Chapter Twenty-Three
LUCAS
Igroaned, then coughed when water trickled down my throat.
Immediately, fiery pain lanced my leg. I closed my mouth and stayed as still as possible, breathing shallowly through my nose.
Rain pounded my face. When I opened my eyes, water blurred my vision to indistinguishable greys.
I was laid on my back on the ground. I struggled to recall how I’d gotten here. I remembered the sudden storm. Stumbling along the path in the cold. Odd flashes of lightning and clashing thunder.
I fell. Must have blacked out.
Carefully, I wiggled my fingers, bent my elbows, then rolled my shoulders. I moved my head around and took a deeper breath. Every movement hurt, but more in a dull aching way than one that demanded my attention. My head thumped along with my heartbeat.
I hissed when I flexed my feet.
Gingerly, I moved the toes on my right foot. That didn’t hurt. Neither did looping my ankle or flexing my knee.
The other leg was the problem.
Each movement carefully thought through so as to not jostle my left side, I pressed up onto my elbows, then used my core and arms to take my full weight as I pushed up to sitting.
Acid burned in the back of my throat as I looked down at my leg. There was an extra bend that had no business being there under my knee.
I looked away, across the swaying grass just visible in the gloom. I remembered my foot catching on something. That must have caused an unnatural angle with enough force behind it to have broken the bone.
Lightning flashed, and my heart leapt. Where I’d been staring to avoid looking at the mess I’d made of my leg was a squat hut. As the light faded, I could make out the corrugated tin roof of one of the goat sheds.
It was no more than twenty metres away. Far too close for me to give up and stay out here, hoping the rain stopped or someone miraculously came to find me.
I took a deep breath, then looked down at my leg.
The pain was a low pulse, which quickened to a stab each time I moved, but it seemed as though there was only the one break.
I didn’t want to go poking about, but my jeans weren’t discoloured with blood.
Only darkened by rain. Getting to the hut would be a challenge, but all I had to contend with was a single fracture. I could do that.
‘I don’t know if I can do this,’ I sobbed five minutes later.
I’d taken off my backpack and, gritting my teeth against the pain, I’d slotted it under the lower part of my left leg so that the fracture didn’t drag along the ground. Painstakingly, I’d shuffled backwards.
Each movement was pure agony. I couldn’t make an inch of progress without hot needles of pain rupturing across my leg.
Rain continued to lash down. The darkness of the night or the sun being blocked by such thick clouds made me feel more alone than I ever had before.
More than anything, I needed someone to rescue me. But no one was coming. My phone still had no signal. I couldn’t call anyone.
I had to save myself.
I didn’t bother wiping my tears. The rain would wash them away. My arms aching, I hauled myself backwards.
The pain was unbearable. I screamed into the sky, thunder clashing off the mountains.
From then on, I didn’t try to contain myself as I shuffled over to the hut. I cried out with each tiny jostle that felt like searing iron pressing into shin. I howled as each jarring movement released fresh stabs of pain.
I almost collapsed when I made it to the opening of the hut. Part of me whimpered that I’d come far enough. I’d gotten myself here, most of my body in the shelter. Why did I have to keep going?
I gritted my teeth and slid further into the hut. Beneath a covering of straw sprinkled with goat dung, the floor was concrete. Hauling myself properly inside was made far easier by the flat surface. Groaning, I kept dragging until even the tips of my toes were sheltered from the rain.
The temptation to collapse was stronger than ever, but I refused to get this far then do myself serious harm by not taking a few simple steps. A tiny voice whispered that maybe serious harm had already been done, but I shushed that and got on with undressing as much as I could.
I left my jeans and boots on, as doing anything that touched my left leg directly made me want to scream and never stop.
Under the watchful eyes of goats that had been far more sensible than me and had sought shelter before the storm hit, I stripped out of my coat and jumper.
Wincing, I pulled my T-shirt over my head, then slumped backwards into a pile of hay.
The movement hurt, but the pain receded as I lay still on my back.
I was never more thankful for the magnetism that drew animals to me than I was now.
The goats huddled close to my sides. I didn’t know if it was instinctual knowledge of where not to touch or that my top half was chilled but soft whereas my jeans were cold and wet, but the goats stayed away from my injured leg.
I gathered them closer, encouraging a couple to hop up onto my stomach and aching chest. I breathed in their thick musk as their furry warmth sunk into my freezing skin.
My eyes slid shut. A short rest, a moment to recharge and warm up, then I’d retrieve helpful supplies from my bag.
I had my basic vet kit in there, plus water and the lunch Oscar had been disgusted by earlier.
I would tend to my leg as best I could, eat and drink, and take care of myself until someone realised I was missing and found me.
Aster had told me stories of Callum’s unerring ability to hunt him down when he got into trouble.
I wouldn’t mind borrowing some of that for myself.
But first, sleep. I snuggled closer to my goat blanket and gratefully slipped into unconsciousness.