Hands on me. Fingers grip my jaw, tilt my head. Something hard and cold clamps against the back of my neck. The collar. Straps bite across my chest. I’m locked in.
I want to fight. To say I can get up on my own. But I can’t. My arms won’t rise. My legs are gone. The beam…
God, it hit hard. I remember the crack, the slam, the dog barking like the world was ending.
Then nothing.
The dog.
He must’ve run to my parents’ house. He knew. He always knows.
“Henry!”
That voice.
It’s my mother.
She’s close, too close.
“Please get back, ma’am.”
“Son. Hang on. Don’t you let go.”
My father’s voice. It’s lower, calmer.
He’s not begging me. He’s commanding me. As if I were still twelve years old and he’s giving me orders.
I try to obey.
I want to obey.
The gurney jerks beneath me. Pain flares white-hot. It spears through me like a jagged blade.
I groan.
At least I think I do.
Is it in my head?
Is it real?
Is any of this real?
Doors slam. An engine roars. The world lurches.
“Stay with us, Henry.” A flashlight sears my eyes. “Follow my voice. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”
I try. My fingers twitch. They’re clumsy, weak, but it’s something.
“Good. That’s good.”
Cold air hisses across my face. Plastic presses tight against my mouth and nose. I smell something. Like rubber, maybe. Or alcohol. Or both.
I drag in a breath.
Straps cut into my arms as the gurney rocks with every bump in the road. The pain in my head pulses with the siren.
I close my eyes. Drift.
