17
Through the haze of darkness and pain, Scout’s awareness sort of pulsed in and out. She knew her dogs were upset; they both seemed to be all over her, nosing and licking and whining. She tried to push herself up from the rover floor but her arms wouldn’t work.
Then the dogs were barking and voices were arguing, so angry. She tried to speak, to tell them to leave her dogs be, but the few sounds that squeaked out of her throat weren’t speech and went unnoticed by whomever the hands belonged to that lifted her up from the floor.
She whimpered at the sound of the motorcycle engine roaring to life. She was lying across the back of the seat, her hat askew and the sun full in her eyes. The roar of the engine, the heat of the motorcycle under her and the sky above her, the stiflingly thick a
