” he says.

I swallow. His blurry form starts to darken. I’m going to pass out.

“Don’t let them—” I say, my voice cracking as my consciousness fades. “Don’t let them lift up my shirt.”

I feel enough to sense Dirtface’s hand freezing around my wrist, his thumb pressing into the base of my palm as he lowers my hand, laying it gently in the grass next to me.

“I won’t.” His voice is strangled. Stiff. Almost like he’s angry. “I promise you, I won’t let them do that.”

My body relaxes then. I don’t know why I believe him. I just do.

My mouth smiles. “Thanks, Dirtface,” I say.

Then, once again, he’s gone.

Chapter 2

Chris

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