Page 104 of Protected from Torment

As I inspect the hill, searching for the best route to take, I shiver. While I was perfectly comfortable walking the trails in a T-shirt and shorts, now that I’m stationary and half-soaked from the stream, I’m much colder. And the sun seems to have dipped behind the clouds, so that doesn’t help.

“All the more reason to get up this hill,” I say. Oscar turns to me with a questioning gaze, and I explain, “I’m going to try to climb up. It’s not going to be pretty. Or pleasant. But I’m going to try to do it.”

Yes, I could wait however long it takes for Tyler or one of his friends to find me. But I’d rather not wait. Not when I really, really want to get to a doctor so they can tell me if the baby’s okay.

Oh, and maybe take a look at my ankle, as well. I’m no medical professional, but judging from the swelling, I’d say it’s sprained at best, and broken, at worst.

Just as I’m gathering myself up to attempt the hill, I have a mini brainstorm. What if I tear some strips of fabric from my shirt to wrap around my hands? And could I use more fabric along with some branches to make a splint for my ankle? I’ve seen people do that in movies, and though I know it’s made up, the idea had to come from somewhere, right?

Except in the movies, the fabric seems to tear a lot easier. But either I’m the world’s weakest person or my shirt is made from industrial-strength cotton, because no matter how hard I yank on the dumb shirt, nothing happens.

Once I finally give up, I look back at the hill and sigh. Bare skin it is. On the bright side, at least, I won’t emerge from the woods with half my shirt torn off, like I’m trying to recapture the crop-top days of my twenties.

Before I start crawling, I decide to make one last hopeful call for help. I’ve already tried at least a dozen times, but apparently, I’m too deep into the woods for anyone to hear me. Still, before I set out on a trek that’s sure to be painful, there’s nothing lost in yelling for help one more time.

So I take a deep breath, open my mouth, and⁠—

“Melissa!”

From somewhere above me, Tyler’s voice rings out. “Mel!” he shouts. “Mel! Are you here? Call out if you can hear me!”

I would. I want to. But at the sound of his voice, I immediately burst into relieved tears.

“Mel!” he shouts again. This time it’s more frantic. Fearful. “I’m coming for you! If you can make a sound, any sound⁠—”

Swallowing back my sobs, I manage to choke out, “Tyler!” But it’s not nearly as loud as I’d like it to be.

Fortunately, Oscar doesn’t have the same issue. Hearing Tyler so close, Oscar’s tail turns into a blur. He lets out several sharp, impatient barks, like he’s saying to Tyler, What took you so long?

“Oscar!” Tyler calls. “Oscar, buddy! Bark again so I can find you!”

I can hear Tyler getting closer. Unlike how he usually moves, he’s making no attempt to keep quiet. Instead, his steps crunch across broken branches as he runs towards me.

More loudly this time, I call out, “Tyler! I’m here!”

“Mel!” His footsteps draw closer. Leaves rustle. Stones skitter. “I can’t see you! Where⁠—”

“I fell down the hill. I’m by the stream.” For some reason, I try to scramble to my feet. Which is stupid, because I’ve already tried that and failed, and all I end up doing is hurting myself yet again.

When I yelp in pain, Tyler curses. “Shit! Don’t move. I’m coming. I’ll just—” The rustling of leaves gets louder. “Just don’t move, Mel. Don’t hurt yourself more.”

“I’m okay,” I lie. “It’s not that big of a hill. It’s just my ankle. I must have⁠—”

But Tyler’s appearance at the top of the hill steals the rest of my words.

Panic is written all over his features.

His clothes are smudged with dirt, and I’m pretty sure there are a couple of leaves stuck in his hair.

He looks more rattled than I’ve ever seen him.

Not just rattled. Scared.

“Mel,” he gasps as soon as he sees me. “Ah, baby. Shit. Shit.”

“Oscar saw a squirrel,” I explain. When Oscar turns at the sound of his name, I reassure him, “It’s not your fault, Oskie. I told you that. I should have been paying attention.”

Tyler grimaces. “Shit, Mel. I’m sorry. I should have gone—” He stops. Shakes his head. “Never mind. It’s not important right now.”