Dylan swallowed, his mouth dry and throat raw, as he yanked the steering wheel around as hard as he could. It didn’t make enough of a difference. The back end fishtailed out from under him as they bounced up the curb. It clipped an icy street light and knocked it out of the ground, chunks of concrete sent bouncing over the sidewalk. The Jeep finally pulled free and slid over the road until it came to a stop against a parked truck.
“What’s going on!” Irene screamed from the back. She started to sob in heaving, panicked whoops. “I should have gone home. I told you I wanted to go home!”
She might be right.
Dylan braced himself as the ambulance crashed into the window of a coffee shop. The awning ripped off on top of the cab as the glass shattered. Broken metal bars from the window panes scraped gouges into the paintwork. One jabbed through the windshield, fracture patterns shattered out, and clipped the side of Dylan’s head.
Tables and chairs were sent flying across the room or crushed under the tires.
It finally slid to a stop.
The engine died with a dry cough, the smell of hot metal sour as it hung in the air. Dylan let out a shaky breath and peeled his hands off the steering wheel. They left sweaty prints on the pleather.
“It’s OK,” he said. It didn’t sound like he was convinced, so he tried again. “We’re OK. Irene?”
She just cried, a low, hopeless whimper that put Dylan’s teeth on edge. Dylan felt blood run down the side of his face and wiped it away on his sleeve. Head wounds bled excessively. He didn’t think it was serious. It was probably best not to check though, just in case.
“Alice?” he tried again as he reached down to unclip his seatbelt. It jammed. The strap dug into his chest as he struggled with the release.
There was no answer.
Dylan lost his patience and grabbed the strap near his hip. He yanked at it as hard he could a couple of times. That didn’t do much.
“Alice!” Dylan raised his voice as he repeated her name. “You there?”
There was nothing for a long, worrying wait. Then he heard someone choke and Alice groggily answered.
“What jus’ happ’d?”
That could wait. Dylan finally fumbled the seatbelt free with adrenaline-numb fingers. The nylon strap hung slack over his chest instead of retracting, and he shrugged himself out from under it.
“Just stay with Irene,” he said. “I need to check on the driver.”
The door was caved in. Dylan tried it anyhow, but it was stuck in place. He crawled over onto the passenger seat and let himself out that side. His legs nearly folded under him asthey hit the scarred floor, muscles turned to rubber and knees to jelly as the adrenaline hit subsided.
Things hurt. He registered the various twinges and aches—the hot scrape of bruised ribs, the frayed pull of insulted muscles in his neck as he looked around—as he hung onto the side of the door and tried to remember how to lock his knees.
On the street a slick of oil leaked out from under the Jeep. It was dark and greasy on the grimy slick of slush and ice that covered the roads. The overheated metal parts ticked softly as they cooled down in the snow.
Dylan took a deep breath, cold air prickly in his throat, and slapped the side of the ambulance.
“Stay put,” he said. “I need to check on the other guy.”
He pushed himself upright and limped across the road, one hand tucked under his coat to cradle his ribs. His breath smoked from his lips.
The lights had changed, he told himself. At his side his fingers twitched absently as he replayed the moment he’d flicked the switch, the pressure of the lever against his finger. He’d seen the light react to the pre-empt.
As he got closer to the Jeep his steps faltered. It looked like the vehicle version of “ridden hard and put away wet,” and not just from the recent collision. That could be held responsible for the fender that lay sideways on the road, ripped from its moorings, and the crushed hood. Not the deep gouges that decorated the side, down through the faded red paint to dent the metalwork underneath. The windshield looked as if it had been broken for a while too, branches and bits of greenery stuck in the cracks.
Something wasn’t right.
No, that wasn’t it. Something waswrong.
Before the realization could take root, the door of the Jeep slammed open with enough force to warp the hinges. It hung crookedly in the frame as the driver pulled himself out.
Dylan stopped in his tracks.
Wild blond hair hung lank around a grubby, wind-burned face that was half-hidden behind a matted gingery beard. A heavy duster hung from bony shoulders, the waxed cotton worn threadbare in places and greasily moldy in others. None of that did enough to hide the sickly gray lengths of briar that poked through his skin and pushed out of his nose and ears.
