“In case of what?”
He didn’t look at her. “A hasty departure.”
She blinked. “There’s nowhere to go. We have to stay here until we’re rescued.” Besides, this truck was her heart and soul, and she wouldn’t leave it until they pried her rigid dead fingers from the steering wheel.
“Hoofing it is a last-ditch scenario. Hopefully the cops or a rescue unit will show. Maybe some emergency workers will see the truck’s skid marks or my abandoned vehicle and call it in.” His tone hardened as he glanced at her. “Big Guns might have taken off and this baby’s mom is okay, but...”
But if she wasable,why hadn’t she returned to the rig forher baby?
It was almost completely dark except for the glow from the flashlight she’d wedged between the mattress and the crumpled wall. Strange shadows marbled his expression, carving hard lines around his features.
She gritted her teeth and cradled the baby. “I’ll pack if I can.”
Before she realized, he’d bent toward her.
Her heart thudded. Was he thinking about ...
But he kissed the baby on the downy crown of her head. “Be good for Auntie Kit, huh, Tot?” And then he opened the door, disappearing into a gust of windblown ash.
The baby cried as if she knew he’d left. Kit felt like crying too. Her temples were pincered in an agonizing vise, and aches and pains had begun to overwhelm the flimsy comfort of the Tylenol. In particular, her left wrist was throbbing. The infant’s sobs lasered into her skull. The little thing was all rubbery limbs and head thrashes.
She mimicked what she’d seen Cullen do, patting with a combined walk and jiggle up and down motion as she minced along the minuscule area between her tiny table and sleeping alcove. Louder and louder the baby screamed, drowning out the patter of raindrops on the roof and her own thoughts. Her head ached. Did all babies shriek with such intensity? Fear tightened her throat. Maybe there was something wrong. The crash might have caused internal injuries. Babies were fragile flickers that could so easily be snuffed out. She swallowed.
“I’m sorry your mama isn’t here.” Where was this baby’s mother? Father? Out there lost? Buried alive? Shot? She patted and joggled and soothed with the only kid song she knew, “Jingle Bells.” The screaming didn’t stop. Something had to be wrong. She’d be forced to go get Cullen. But should she leave the baby alone in the truck while she went to fetch him? Strap her into the car seat maybe? Or carry her along, out into the night, worrying about noxious gasses and landslides?
The baby’s massive burp cut across her panic. It was so startling, Kit stopped walking. Through the blanket, the small arms and legs relaxed, as if a stopper had been pulled to drain out the discomfort. Slowly, Kit walked and joggled some more, quietly singing “Jingle Bells.”
Before the verse was over, Tot was asleep.
Victory flooded Kit’s soul. After a mental fist pump, she gingerly laid the baby on the mattress, tummy up, far away from any smothering fabric. Job one, complete.
Job two, packing for an escape. An escape from whom? To where? She had to think, in spite of her muddled brain. Cullen’s plan wasn’t going to work for her. She had no intention of leaving, but she’d make sure he was supplied if he insisted. The contents of the mini fridge yielded a few more snacks, which she added on top of the money in the duffel along with the food and water she’d brought and a tightly rolled blanket and the flashlight.
She tried to replay her actions that morning. It was all a depressing blank, and it remained so as the minutes ticked into an hour and beyond. How many more before Cullen was able to pick his way over the treacherous ground and return?
At least she could while away the time trying to unscramble her brain.What’s your normal routine then?Maybe dredging up what she could recall would jog loose what she couldn’t. Thankfully, those details were still reachable.
On a regular day, she’d arrive at 6:00 a.m., inspect the truck, load the mini fridge, and queue up a new audiobook on her phone. She’d go over the cargo details with Cliff, confirm departure and arrival times, while he took messages off the computer or answering machine that would hopefully lead to more jobs so she could give him the raise he’d been hounding her for. Mostly she’d be scouring the broker sites to secure a load for the trip back home. Every moment her truck was empty was a dollar she wasn’t earning. The volcano would have put the kibosh on regular business, though. She’d probably been working on spreadingher net, looking for work that would keep her out of the area until the eruption danger was over, examining load sites for attractive delivery locations.
She imagined the throb of the engine when she fired it up that morning. Thrilling, no doubt, like it always was. She’d have picked up her cargo early since she intended to drive out and not return until the all clear was given. She had no doubt plotted where she’d stay overnight. The cleanest truck stops with showers and security were a priority so she could sleep in her rig undisturbed, hopefully. Didn’t always work. A single woman of small stature attracted plenty of unwanted attention from opportunistic thieves and even lonely truckers.
The trip twomonths ago...
She shivered. Why wouldn’t that memory vanish from her mind along with whatever else she’d forgotten?
Try again. Remember,Kit.
She must have stopped for a hitchhiker. Not her regular practice, but if it had been a woman and a baby? Begging for a ride in a volcano dead zone? Her brain waves were a hopeless tangle. She sat morosely and closed her eyes to try to rest her aching skull. While it would have been a relief to sink into sleep, she merely rested as best she could, listening for sounds of Cullen’s return.
When her worry made it impossible to lie still any longer, she removed the antique travel clock from its velcroed spot on the shelf next to her mattress and checked the time. Impeccably precise, as was the father who’d given it to her. Seven fifteen. Cullen had been gone for hours.
The baby slept, arms flung wide as if nothing in the world could hurt her.
Risking a peek out the window with her flashlight, she saw nothing but a swirl of gray as the wind lifted the ash blanket and hurled it airborne. She squeezed a couple more water bottles into the duffel bag. Removing the money would allow for more supplies, but she couldn’t see leaving it behind in her crumpled truck. Cullen could get it to the cops.
The baby remained quiet, so Kit picked up the spilled magazines and returned them to the shelves and swept the broken bits of glass into a plastic dustpan. Ridiculous, no doubt, but she felt better for it.
The travel clock read seven forty-five. She eased around the mattress and pressed her face to the grimy window. How much longer would they be stuck here? What if they ran out of bottles and diapers? Food? What if Cullen fell or became overwhelmed by fumes? What if no one came?
