Shot

Harper

Rafe and Jack are on the ground. I don’t know where the bullet went. I don’t know if Rafe’s been shot. Neither of them are moving.

I drop to my knees next to them. “Rafe? Rafe, honey? Rafe?!” I shake his shoulder.

Nothing.

I put my hand on his cheek and something warm and sticky coats my palm. “Help!” I scream. “Oh, God, he’s bleeding! Somebody help!”

A multitude of boots come trampling through the woods, flashlights shining on us from all directions. Some police stand back with their guns drawn while others rush to Rafe’s side.

“It’s just a graze,” one officer says, and I could pass out from relief. “He’ll be okay. Just gotta get him in to see if he has a concussion. He’s a football player though, so I suppose he’s had a few of those.”

Someone hits their knees next to me while I’m sta……