Chapter 17: Pay the Desk

We slept in the van that night, because I wouldn't leave it.

Dustin took the crate and I took the cot, with Gran's quilt over both of us when the heater quit at three.

I woke to the sound of a diesel engine at the gate.

It was still dark, and the lot behind the Foundation's garage was full of blue light from a tow truck.

A man in a reflective vest was already lowering the hook.

"You can't take it," Dustin said, barefoot on the asphalt. "I've got a permit for this spot."

"Cancelled," the man said, bored. "Property office, yesterday at five."

The chain went tight on the front axle.

I was still in the van.

The quilt was spread over the cot where I had slept, and I had never moved it.

If the van went, the quilt went with it.

"Erin, get out!" Dustin shouted.

I grabbed the quilt in both arms and went for the side door.

The van lurched, and the door slammed on its runner, and I put my hand out to stop it.

The edge of the steel caught my palm.

I felt it open, hot, and then the cold hit it.

I didn't let go of the quilt.

I came down off the step with blood running down my wrist into the folds, and Dustin caught me before my knees went.

"Show me," he said.

"It's fine."

"Show me."

He turned my hand over under the blue light, and his face went flat.

"Hospital," he said.

"It's a cut."

"It's to the bone."

He wrapped his scarf round it, tight, and picked me up.

I let him.

He carried me to his truck across the lot, with the tow driver shouting about paperwork behind us.