by Colleen Foley
I woke behind the wheel, realized what Seth had done, shot my fist at him. It stopped just short of his battered cheek.
“…can’t drive Nate. You have to. It’s the only way….’m so sorry.”
irate, but controlled, I drove. I glanced at my arms, saw the livid
bloody streaks on them, septic threads burning toward my core. Toward
I followed them like following a map. Each twist of scarlet a twist or turn in the road, urging me, daring me, to find it. Beside me, Seth bled, cried, whispered.
“Yes. Find it, Nate. Take us home.”