Re: [No. 22 -> No. 8: Hunter R & Cris M]
He needed to get Hunter somewhere, that was his first thought. The kid was hardly able to focus on him and his gaze was glassy and dazed. Cris wrapped around him. His knee was nothing but a canker—a barba pain shot its cannibalistic roots through him every time he moved it, but he was trying not to pay attention to it. A slight grimace, a grunt, and, if Hunter let him, he picked the kid up. It was something like bridal style, one arm under shoulders, one under knees, and he worked fucking hard to get onto his knees—and from his knees, to his feet. It was arduous. He was already weak and exhausted, gutted from panic he still didn't feel. But, he did it. He lifted the kid from the grasping mud and the clinga the sleeve from his shed jacket. He curved his arms inward, so mosta the kid's weight was more against the solid centera his chest—and he walked.
He was slow. But, Hunter wasn't a big guy. He was a scrawny kid, and Cris found he got easier to carry once there was some adequate momentum going on.—And he was right, huh? The kid. The fences were gone. Some parta Cris noted that with relief, another with dread. ¿Qué sigue?—The hole was still there, but it seemed to be irising smaller. It was too hard to tell exactly what was happening, but the Sheriff couldn't think on it too hard. If the ground opened up beneath him, they'd both be swallowed and that wasn't something that was allowed in his worldview.
"I'm gonna get you somewhere warmer than here," he told Hunter, almost like he was talking to himself. "Warmer. And maybe we can clean somea this stuff off." His phone was prolly crushed in his back pocket. "I gotta call Sam." He was crying too, he realized, belated and detached. Tears wavered saltwater-sodden in his throat. They came down his cheeks in overspill from black lashes. Cris couldn'tna even said why he was crying. It was prolly just the shock too. Shock and relief. His voice was hoarse, drowned, and quieter than he woulda wanted. "I'll find Becky for you. You'd like that?"
He was walking back toward the registration table, or trying. They hadn't walked all that far before all hell broke loose, but somehow, Cris knew in his gut it was gonna take a lot longer to get back—or to get anywhere. Something was messing with them, but he didn't know what it was. Don't think about Sam. It didn't matter.
First things first, he'd find 'em somewhere to stay.