Page 76 of Fight for Me

* * *

It was after the third mile that everything went to shit. One step was all it took.

Her ankle had been holding up, though growing increasingly painful. She was barely jogging now. And when she heard the sickening crack and felt her ankle turn sideways, she cried out. Anne crashed to the asphalt, her head bouncing against the pavement. Rocks bit into her palms, but she didn’t feel it over the excruciating pain in her ankle. She started crying in spite of herself.

Things grew dark and she struggled to stay conscious. She couldn’t pass out on the side of the road.

Vaguely, she heard a car approaching. She couldn’t lift her head up to look, but the sound of the engine grew louder and slowed until Anne could tell it was right beside her. A door slammed, then footsteps.

“Oh my God! Are you alright?” A man’s voice, coming closer.

Anne forced her eyes open and saw him crouching down next to her. A young guy, late twenties, dark hair and dark eyes, large build. He must be tall, she thought vaguely.

“Help me.” Her voice was hardly above a whisper.

“I will, I’ll help you. Just hold on.”

He disappeared from view for a moment and she heard a car door open, then he was back. Lifting her in his arms, she screamed as her ankle was jostled.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am. I’m sorry.” He put her into the back seat of a vehicle. She screamed again, then everything went black.

* * *

Blane heard the scream and his heart stopped. Putting on a burst of speed, he practically flew, the air burning in his lungs. Rounding a bend in the road, he saw a man maneuvering a body into the back seat of his truck. He recognized Anne’s clothes.

“Hey! Hey, wait!” The wind took his words and ripped them away. He was too far. Two hundred yards at least and the guy didn’t even look his way. Blane saw him slam the door then run to the driver’s side and climb in.

Blane kept running. If he could get close enough to get a license plate…

The truck took off in a squeal of tires, leaving smoke and burnt rubber in its wake.

Blane ground to a halt, his stomach twisted into the kind of knot he got when an op went bad. He’d been so close. And now she was beyond his reach.

Thumbing the switch on the radio, he called Kade. “Come get me. Over.”

“You get her? Over.”

Blane’s voice was like sandpaper. “I was too late.”

* * *

Everything was an indistinct blur of episodes, flashing in between the darkness. But through it all, pain.

She was in a car somehow. She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten there. All she could see was the roof of the car interior. Anne tried to turn to see who was driving, but her neck wouldn’t obey. Then blackness.

A jerk to a stop woke her again and a car door slammed. Voices. Then cold air hit her face and a man was talking to her, asking questions. She told him her name and birthdate, then someone was putting some kind of splint on her ankle and she grit her teeth through a scream.

“I know it’s hurting. We’re going to help you with that,” said the voice by her head.

A voice by her feet replied. “I don’t think we can get an IV in her here. We’re going to have to get her out and onto the stretcher.”

“Yeah, she’s out of it from the pain.”

“No shit. Her ankle is fucking sideways.”

“Shut up, Jace. She might can hear you.”

They began maneuvering her out of the seat, jostling her ankle despite trying to take it easy. Anne bit back a scream, holding on until they got her on the stretcher. They began wheeling her inside the hospital and she watched ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights pass by overhead.

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