We meet under the shadow of a spire, the sun breaking out for a moment to show me these people, a woman with a blond ponytail and a man with a red beard. I collapse in front of them, trying to find words to say everything that needs to be said, to explain the woods and the possum, the bag at my side that holds what’s left of my foot, Davey Beet’s bloody sock and how deeply my eyes are sunk into my head. What I say is: “My name is Ashley Hawkins, and I need help.”
