Caitlin woke slowly, facedown in the dirt. Her throat was raw and throbbing, the same sweet, coppery taste coating her mouth. She was sick and dizzy, and instinctively she realized the sun was at its peak. Her body felt like lead. Where was she? She was cold and disoriented. She pushed herself to her knees, then had to lower her head to avoid fainting. She had never been so weak, so helpless. It was a frightening feeling.
Awareness hit, and she scrambled on all fours across the dirt floor. With her back to the wall and the width of the room between them, she stared in horror at the coffin. He lay as if dead. No discernible heartbeat or respiration. She pressed the back of one shaking hand to her mouth to keep a sob from escaping. She was not going near him again, dead or not. Even as the thought came, as intelligent as it was, she still felt the need to find a way to help him. Something in her could not let it go.
Maybe she was wrong about the blood disorder.
