“Hey,” she said dreamily. “What are you up to?”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” he quipped, gritting his teeth into something he hoped passed for a smile. “Your pants seem to be on fire, Hon.” Grimacing at the effort, he leaned awkwardly and tried patting out her smoldering clothing with his bare hand.
“And I’ve got a hole in my leg I was hoping you could help me with.”
“Peter!” Amy screamed. She quickly pulled her button-down shirt over her head, leaving her undershirt stuck to her sweaty skin, and tore it into strips. She expertly and efficiently created a tourniquet above the jagged rock sticking out of Peter’s thigh. He was grateful for her first aid classes.
“Where’s everyone else?” she asked.
“Who else?” Peter replied.
“The others, Hon. In the cave…where you must have received this little souvenir.” She pointed to his leg. Troubled by his vacant stare, she continued, “You know, Johann, Heidi, the gargoyles, Tiny, the kids…our daughter?”
Like the moon’s slow rising above the horizon, awareness dawned across Peter’s face.
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