I leave my hand on his chest. It must be four hours later that I finally fall asleep.
Jamison
IT’S HOT. I LIE WITH MY EYESclosed. It hurts to breathe and move and live.
Andrew.
I try to call out to him but the pain in my side shoots out like an explosion across my chest. My muscles flinch and the pain gets worse so I hold my breath and try to let my body relax, then let out the breath, slowly.
I try to force my eyes open, but the eyelids are heavy. I open them enough to look through my eyelashes up at the sky.
The woods. The guns. Fort Caroline.
It all comes back to me. Sun filters through the leaves above me and the sounds of the woods are deceptively calming. But things aren’t calm. We aren’t safe here.
I’m fully alert now, looking around for Andrew. He’s not here. His pack is gone. Fort Caroline must have taken him. They didn’t just kill him because they would have left his body here like they left mine.
They thought I was dead because...
I look down at the reason for my pain. I’ve been shot. There’s a pair of blood-soaked jeans tied around my stomach.
Good job, Andrew.
He tied them tight and packed the wound to stop the bleeding. And tucked a piece of paper in it. I grab it and recognize it from my mother’s notebook.
Getting supplies. Stay put. I love you. A
I smile and let out a shallow sigh of relief. He’s okay. I’m not, but he is. He’s...
“Jamie?”
His hands are on me and I smile, still woozy. When I open my eyes, I can see the sunlight has changed. I feel exhausted, so I certainly didn’t fall asleep. I must have passed out.
“Jamie,” he says again. His eyes are wide with worry and relief. He smiles and touches my cheek again. I lean into it. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“How are you doing?”
“I hurt.”
“I know. I’m trying to get some supplies for you.”
I let my eyes flit around us. “Not doing a great job.”
He laughs and rolls his eyes. “I subcontracted it out.” Cara. Thank God, she’s alive—and alive enough to get supplies. “Just relax and stay still. Is there anything else I should be doing?”
I look again at the jeans around my wound. “You did great,” I say.
“I had a good teacher.”
I smile and feel his hand in mine. Andrew tries to smile, but he’snervous. He’s biting his lower lip and his eyes keep darting around us. It looks as though he’s trying to concentrate. To will something to happen.
“What’s wrong?”
He jumps, startled, then puts on a fake smile. “Nothing.”
“You’re lying. What is it?”
