Scorched to Ash Beneath the Blazing Sun novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: No Information

In the ICU Lorena hides her name from the hospital directory while Callie's post about her goes viral; Rhonda calls to say Lance threw her apartment in the dumpster.

I woke up in a hospital bed with a plastic band on my wrist and a needle taped into my arm.

The ceiling was white and cold, and for the first time in hours I was not on fire.

A man sat in the plastic chair by the window with his ranger hat on his knee.

Brice Slade had not gone home.

His shirt still had my dust on the sleeve where I had held on.

"You're at Redrock County Hospital," he said. "It's nine at night. You've been out about five hours."

A doctor came in behind him and checked my chart without smiling.

"Your core temperature was a hundred and seven when they wheeled you in, Ms. Hartwell."

"Your kidneys and liver took a beating. Another thirty minutes and you would not be talking to me."

"Nobody gets back from that with no electrolytes in their system," she added. "Who kept the water from you?"

"My team," I said.

My voice came out as a rasp.

She looked at Brice, then at me, and did not ask again.

"I want to be on no information," I said.

The nurse near the door knew exactly what I meant.

"Patient directory opt-out," she said. "If anyone calls or comes to the desk, we say we have no one by that name."

"Not police?" I asked.

"Police we can confirm to," she said. "Everyone else gets nothing."

"Good," I said.

Brice waited until the nurse and doctor were gone.

"I filed my report with the sheriff at six," he said. "The detective wants to talk to you tomorrow."

"I took your phone off your backpack and bagged it as evidence while you were unconscious."

"It was the only proof anyone had that you were out there."

I stared at him.

"You didn't ask me."

"You were out cold."

"Everyone decides things for me while I'm out cold," I said. "Next time wake me."

His mouth moved, almost a smile.

"Next time I will," he said.

He took the phone out of a clear bag and put it in my hand.

The screen was cracked.

The radio app was still open, with the group channel's history scrolling under my thumb.

Eleven in the morning, Lance laughing at his own joke.

Noon, Callie's soft voice. "I feel a little dizzy."

12:40, my own voice, small and shaky. "Lance, my head. I can't see right. Can we stop?"

Lance, instantly. "Don't be dramatic."

1:41, my voice again, even smaller. "Please. I need the water."

Callie, over mine, laughing. "Lance, she's doing it again."

Nobody answered me after that.

I played it up to the point where the truck came, and Brice listened beside me.

I could not make myself play the rest.

Every word was saved and stamped with a time.

"It stays on the phone for seven days," I said.

"Then nobody touches it," Brice said. "I'll make you a copy."

My phone buzzed in my hand with a hundred and twelve notifications.

I opened the first one.

It was a post from Callie, with a photo of her in a sundress and a bandaged heel, tears on her cheeks.

*I feel awful. Lorena got upset when I felt faint on the hike, and now she's pretending to be sick so Lance will worry about her. I never wanted to be the bad guy. Please be kind.*

It had forty-one thousand likes.

Under it, strangers had written their verdicts.

*She sounds exhausting.*

*Every group has one attention-seeker.*

*Lance deserves better.*

My own name was tagged over and over.

Brice took one look at my face and pulled the phone gently out of my hand.

"Don't read the comments."

"They're about me."

"That's why."

He put it face down on the blanket.

It buzzed again almost at once.

A text from Brody Keane, the quiet one from Lance's sales team.

*Lorena are you ok??? Lance told us all you went home. Your car is still at the trailhead. I'm so sorry. I should have said something.*

I looked at it for a long time.

He had been one of the seven on the sand who stayed silent.

I typed back with one thumb.

*I'm alive. Tell NO ONE, especially Lance. Don't write me again unless you have something real.*

Then I dialed the one number I knew by heart that was not Lance's.

Rhonda picked up on the first ring.

"Lorena? Where are you? Lance called my cell an hour ago and said you'd gone to your mother's."

"My mother's been dead six years."

"I know that, honey. I told him that."

I closed my eyes.

"I'm in the county hospital. I'm okay. I need you to tell nobody."

"Not a soul," Rhonda said. "Do you need anything from your place? I'm driving over right now. I'll bring your toothbrush."

"Thank you."

I heard her keys, then her truck door.

I heard the hospital air conditioner humming.

Then I heard Rhonda stop breathing for two whole seconds.

"Lorena," she said slowly. "I'm in your parking lot."

"There's a locksmith van here, and two of Lance's warehouse boys."

"They're carrying your couch out."

"Your clothes are in garbage bags."

"Honey, I'm watching them throw your whole life into the dumpster."

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