My right foot came down on an uneven clump of loose stone hidden under dead grass, and my ankle snapped sideways with a sharp crack.

Pain shot up my calf like a hot wire before I could throw my weight onto my left heel.

I stumbled forward, wrapping both arms around Noah’s back to keep his head resting flat against my collarbone.

Noah grunted in surprise, but he didn’t cry.

I sat down hard on the gravel slope, my left leg stretched out straight and my right shoe sitting crooked in the dirt.

The joint swelled right away, pressing tight against the white eyelets of my sneaker.

Noah reached both arms toward my neck, making little questioning grunts into my hair.

I pulled myself up onto my left knee, using the wooden fence post beside the ditch for support.

Putting even three pounds of pressure on my right foot made my vision go gray at the edges.

Route 9 stretched out straight and empty in both directions, shimmering under the pale midday sun.

A gray sedan slowed down two hundred yards away, its right blinker clicking quietly in the autumn air.

The car pulled smoothly onto the shoulder ten feet ahead of where I stood leaning against the cedar post.

The driver’s door opened, and my father stepped out onto the gravel.

General Michael Carter didn’t hurry, but his long strides closed the distance between us in four seconds.