solemnly. She suddenly looked very young. “I don’t know how to make him better,” she told Charlie. “I don’t know what to do.”
Charlie wrapped her arm around Titch’s skinny shoulders. Her bones felt fragile, like a bird’s. She tensed at first, but then relaxed against Charlie’s side. “This isn’t your responsibility,” Charlie told her. “It’s not your job to make him better. All you have to do is be here with him until I come back. Keep him safe. Keep yourself safe.”
Titch thought for a while. She took a deep, shuddering breath, then nodded briskly. Charlie could feel her pulling herself together. She marveled again at how much bloody-minded determination was contained in that skinny little frame.
Then Titch got to her feet and brushed the dust from the baggy seat of her jeans with her palms. She unscrewed the lid off a bottle of water and crouched to hold it to Art’s lips. “Here,” she said. “Charlie says I have to water you or you’ll never win the blue ribbon in the prettiest blossom contest.”
Art smiled weakly. His eyelids were swollen, his eyes glittering and fever-bright. “Nice bedside manner, Florence Nightingale,” he husked. Then his head jerked, knocking the bottle of water from Titch’s hand. The water glugged out into the dust and sank into the thirsty ground.
At first Charlie didn’t know what had startled him, and wondered if perhaps he was seeing things that weren’t there again. But then she heard it. The thwap-thwap-thwap of rotor blades somewhere overhead. His shifter hearing must have picked up the sound before it was audible to her or Titch. A helicopter.
“It must be the team from Dynamic Earth,” Charlie said. “I think it would be best if you two weren’t here when they land.” She looked at Titch. “Can you get him to the cave where we spent that first night, after I crashed?”
Titch nodded, her face set in lines of determination. “Yep,” she said. “Just help me get him on his feet.”
“I can get myself on my feet,” Art grumbled.
Titch just rolled her eyes. “Okay, Mr. Big Strong Bear,” she said. “We get it. You don’t need help from a little girl.”
He was breathing hard by the time they had him upright, and Charlie could see the pain in his dark eyes, like shards of black glass. His jaw was clenched, a muscle twitching there, and his cheekbones looked sharper and higher than they had before. Titch put her arm around his waist, and he leaned heavily on her shoulder. His legs shook with every step, his feet scuffing clumsily over the ground. She could see only a shadow of his strength and his prowling, predatory grace in the ferocious willpower with which he put one foot in front of the other.
Charlie turned away from them, telling herself she wouldn’t look back. She squinted at the sky, shading her eyes with her hand, and started to walk, with a fast pace, towards the downed Cessna.
She wouldn’t look back.
The chopper touched down, its rotors kicking up dust. Immediately, three men in navy blue jumpsuits scrambled out, ran over to the Cessna and started an urgent triage, crawling underneath her belly, tinkering with things, taking notes and gesticulating urgently at each other. A fourth man, dressed the same, stood apart, burly arms folded across his chest. He was dressed as an engineer, but Charlie immediately marked him down as security.
Her skin prickled. This kind of urgency wasn’t natural for a project to wean junkies off a drug – and even if she’d still thought it could have some innocent purpose, what she saw next would have disabused her of the notion.
Striding towards her, ties blown back by the wind from the helicopter’s slowing rotors were two of Dynamic Earth’s major head honchos.
She broke her promise to herself and looked back towards the cave, hoping Art and Titch had made it safely inside. She thought she was going to throw up. Art had fallen to his knees in the dust. He was crawling
Charlie wrapped her arm around Titch’s skinny shoulders. Her bones felt fragile, like a bird’s. She tensed at first, but then relaxed against Charlie’s side. “This isn’t your responsibility,” Charlie told her. “It’s not your job to make him better. All you have to do is be here with him until I come back. Keep him safe. Keep yourself safe.”
Titch thought for a while. She took a deep, shuddering breath, then nodded briskly. Charlie could feel her pulling herself together. She marveled again at how much bloody-minded determination was contained in that skinny little frame.
Then Titch got to her feet and brushed the dust from the baggy seat of her jeans with her palms. She unscrewed the lid off a bottle of water and crouched to hold it to Art’s lips. “Here,” she said. “Charlie says I have to water you or you’ll never win the blue ribbon in the prettiest blossom contest.”
Art smiled weakly. His eyelids were swollen, his eyes glittering and fever-bright. “Nice bedside manner, Florence Nightingale,” he husked. Then his head jerked, knocking the bottle of water from Titch’s hand. The water glugged out into the dust and sank into the thirsty ground.
At first Charlie didn’t know what had startled him, and wondered if perhaps he was seeing things that weren’t there again. But then she heard it. The thwap-thwap-thwap of rotor blades somewhere overhead. His shifter hearing must have picked up the sound before it was audible to her or Titch. A helicopter.
“It must be the team from Dynamic Earth,” Charlie said. “I think it would be best if you two weren’t here when they land.” She looked at Titch. “Can you get him to the cave where we spent that first night, after I crashed?”
Titch nodded, her face set in lines of determination. “Yep,” she said. “Just help me get him on his feet.”
“I can get myself on my feet,” Art grumbled.
Titch just rolled her eyes. “Okay, Mr. Big Strong Bear,” she said. “We get it. You don’t need help from a little girl.”
He was breathing hard by the time they had him upright, and Charlie could see the pain in his dark eyes, like shards of black glass. His jaw was clenched, a muscle twitching there, and his cheekbones looked sharper and higher than they had before. Titch put her arm around his waist, and he leaned heavily on her shoulder. His legs shook with every step, his feet scuffing clumsily over the ground. She could see only a shadow of his strength and his prowling, predatory grace in the ferocious willpower with which he put one foot in front of the other.
Charlie turned away from them, telling herself she wouldn’t look back. She squinted at the sky, shading her eyes with her hand, and started to walk, with a fast pace, towards the downed Cessna.
She wouldn’t look back.
The chopper touched down, its rotors kicking up dust. Immediately, three men in navy blue jumpsuits scrambled out, ran over to the Cessna and started an urgent triage, crawling underneath her belly, tinkering with things, taking notes and gesticulating urgently at each other. A fourth man, dressed the same, stood apart, burly arms folded across his chest. He was dressed as an engineer, but Charlie immediately marked him down as security.
Her skin prickled. This kind of urgency wasn’t natural for a project to wean junkies off a drug – and even if she’d still thought it could have some innocent purpose, what she saw next would have disabused her of the notion.
Striding towards her, ties blown back by the wind from the helicopter’s slowing rotors were two of Dynamic Earth’s major head honchos.
She broke her promise to herself and looked back towards the cave, hoping Art and Titch had made it safely inside. She thought she was going to throw up. Art had fallen to his knees in the dust. He was crawling
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