Page 103 of The Pansy Paradox
He doesn’t. True, he crashes into her, and they go tumbling. Pansy cries out in pain but swallows it back immediately. Then they come to utter stillness. Both are coated in mud and debris.
Ophelia flits around them, urging one or the other to move. She tries to pat a cheek, shake a shoulder, to no avail. Henry is on his back, eyes closed, and his skin has a sickly gray cast to it. Pansy is slumped against his chest. They would look like lovers, like sweethearts, if not for the mud and the blood and the stillness that feels so wrong.
Henry is oblivious to the world, so she kneels next to Pansy, her words urgent.
Can you hear me? You need to move. You need to get out of here.
Ophelia scans the sky. It roils above them. The Screamers aren’t through, not by half, but they’ve stopped their attack. Not out of politeness, certainly, but wariness. Something about Pansy and Henry together is giving the Screamers pause.
Pansy’s eyes flutter open. She winces, then pushes to her knees. She brings her cheek to Henry’s mouth and her fingers to his neck. Her exhale of relief tells Ophelia everything she needs to know, and she releases a sob.
“He’s alive,” Pansy says to the space where Ophelia hovers.
Pansy gets to work, deploying and then anchoring both umbrellas. Their affinity for each other creates a protective bubble. She uncurls Henry’s fingers and extracts the epi-pen there. She tugs off the cap with her teeth and plunges the needle into his thigh, none too gently.
Yes. I know. He’s too much of a hero.
The Screamers have gathered their wits and their strength. They circle, circle, circle above the shield created by the umbrellas. This space is a refuge, a respite, but it’s unsustainable. At some point, they will need to leave the development. Moving will shatter that protective bubble. Henry’s in no shape to walk, never mind fight. Pansy can’t lug him home and keep up an active defense.
But Pansy’s full focus is on Henry. From her pocket, she pulls out a small bottle. With a hand behind his head, she eases the contents between his lips. Henry coughs, sputters, but his eyes flutter open. A moment later, color returns to his cheeks. He scans their arrangement and then peers up into the sky.
“Yeah,” Pansy says. “I know.”
But even as she speaks, Pansy herself is scanning the area, a frown creasing her brow. She touches Henry’s hand, and the Screamers recede. With her hand still in his, she touches her umbrella, and they recede farther.
Henry catches on. Immediately, of course. He reaches behind him and latches on to his umbrella. He grips Pansy’s hand, and she holds tight to her own umbrella. Another trickle of blood coats Pansy’s upper lip. Then, again, one, two, three drops of blood splatter against the earth.
The sonic boom is like nothing Ophelia has ever heard. The shock wave rolls through the development. Somehow, the umbrellas remain anchored. Somehow, they maintain that protective bubble. The world quakes. The Screamers shriek, one piercing blast of anguish and anger.
That thunderclap of sound is so strong that it hurls Ophelia from King’s End and all the way back to Seattle.
Chapter 43
Henry
King’s End, Minnesota
Thursday, July 13
Yes, the sky was clear. And, yes, his heart was broken. Tendrils of agony snaked through his chest, tightening, squeezing. Was this an actual heart attack or merely a metaphorical one? Did it matter?
No, it didn’t.
The universe had made known what it thought of Henry Darnelle.
It wasn’t much.
With caution, he unclenched his umbrella. Whatever Pansy had done, whatever they had done together, Henry didn’t trust it would last. They needed to move.
If only he could.
“We don’t have much time,” Pansy said.
She was right in more ways than one. The Screamers would return. This ache in his heart would redouble, make it impossible for him to walk or run, never mind fight.
“You should leave me behind,” he said.
Pansy simply stared at him as if he’d babbled nonsense. Then she turned to the task at hand. She collapsed both umbrellas and slung them cross-body over her shoulder. She crouched and, with unexpected strength, levered Henry to his feet.
