I blow out a breath. I feel as if I’m half-conscious, in and out of reality, as I talk “And finally,” I say on a wheezy breath, “the coyote could be rabid. Rabid coyotes are much, much more likely to attack than for any other reason.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“So we need to get you some help.”
I nod. I don’t much care. All I want is some sleep right now. “Eventually.”
She’s on her feet, but she seems as if she’s living on another planet. I can’t reach her if I tried. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
I close my eyes. I need a nap. The blanket of darkness falls over my eyes. Vivia’s voice becomes distant. I wonder why she’s troubled. I wonder why it sounds as if she’s crying.
* * *