Page 2 of Searching Blind

The murmur of voices grew louder. He heard the faint strains of a woman’s voice—was that Lucy? —followed by the lower tones of a man responding. There were other voices, too, muddled and indistinct in the echoing room.

“Sawyer!”

He recognized the voice as Lucy’s, full of worry and sharp-edged fear. He turned in her direction and saw her rushing toward him, her long ponytail swinging. But then she stopped moving and vanished into the muddled soup of colors and shadows that made up his vision.

“Hey.” He tried for a reassuring smile. “Anyone get the number of that bus?”

She let out a breathy laugh that was more from relief than humor. “Dammit, Sawyer, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Just taking my dog for a walk on this beautiful day.” He tried to sound light, tried to reassure her with humor. Things were always easier when he was joking. But another ripple of pain coursed through his body, ruining the delivery with a wince he couldn’t hide.

Zelda whined and pressed closer to his leg.

“God. You shouldn’t be up,” Lucy scolded. He could hear the rustle of fabric as she moved close again. “And this isn’t the time for jokes.”

“Then you’re really not going to like the next one. Did you hear about the earthquake that?— “

“Enough, Sawyer,” she snapped. Then she inhaled sharply and exhaled long and slow. “Just… enough.”

He dropped the forced smile and reached out until his fingers brushed against her hand. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.” She quickly pulled her hand away and pushed the hair from his forehead to examine the wound. She was close enough that he could smell the faint scent of wildflowers on her. He knew it was her soap, something from the artisanal shop in Steam Valley, but it made him think of her as part of the landscape, as though she’d bloomed from the very wilderness that surrounded them.

He swallowed hard, allowing himself to lean into her touch, just for a moment.

“Will be,” he murmured. “Just need a minute.”

“No, you need medical attention. You’ve been unconscious for nearly an hour. You have a concussion and need stitches.” She pressed a hand to his shoulder. “Sit down.”

He allowed her to guide him down to a worn wooden seat, a sigh escaping as he leaned back, the wall cool against his burning skin. He hoped she couldn’t hear the small sounds of pain he made as he moved, but he knew she probably could. She was observant like that. It was one of the things that made her an excellent park ranger.

“Is everyone...” he began, trying to push himself upright again.

She pushed him back down gently. “Some bumps and bruises, and Joel broke his ankle, but everyone is alive. Thanks to you. If you hadn’t pushed Joel out of the way…”

She didn’t finish the thought.

He didn’t remember who Joel was. One of her hikers, he assumed. “Just did what anyone would’ve done.”

“No, not anyone.”

He could hear Lucy rummaging through a first aid kit—the rustle of bandages, the clink of metal on metal—but it felt like it was happening somewhere far away.

Jesus, maybe she was right, and he wasn’t okay.

“Do you make a habit of running toward danger?” Her hands were gentle as she cleaned the cut on his forehead. The antiseptic burned, but he didn’t pull away.

“Only when there’s a pretty girl to impress,” he said, trying for a grin.

She snorted softly, but he felt her hand still on his forehead just for a moment before she continued tending the wound.

Zelda nudged her head under his hand. His sweet girl, always worrying about him. He gave her a quick scratch behind the ears before letting his hand drop back onto his lap. It was heavy, like it was filled with lead, and his fingers were trembling. Pain radiated from every corner of his body, but it felt distant, almost dream-like, as if he were floating in a foggy sea.

His hand found its way to Zelda’s head again, curling into her soft fur. He needed the grounding connection, the constant reminder that she was okay, that they were alive. The tremble in his fingers seemed to ease the more he focused on the steady rhythm of her breathing.

Someone else joined them then, a heavy set of boots stomping across the wooden floor.

“Ranger Harper, how’s he doing?” It was a woman’s voice, but it was deep and commanding.

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