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Cell phone…I’d left mine on the table beside my beer. “Where’s your cell?” I asked, not remembering if Christine had a purse…no, she hadn’t. “Christine?” I nudged her when she didn’t answer. “Hey…stay awake,” I encouraged since I had no fucking clue how hard she’d hit her head.
“M’kay.”
I released a heavy exhale at the sound of her voice in the stillness suffocating us. “Do you have your cell on you?”
She shifted—and whimpered.
“Shh. It’s okay. Don’t try to shift around too much.”
“Back…pocket.”
The damn thing had probably shattered from how she’d landed face-up, but it was worth a shot if I could get to it.
“I’m gonna try to get your cell—I don’t want you to move though. Just lay still while I feel around for it.”
Christine didn’t make a single joke as I fished my hand without the broken finger beneath her lower back, groping along her ass.
Bingo.
I shifted the phone free from her pocket, wiggled it from beneath the weight of her body, and tapped the screen.
The sudden light stung my eyes like a gunshot to my brain, but I exhaled in relief that the thing even worked. The screen a shattered mess, it refused to read her face to unlock and let me call 911. Or maybe the facial ID didn’t recognize her beneath all the dirt and blood…fuck, I’d have to check a bit closer once I got someone on the phone. Eyes closed and lips parted, she appeared too damn still. “What’s your pin?”
Christine didn’t answer, and I poked her side. Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t lift her eyelids. “Hmm?”
“Pin—what’s your cell phone pin?”
She whispered out the six digits, and I tapped the first number with my ring finger—nothing.
“Shit,” I muttered, trying again, but the screen refused to acknowledge my touch other than to keep the screen lit. “Goddamnit.”
The light blinked out, leaving us once more in darkness. Swiping it back on, I held it over Christine’s filthy face, taking in the damage. A deep laceration bit into her scalp above the massive bump but not severe enough that she would bleed to death. I could only guess how bad of a concussion she had.
“Can you open your eyes for me?” I asked, needing to see her pupils.
She blinked—winced. “Ow.”
“I know,” I murmured, rubbing my thumb over the one cheekbone not beat to hell. “Let me see those gorgeous emerald eyes, Christine. Please.”
Another blink allowed me a quick glance to see her pupils were the same size.
“Good girl,” I whispered as her eyelids fluttered shut once more.
Blood smeared beneath her crooked nose, and I thinned my lips, taking in the rest of the scratches over her face. Christine looked like she’d spent ten rounds in a boxing ring. I felt the same but couldn’t be bothered with my own pains since nothing seemed life-threatening.
Another swipe to keep the screen alive, and I angled the light down over the rest of her body.
One pile of rubble enclosing us in our tiny hole lay atop her right leg, and the blood on her left thigh had me shifting in the tight space to check it over.
A few cuts, one that would need stitches, but again, not enough to make her bleed out.
I pulled off my shirt and attempted to tie it tight around her thigh, my awkwardly bent finger hindering my ability to create a knot.
Christine didn’t make a sound.
“Hey.” I took her left, limp hand in mine, scanning over her slack face. “Christine.”
“Hmm?” She roused enough to flutter her fingers against mine.