The Great Texas Dragon Race by Kacy Ritter

Author:Kacy Ritter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-05-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter

17

Somewhere in Texas

My head pounds and my eyelids blink open. A bright kerosene lantern glares down on me, and an IV sticks out of my arm. It’s nighttime and a tiny clock on the stool beside me reads 5:16 a.m. Stitches trail up my mangled arm. My ribs hurt, and I still feel dizzy. But I’m alive—tucked away in a field hospital tent, the sounds of cicadas whirring outside. I sit up and find Ash passed out in a collapsible camping chair in the corner. My makeshift hospital bed squeaks as I shift, and he rustles awake.

Ash’s eyes are heavy and lined with dark circles, and his skin seems sallow in the kerosene light.

“Did I make it? Are we in Bandera?”

Ash nods and examines me, crumpled up in his chair with a Texas Almanac across his lap.

“What?” I say, cracking a smile. “Didn’t think you could get rid of me that easy, did you?”

Ash lays the almanac on the dusty ground and staggers to his feet. He slips his hands in his pockets and exhales a long gust of air. His dark brown hair is a mess, and I can’t help but wonder how long I’ve been doubled up in this infirmary bed. Or how long Ash has waited for me.

The tent is bare, no cards or flowers in sight. Ash is, by all approximation, my only visitor. A spider dangles from the vertical pole propping up the fabric. Not exactly the warm welcome you’d expect when waking up from a viper attack.

“Ranga?” I ask.

“Ranga’s fine. She saved your life. You should have let me call the medical team.”

“We made it in time, didn’t we?”

“Number fifteen.”

We’re improving. “Has anyone spoken to my family?”

Ash nods. “They’ve arranged for a supervised call once you wake up.”

“Perfect,” I mutter. My father won’t react kindly to any of this. I can only imagine the fear and worry he must be feeling. I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t already mounted a dragon, stormed the race, and taken me back home.

Silence stretches out between us, and I grip the knitted blanket covering me. My fingers claw the loose weave, and I clear my throat. Flashes of Ash scooping me up and sending me to the finish line run through my mind. I wince at the thought, that feeling worse than the pain in my ribs. Despite everything, he helped me.

“Thank you,” I mumble, so quietly that I imagine he might have a hard time hearing me. But he grunts. I peer up at him, at the FireCorp logo printed on his tight-fitting polo, and I can hardly believe that I mean it, that I’m grateful for someone who’s supposed to be the enemy.

“I guess I finally had the guts to be a decent person,” he mumbles back. The canvas door of the tent flaps in a gust of cool night air. Ash rests his head in one hand and laces his fingers through the front of his hair. “Look, I know you shouldn’t trust me, but I need to tell you something.

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