Page 10 of Not Quite Dead Yet

DISPATCHER:

Jack’s kid?

CALLER:

Yeah.

DISPATCHER:

OK, Billy. It’s me, Debbie, from the station. I need you to stop crying and stay calm for me, please. The ambulance is on its way. Help is coming. But I need you to check if she’s breathing, if there’s a pulse.

CALLER:

There’s so much blood, I don’t … I can’t. Oh my god, Jet, no. Please god, no. She’s dead. Someone killed her. She’s dead. She’s dead.

Not Quite …

Sunday

November 2

2

Jet blinked. Something beeped. Someone gasped.

‘She’s awake! Doctor, she’s awake!’

Who’sshe? Talking about her? The room was fuzzy, too white, too bright. It hurt Jet’s eyes and the hidden places beneath. She blinked again, smudges of flesh and hair and teeth looming above her.

‘Luke. Get the doctor, now. Go!’

Her mom’s voice, raw and unfamiliar.

‘Mom?’ Jet croaked, croakier than usual. She tried to sit up, her body sleep-locked, trapped by thin, rough sheets tucked over her elbows. A white gown, patterns of pale yellow and blue.

‘Let me help.’ Dad’s voice now. Must belong to that smudge there, beside her. Warm hands on her shoulders, she sat up, something stuck to her head, crinkling against the pillows behind her, and a shooting jolt of pain.

She rubbed her eyes, got tangled in the tube sticking out the back of her hand.

‘Water?’ Mom said, and it was already by her lips. Jet couldn’t get the angle. She slurped and she knew Mom hated that, but maybe Mom could forgive her this one time because Jet was in the hospital.

And she knew why. She remembered. The room was fuzzy but her mind was not.

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