16
DAWN
What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing?
I let my guard down — I f****d up royally. I run through the pasture, the woods, another field, feeling loose and unsteady and wickedly nauseous. I can still smell the doctor’s blood as if I’d been on the ground beside him, as if I have arterial spray on my face, that slippery tube of intestine wrapped around my fingers.
I emerge from the low boughs of the trees at the edge of the last pasture and stumble, my knees hitting the grass with a thunk that reverberates through my hips. I let the pain come, I let it flow through my body like water — I’ve been through worse, haven’t I? I pause, panting. Which way? I’ve always been good at directions, but every shadow and silver-stained blade of grass looks the same.
I take a deep brea
