Chapter Eighteen
Margaret’s hand shook as she touched Ryan. He was cold and still, with a gash at his hairline, his dark hair matted with blood.
“Margaret!” Joe was frantic, skidding beside her and moving to scoop Ryan up.
“Don’t touch him!” she yelled, reaching for Joe’s arm and holding it. She pressed her fingers to the pulse point at Ryan’s neck and lowered her ear to his chest, listening for his breathing.
“Margaret, is he alive? Margaret!” Joe was yelling, and she slowly sat up and shook her head.
“His pulse is weak,” she said. She struggled to remember her training, and for a minute, the face of the boy lying there changed to a boy she knew as Charlie. It was amazing, the details that came to her in a moment like this as she noticed the dried blood splattered across his face, hi
