"Hey, look over there!" a voice shouted.

"Is she dead?" a voice whispered.

"I dunno, maybe," a younger voice whispered back.

Annie forced her eyes open. A blurred figure slowly came into focus.

"See, she's not dead," said a boy. He looked to be in his early teens. "Miss? Are you hurt?"

Dressed in tan colored pants held up by brown suspenders over an off-white shirt, the boy's open, curious face was touched with concern. He might be able to help her.

"I…I'm-" Annie stopped, horrified her voice sounded foreign to her own ears.

Another boy knelt beside her. Dress similarly; he looked a couple of years younger than the first boy. He touched the back of her hand, and then gently cradled it in his own. "It's okay," he whispered. "We ain't gonna hurt you."

"Is she sick?" A young girl stepped into view. She wore a faded blue cotton dress that didn't quite reach the tops of her black button boots. "She don't look too good."

"I think we otta go git Doc," the older boy spoke again. "Willie, you stay with her."

The boy holding her hand looked up. "Me? Whadda I do if she dies?"

The girl leaned over Annie's face and stared at her with solemn eyes. "Don't die," she whispered. "Willie's afraid of dead people."