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All information is relevant, and the fact he’s being brought up doesn’t fill me with happy feelings. Dane would march on his own two feet from the riverbank with a smirk on his face and make a joke for scaring us in an ideal world.
But I’ll take him any way I can.
The paramedics prepare a gurney and bring it near the river’s edge. The minutes seem to pass by without a single breath. The people who’ve spent most of their day trying to help await to see the results of their hard work with the rest of us. The members of our little group cinch tight together.
There.
At the water’s edge, a group of men appears, carrying a sort of rescue sled between them. A heap of metallic blanket reflects the perimeter lights as they transport him across the open space. The people around me break out into thunderous cheers. They transfer him to a gurney, but I’m fixed to the spot.
I should run to him, but I can’t seem to remember how to move. Or breathe. Or think. I run on autopilot.
The only thought on a repetitive loop is Dane’s alive.
