Chapter 5: The Bridge

I didn't call anyone.

There was nobody left to call.

I started the truck and drove down the ridge road with the cab light still on and one hand pressed low on my belly.

The hospital was twenty minutes away, in Larch Falls, on the near side of the Sable River bridge.

I could do twenty minutes.

I had worked a whole night shift once with a fractured wrist.

"Stay," I said out loud. "Just stay. I've got you."

The road came off the ridge and ran along the river in the dark.

Pine trees on my left. Black water on my right, under a guardrail that was mostly rust.

Headlights came up behind me.

They came up fast.

I moved over to let them pass.

They didn't pass.

They sat on my bumper with their brights on, filling my cab with white light.

It was a gray pickup with a Redmoor sticker on the back window. I'd seen it parked behind the pack house a hundred times.

I sped up.

So did they.

The bridge lights showed ahead, a long string of orange dots over the water.

The gray truck swung out into the other lane.

For one second I thought it was going around me.

Then it swerved back and slammed into my side.

The whole world jerked sideways.

My head hit the window.

The wheel tore out of my hands, and my truck went off the road, through the gravel, and nose first into the ditch.

The airbag punched me in the chest.

Everything went white and smelled like burnt powder.

When I could see again, the engine was ticking and steam was rising from the hood.

The gray truck had stopped twenty feet ahead.

Two doors opened.

Two men got out.

I knew both of them.

The driver was one of Garrett's border warriors, a big man who'd brought his wife into my ER last winter with a broken ankle.

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