he said.
Then he ran.
Paramedics arrived first, moving quickly with a stretcher and medical equipment while asking questions I answered in order.
Name.
Age.
Known allergies.
Time found.
Loss of consciousness.
Possible weapon.
Possible internal injuries.
One of them cut Chloe’s sleeve to insert a line. Another covered her legs with a thermal blanket.
As they lifted her, her head rolled toward me, and she looked five years old again—feverish and trusting me to stop whatever hurt.
I’m here, I said.
I rode beside her to the hospital.
The
