“Pete!” I cried so forcefully I almost fell back to the dark side.
“Kate! God, Kate! Can you hear me?”
“No,” I said, realizing vaguely I made no sense because I just answered him back—I was referring to the 911 call.
“Bring my jacket out of the back while you’re at it,” he called out.
I remembered where I was now. The cold was a reminder. And the wet. The water tank. I’d finally fixed the problem. Apparently, a rat had crawled into the pump rod, blocking the flow of water. I distinctly remembered seeing the windmill in the distance, churning like a giant mechanical sunflower. I remembered attaching a wire hanger to a fishing line, then dropping it into the pipe again and again, until it finally caught on something fleshy. And pulling with all of my might until—Thock!—a rat spit out. Then realizing, a second too late, the release of pressure would gush the water out. And it did, like a fireman’s wrench discharging a line. I wasn’t prepared for the sheer force of the surge. It knocked me over in an instant. And it didn’t feel like a feather, I can tell you that.
That’s all I remembered: a torrent of water hurtling into me, filling my nose, mouth, and throat. I couldn’t breathe. When I came up for air, all I could think was . . .
“Mikey!” I cried out again, struggling to sit up. I was panicked that he had gotten hurt or drowned because he was standing right next to me.
“Kadeeee!” he cried in return.
“Careful, buddy. Don’t bump into her.”
“I won’t.” I felt Mikey’s warming presence, kneeling beside me, stroking my arm.
“Shhhh, Kate,” Pete soothed. “He’s okay. Not a scratch on him . . . can’t say the same for you though. You don’t appear to have any broken bones, but I’m concerned about your neck and head.”
“I got it!” The swishing of dry pasture could be heard as Andrew ran.
And panic, the same trembling timbre to his voice as when Mama died.
“She’s awake now, but I’m still calling 911.”
“No!” I insisted more fervently now.
“Lie still, Kate. Your neck.”
“Doesn’t hurt. Just my head.” I focused hard on prying my eyes open. “Please don’t call an ambulance . . . we don’t have any insurance,” I pleaded, finding Pete’s eyes just long enough to see him purse his lips—the pain and the light were blinding in their intensity.
“Hand me the jacket,” Pete said, then I felt him burrito-wrap me up and instantly felt a little better. I recalled him pouring cool water on the back of my neck when I was faint, how I’d also felt instantly better then, too.
Why’s he always being so nice to me? I didn’t deserve it. I’d only been surly and ungrateful to him. Oh right—because he’s the enemy. But I didn’t want him to be. And then I started crying for some inexplicable reason and felt more than one pair of concerned hands stroking my limbs.
“Kadee, I’m sowry. I didn’t make you move, and you got hurted!”
“It’s okay, buddy. Nobody blames you,” Pete assured him.
I could’ve kissed him for it, except now I felt like throwing up. The crying hurt my head even more. Like tiny jackhammers drilling the inside of my skull to get out. And there was a distinct ringing in my ears, but I didn’t complain in case Pete decided to make that call. I screwed my eyes shut, willing the peaceful blackness back.
“Kate . . .” Pete stroked my face. I pried my eyes back open and was rewarded with dark angel eyes looking down on me in a way that stirred my chest. “Honey, I at least have to drive you to the hospital. I’m not sure how long you were out. You definitely have a concussion. You could have a skull fracture, bleeding in your brain . . . a broken neck. You need a CAT scan to tell for sure.”
Does he have an MD? Somehow nothing seemed impossible where Pete was concerned. He was like the gift that kept on giving, a boundless well of surprises.
“I’m fine, Pete. Just a King-Kong sized headache.”
“Kate, I’m afraid you lack the clear judgment needed to make an informed decision right now . . . not that you make clear judgments and informed decisions anyway,” he muttered under his breath.
“I heard that,” I mumbled, snuggling into his warm body. My teeth were beginning to chatter.
I felt as much as heard him chuckle. “And you may be going into shock.”
I couldn’t focus on answering; I was going back to sleep now.
“Come on, baby . . . I need you to try and stay awake for me.”
“Hmmm?” Where am I again? I was so tired I couldn’t remember.
Next thing I knew, I felt the ground leave my body as Pete scooped me up, cradling me against his chest as he carried me. I must’ve drifted off again because the next time I came to, I found myself in a mechanized vehicle. Moving rapidly over rugged terrain and jostling around too much for my delicate state. I groaned in protest.
“I’m sorry, Kate. I know it hurts. We’re almost to the road . . . just hang on.”
Oh God. A wave of sick overcame me—the momentum of the powerful machine, the bumping around, the pain. “Pete!” I breathed sharply through my nose. “Pull over!”
He must’ve been prepared for the possibility I might hurl all over his plush leather seats, because his emptied backpack was handed over in the nick of time. The pressure in my head, the throbbing, the sickness—I was in too much pain to even feel embarrassed.
“Oh God!” I wailed when I was able to speak. I buried my face in my hands, groaning.
“Don’t worry about it.”
I wasn’t. I wasn’t worrying about anything except the possibility of the pain getting worse. My eyes closed again, despite Pete urging me to keep them open. I heard him toss something in the back.
“I guess you better call your father,” he said, allowing the disrespectful edge.
Oh Gah! Just when I didn’t think I could feel any worse! I groaned again.
“I know,” he commiserated. “I’m sorry. We have to—technically you’re still a minor. There will be forms to fill out.”
“He’ll be furious,” I whispered.
“He won’t be the only one.”
I faded out. The next thing I knew, I was being carried through emergency doors and into a waiting room with lights so bright they should be illegal.
“She has a concussion.” I heard him say. “Blunt force trauma to the right parietal.”
“Are you her boyfriend?” An unfamiliar voice.
“Friend of the family.”
“How did this happen?” The voice turned suspicious.
“I’m not exactly sure. I found her lying on the ground in the pasture, soaking wet, with her brother crying nearby.”
I kept my eyes resolutely shut, but felt like I should speak up. “Cows couldn’t get water. Thought somethin’ stuck in pipe . . . used fishin’ wire . . . worked—pulled dead rat out—except water knocked me back. Hit tank . . . ‘sall I ‘member.” I felt like I jumbled it all up even though I was trying to speak clearly.
“Alrighty then,” the mystery medical lady said as if this made perfect sense. Only in a farming community would this scenario be plausible I thought. And then wished I didn’t, because it hurt to even think of my own name, which was exactly the next question on the line-up.