Re: [No. 22 -> No. 8: Hunter R & Cris M]
The world wasn't on fire. It wasn't swallowed whole. The horizon became pointa fact, and the registration tables were just like they left 'em, cheap-looking, but standing, rectanglesa white fluttering disappointed in late-night breeze, name-tags never claimed. It was like they'd gone back in time—everything was as it was, 'cept them.
Hunter was still limpish in Cris' arms, and the Sheriff himself was only just starting to feel warmth again. Exertion put color into cheeks just this sidea ashy. He wasn't doing too bad, all things considered. Maybe after this was over, Cris would wish he'd been less shaken by it—would think he shoulda been. He knew trauma. He knew crises. He had training. And he handled it pretty good, outwardly. But, he knew he was too shaken, huh? He could feel it, blood cold in his veins, and a roaring hole in the grounda his brain, just like the one that had tried to suck down Hunter. His thoughts shoved each other like pedestrians on a Manhattan sidewalk, racing against the guy's anxiety. Was Sam okay? Was Joey okay? Where was Sam? Had she tried to call? His phone was wrecked, maybe she'd tried to call. What if the town was gone, eaten by sinkholes? What if it wasn't some tear in reality, what if it was reality? It was reality. This was his new reality. Coño. Hunter needed medical attention. He prolly did too. His knee hurt like it was miles away from the resta him. Was Sam hurt? Was Sam okay? Was Joey okay—
Etcétera, etcétera, etcétera.
His loose association with his own body informed him he had a lump in his throat, but he didn't bother with trying to tease that out. He had a headache. It felt like, he thought without knowing he was gonna, his skull was a cracked marble, the cat's eye within a blossom, a protusiona his awareness.—Hunter squirmed as crickets offered the background noise of a summer's night, one without gaping holes underfoot. Cris let the kid outta his arms easy, feet-first and his arms still out, in case Hunter's knees didn't want the weight. They were both so mud-spattered, they coulda been reflectionsa each other, all their differences covered over with wet earth.
"I'm gonna get you to my car. I got an extra phone in there." For emergencies. And, even if the resta the world around them didn't seem to take notice, this was one. (His gun was in there too. Less useful, but it helped him feel safe.) "Walk with me, huh? It ain't far. I got a blanket in there." His hand 'round Hunter's elbow, he tried to lead him, if he'd be led. And for all those salmon-jibbing thoughts, upstream, down, overfull, he was steady. He spoke steady. His walked steady, save for a slight limp 'causea the knee. The mud kept him pretty patched together, even as it dried on his skin and started to itch and flake. "Ven, mijito." He squeezed Hunter's elbow gentle.