After the Fall

biker turned around and headed back down the trail.
    “You’re in pretty good shape for someone who had a horse fall on him,” the medic said, chuckling.
    “Thanks,” I said. “I guess being conscious is a start, right?”
    “Trust me.” He knelt in the dirt beside me and set the pack on the ground. “The fact that you’re sitting up and not screaming in pain is a damned good sign.”
    “Uh, yeah, I hope so. You see this stuff a lot?”
    “More often than I’d like to admit.” He slid the collar off his arm. “Before I do anything else, I’m going to stabilize your neck.”
    “Okay.” This day just kept getting better and better.
    After he’d put the collar on, securing it so it dug uncomfortably into my jaw and collarbones, he had me lie back on the dirt.
    “We’ll have you on a backboard as soon as possible,” he said. “Stay as still as you can, all right?”
    I couldn’t nod, so I muttered an affirmative, and he went through all the other motions. Vitals. Questions. Checking for pain or numbness in my fingers and toes. Having me track his finger with my eyes. The usual routine.
    About the time he’d determined I wasn’t in any immediate danger except for the slim—but better safe than sorry—possibility of a spinal injury, the biker returned with another medic riding behind him. A pair of EMTs arrived on foot a few minutes later, one with a backboard and the other with a larger medical supply kit.
    All but one of the EMTs focused on me. The fourth dug a cold pack of some variety from their kit and checked the biker’s face. Most of the blood was dry now, and his nose didn’t seem to be bleeding anymore, but he flinched when the EMT dabbed at the corner of his mouth.
    One of the medics carefully checked out my hand. Brow furrowed, she glanced at the biker, who was now pressing the ice pack to the left side of his face. Then she turned back toward me, lifting an eyebrow.
    I didn’t say a word.
    The other two medics stood aside and discussed—I assumed—my condition in hushed tones. Meanwhile, the other EMT finished cleaning some of the blood off the biker’s face. When the biker winced, I did too. I wasn’t violent by nature—I’d never taken a swing at anyone in my life. And to be fair, the biker hadn’t startled Tsarina deliberately. It had been an accident.
    The other medics broke their huddle. A decision had been made, apparently, and I was carefully transferred from the hard ground onto the harder backboard. They were as gentle as possible strapping my legs down, but the slightest pressure or jostling hurt so bad my head spun. Worse, the more they immobilized me, the more the rest of my body started to hurt. My back. My hips. My neck and shoulders. The leg that Tsarina hadn’t landed on. I was going to feel like a bag of ass tomorrow, there was no doubt about it.
    The medics each took a handle of the backboard, two on either side of me, and after one gave a count of three, they lifted the board and set it in a basket of some kind. It reminded me of the kind that I’d seen dangling from helicopters in search and rescue videos, and I quickly shoved that image out of my mind.
    My stomach twisted and turned, especially once they started down the steep trail. They kept me perfectly horizontal and went extremely slowly, but I was far too aware of that sharp incline. Even my horse hadn’t been able to keep her footing on it once she’d lost her balance. I didn’t like this. Not at all. I was bound to the point of being in more pain than before, especially thanks to that cervical collar that could go straight to hell, but confinement terrified me. Being restrained and completely at the mercy of someone else—no. Just no. And right now, the added fear that I could fall again wasn’t helping matters. The solid board beneath me wasn’t enough to negate the precarious sensation of being off the ground. All it would take was one guy’s hand slipping off. With the way my day was going, I wouldn’t have been surprised at all if that happened.
    The dull thud of hooves on dirt, accompanied by the squeak of a saddle, made my stomach tighten.
    That should be me.
    God, where is Tsarina?
    “Whoa,” a familiar voice said, and the horse stopped. So did the guys carrying my backboard. “Nathan?”
    I opened my eyes, but the first thing I saw wasn’t a person peering down at me. The long, mostly black face with the white star between big brown eyes sent an unbelievable rush of relief