As it turned out, I wasn’t nearly so banged up as I thought; which we found out after they’d fished me out of the c***k in the earth and patched me up (we had a First-Aid kit in one of the bags, just a little tin box with Band-Aids, sterile pads, gauze, and gloves). Hell, I hadn’t even sprained anything, which was pretty miraculous considering the tumble I’d taken. Quint, for one, was impressed.
“I gotta hand it to you, kid. You’re as tough as a box of nails.” He glanced at Jesse, who’d needed sprucing up himself. “And you.” He swung the Thermos—in which he’d replaced the Talon—around to his back. “I thought you were a goner. Jesus. What a ride.”
“I ... it ...” Jesse pointed at the gauze wrapped around his throat. “It hurts to talk. But ... Thanks. Thanks for coming after me.”
Quint jus
