62
I am lying on my back.
Looking at a dark, unfamiliar sky.
And rolling somewhere fast, even though I can’t move.
There are people all around me, shouting to me, shouting to each other, and I see lots of those binoculars around, all of them pointing toward me, but I don’t care.
There’s a dog running beside me, barking.
I try to move my arms, but I can’t. I’m strapped down. I’m being pushed. I’m on a gurney, I think, because I’m covered in a blanket and strapped down, just like I’ve seen on TV shows.
“Miss Markham? What’s happened?” a British man calls out. Another one shouts, “Miss Markham! Did one of them hit you?”
I turn my head to see who asked me that, and catch a glimpse of why he even raised the question.
Daniel is under a street light, being attended to by someone in a blu
