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But I couldn’t stop for them.

I needed to find Dylan.

So, I dragged my body toward the flags.

Most of them were ripped.

Many of them were missing.

But I saw the broken poles and the tattered fabric, and I crawled toward them.

“Dylan!”

My fingers stuck together from all the blood.

Something new was stabbing the center of my palm.

Something hard fell onto my back.

It didn’t slow me down.

Because, through the tiny cracks I was weaving between, I saw Dylan’s black jacket. The white logo on the breast pocket. Dangling from the sleeves were two familiar hands that I had just been holding a few minutes ago.

He was on the ground.

“Dylan!”

I didn’t know if my feet could hold me, so I stayed on my knees. I kicked, and I pushed.

And I crawled.

And I only let myself stop when I reached him.

My hands slid underneath his shoulders, and I pulled him onto my lap.

My fingers then pressed into his neck to find his pulse.

I couldn’t breathe.

I could only scream.

And yell, “Dylan,” over and over.

When I