Kerry

“No, you can’t take him with you!”

I chuckle at Kim’s disgruntled protests when I get in the car, still holding the warm squirmy little body of Asher, who has been safely snuggled in my arms all afternoon. I love that little boy.

I once wanted children of my own, but after a few years of trying early on in my marriage, I resigned myself to the fact motherhood was not in my future. Until the waning days of my marriage, when in a blowout shouting match with Greg, he let it slip that he’d had a vasectomy before we even got married. After years of trying to get him to consider fertility treatments, or change his rigid views on adoption, that had been the ultimate betrayal.

Any maternal instincts I might have are momentarily satisfied each time I get my hands on this little boy. I take what I can get. Which is why I nuzzle Asher’s little neck, and breathe in his baby scent for a last fix, before reluctantly handing him over to his mother.

“Sorry, Asher,” I mumble with my lips against the palm of his pudgy little hand. “Your momma is a greedy bitch.”

“Kerry! Don’t swear in front of the baby,” Kim scolds me through the open window, pressing Asher’s ear against her chest, her hand covering the other. I roll my eyes as I plug my phone into the hands-free system—it’s not like the little guy understands what I’m saying.

The afternoon was a good one. Kim had taken the day off and was waiting with a fabulous lunch that included muffins from my favorite coffee shop in town. By the time Asher woke up from his nap, we were ready to walk off the copious amounts of food we’d just scarfed down. So with Asher strapped in a carrier on her back, Kim and I headed out for a hike on the mesa; Kim’s gigantic dog, Boo, turning circles around our legs. We walked for miles through the sage grass and down the canyon; we ended up at the edge of a creek, where Asher played under our watchful eyes and we had time to catch up on all the goings-on in our respective lives. By the time we got back home, it was late afternoon and the baby was ready for his dinner. Kim’s husband, Mal, called to say he was held up with work, so she and I resorted to finishing this afternoon’s leftovers, neither of us very hungry. I wanted to try and get back to Durango before dark and was already in the driveway when Kim remembered the box. She handed me Asher while she ran back in to get her keys. While I was contemplating taking the gurgling little boy and running, she transferred the box from her car to mine, apologizing profusely for the fact she kept forgetting to open it. Something I’ll do the moment I get home.

“Love you,” I yell as I back my car out of her driveway. I watch her in my rearview mirror, holding Asher’s little hand and waving as I drive away.

After filling up and grabbing a coffee to keep me awake at a gas station, I head back to Durango. With my visor flipped down to block the low-hanging evening sun, I belt along with Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes.” I love this drive. Love how the sparse but stunning landscape of the mesas and canyons morph into the lush, majestic swells of the Rockies. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.

The sun has slowly set behind the mountains, and I keep my eyes peeled against the waning light for any wildlife along the side of the road. This time of night often sees deer or elk coming up from the valleys to dart across the highway. I’ve had one or two close encounters on this stretch before. Just as I’m coming up to the cutoff to Hesperus, the interior of my car brightens with the glare of headlights right behind me. I can’t see much in my rearview mirror other than a grill and headlights. I’m guessing it’s either a truck or SUV, something that is clearly higher up than my Subaru. Almost everyone here drives big vehicles, so that’s not a shock. What is, though, is the fact the damn thing is way too close to my tail for comfort. Almost on top of me.

In an attempt to get out of his way, I let up on the gas and inch my way toward a widened section of the shoulder, keeping a close eye on the far edge, where the road gives way to a sharp drop to the valley below. A quick glance in my rearview mirror shows the damn truck still riding my ass. In fact, it appears to be following me to the side of the road. Suddenly, my irritation is replaced with fear. It’s almost dark, traffic is sparse, and I don’t know what the hell this guy wants. My hand automatically reaches for my phone as I slow to a stop, the truck still behind me. I keep my eye on him in the rearview mirror as I hit 911 on the phone.

“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

“Yes, hi,” I respond sheepishly when the dispatcher picks up my call. “My name is Kerry Emerson, and I’m sitting on the side of Highway 160 to Durango, just west of the cut off to Hesperus. There’s a truck that was riding my tail and pulled up right behind me when I pulled off to let him pass. I’m getting scared.”

“Ma’am. Are your doors locked?”

“Yes,” I confirm with a shaky voice.

“I’m dispatching State Patrol on the other line as we speak, hon. Stay calm. Can you give a description of the truck?”

I watch as suddenly the vehicle behind me starts backing up, and I let out a sigh of relief.

“Ma’am? Are you there?”

“Yes. Sorry, he just backed up.”

No sooner have the words left my mouth when the squeal of tires on gravel has my head snap around. It only takes a nanosecond for me to recognize the truck barreling toward me.

“Ma’am? Ma’am...?”

I barely hear the voice of the dispatcher while I watch in horror as the truck tries to swerve around me at the last second. The rest plays in slow motion. I hear the loud honking of a transport truck coming up from behind. I see the smaller truck swerve to avoid a collision. And I can feel the impact as it sideswipes the front end of my car, sending the Subaru spinning toward the edge of the road. I think I’m screaming as my car moves out of control, and I see flashes of the deep drop into the valley. 

When the car finally stills, I can hear the woman on the phone still calling out.

“I think I’m okay,” I manage to squeak out. I’m hyperventilating and my heart is going a mile a minute. “I think I’m okay,” I repeat, as if I can make it so just by saying it again. The front of my car is pointing perpendicular to the road.  I watch through the windshield as the driver of the big transport truck parked a little down the road comes walking around his rig and stops in his tracks. He suddenly starts running in this direction as the dispatcher starts talking.

“Don’t move,” she instructs me. “State Patrol will be there soon.”

I just manage to answer her with, “Okay,” when a metal groaning sound shudders through the frame of the car.

“Not okay!” I scream when the approaching driver suddenly disappears from view and instead I find myself staring at the stars.

DAMIAN

I hear it on the scanner.

I don’t why I know it’s her, but I do.

“—10-54, Highway 160 west of the 140 exit in easterly direction. Requesting 10-52. Watch for suspect or suspects last seen heading west in a black or dark green newer model extended cab—”

That’s all I hear when I walk into my office. But it’s enough.

I’ve been struggling with an unexplained feeling of impending doom ever since I watched Kerry run blindly across Main Street last night. My heart pounding in my throat, I snatch my phone from my desk where I left it. I notice my hand shaking as I scroll through my contact list to find her number. My jaw locks with tension as I mindlessly count the number of rings. Finally, after seven, her voicemail kicks in.

“Hi. You’ve reached Kerry. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.” The recording is simple, no nonsense and to the point, just like the woman herself. As I tuck the phone in my pocket without leaving a message, I pause a moment, wondering if it is the last time I will hear her voice.

With a sharp shake of my head to dislodge the fatalistic thoughts that paralyze me, I finally get my feet to move out the door. I ignore Jasper’s call behind me as I storm out of the office and head for my Expedition. In the distance, I can hear the sound of the ambulance sirens on their way out of town and guessing their destination, I climb behind the wheel, slap my portable siren on the roof, and speed off to catch up.

Against the darkening night, the flashing blue lights of emergency vehicles are a clear beacon. The road is closed by two State Patrol cars, but the ambulance in front of me easily swerves around. I follow suit and stick my hand holding my badge out the window for the officer standing guard to see. He waves me through, too.

All I can see is a large semi parked on the side of the road and beyond it a fire truck and more patrol cars. Three State Patrol and one Durango PD. The ambulance moves around the tractor trailer, and I pull my vehicle in on this side of the big rig. I’m already half out the door by the time it rolls to a stop. I take off on a run, rounding the trailer, my eyes already scanning the scene for Kerry’s Subaru. It’s not there. With the ambulance blocking part of my view, I move to the edge of the shoulder so I can look behind it, seeing only a group of officers and a big burly man in a baseball cap standing on the edge of the drop. One of them is shining a flashlight down the mountain.

My breath catches in my throat when I follow the path of the beam and catch the shimmer of metal. There, nearly thirty feet below, crumpled against an outcropping of rocks, are the mangled remains of Kerry’s car. A trickle of smoke curls up from under the distorted hood, but that is the only movement I can see.

“Gomez!”

My head snaps up at the sound of my name, and I see a familiar figure trotting my way.

“How did you...?”

“Scanner.” I answer his half-finished question, surprised I’m even able to utter that single word. My eyes wander back to the wreckage below.

“Hey, man,” Keith Blackfoot says, clapping his hand on my shoulder. “It could’ve been worse.”

Anger, hot and instant, burns under my skin as I swing around, my fist already flying at his face. His big hand is lightning fast and catches my wrist in midair.

“What the fuck, Damian? The hell is the matter with you? I thought you’d like to know she only has some scrapes and bruises,” he snarls. Confusion must’ve been clear on my face because he adds in a gentler voice, “The EMTs are checking her out, brother. She’s fine.”

I look over his shoulder and see two EMTs leading a small figure, wrapped in a blanket, from the back of a patrol car to the doors of the waiting ambulance. I quickly glance back at Keith, whose expression has gone from pissed off to bemused. “Sorry...I...”

“Go,” he chuckles. “Make her go to the hospital. She’s got a stubborn streak a mile long.”

With just a nod in response, I start jogging in the direction of the ambulance.

“Yo, Gomez!” I stop and turn when I hear Keith calling from behind me. “Keys!” he yells. Pulling the keys from my pocket, I toss them in his direction and he easily catches them in his fist, holding them up. “Keeping your six, brother.”

I start moving to the open doors of the ambulance, knowing Keith will make sure my ride will be taken care of. The man is a serious pain in my ass and more than once have I wanted to deck him, but in the end, he always has my back.

-

“WHY CAN’T YOU JUST slap a few Band-Aids on so I can go home? Aren’t there any real patients for you to worry about?”

I can hear Kerry’s voice before I even round the emergency vehicle. The woman is pissed and not afraid to let it be known, but I can hear a slight wobble in her voice, indicating the temper is more likely a coping mechanism than actual rage. My first visual of her confirms it: sitting on the stretcher with her hands clenching the blanket around her, those luminous gray eyes look wild, and her teeth are furiously chewing her bottom lip.

“Sir?” One of the EMTs stops me as I’m about to climb into the rig. “You can’t come in here.”

I pull my badge free and wave it in his face. “Where she goes, I go,” I growl, watching Kerry’s head spin around when she hears my voice.

“Damian?” My name comes out on a sob and with a last dirty look at the young EMT, daring him to hold me back, I climb in and sit down on the stretcher beside her.

“You know you don’t have to keep throwing yourself in front of cars to get me to come running,” I joke, watching her eyes go even wider as I lift my fingers to brush the stray hairs from her face. “A simple phone call will do the trick.” I pull her bottom lip from between her teeth. It’s bleeding and looks like it’s been mauled by a pack of rabid dogs. I gently rub it with my thumb to soothe the swelling, and she lets out a shuddering breath.

“I can’t,” she says, tears pooling in her eyes when I look at her, my eyebrow raised in question. “My phone is at the bottom of the mountain,” she sobs, falling forward and planting her face in the middle of my chest.

And that’s where she stays as the EMT quietly goes about inspecting her injuries. Then he carefully informs her the cut on the side of her head will not only need stitches but a scan to make sure she didn’t sustain more damage than can be seen on the outside. Kerry’s head shoots up, almost hitting me in the chin, and her first instinct is to refuse. This time I’m putting my foot down, though. I tell her it’s one thing for a woman to be strong enough to take care of herself, but it’s another thing to ignore medical advice just to prove a point. When she starts pulling away, I tighten my hold on her and tuck her head back to my chest.

“Gypsy, strength is knowing when the time is right to let someone else take care of you,” I whisper with my face pressed in her hair. Then I add, “Let me.”

I feel her resistance slowly draining from her body, and I help her lie back, kiss her forehead, and move to sit on the fold-out seat by her head, while the young paramedic straps her securely to the stretcher. When the doors are closed and the ambulance starts moving, she turns her head to me. “Are you coming?” she asks surprised.

“Yes, I am.”

“Why?” She seems genuinely confused, and it strikes me as funny and sad at the same time. I lean forward and reach for her hand, giving it a little squeeze.

“Because I’m taking care of you.”