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Thank God. He’s alive. I have to help him. I have to. Please, Sam, don’t die.
Quickly she grabbed her cell phone to call 9-1-1.
No service. Goddamnit! She threw the phone into the road. Then, realizing she’d need the phone, she ran into the road and retrieved it.
Thank God it was still working. Now what? Now what? Now what?
She had to get help. Had to help Sam.
She touched his bloody cheek. “Sam? Sam, can you hear me?”
His lips twitched.
“It’s Sydney, Sam.”
More twitching, a soft grunt.
“Can you hear me?”
“Sssss.”
Yes! He was trying to reach her. She knew it.
“Sam, listen to me. I’m going to get help. I promise you.”
“Sydee,” he whispered.
“I’m going to take care of you. I have to leave to get help. My cell phone doesn’t have any service. But I will get you to a hospital. I promise. Hold onto that. Please.”
“Ssss.”
“I love you, Sam O’Donovan, and I promise you, I’m not going to let you die.”
She summone
d all the strength and courage within her. Leaving him felt all wrong, but she had to.
“I love you,” she said again. A tear dropped onto his cheek. Oh no! It probably stung him.
She eased backward, leaving him as still as possible. Then she raced to her car and gunned the engine. She kept going on the route to Denver, checking her cell every thirty seconds for service. When she finally got one bar, she quickly typed in 9-1-1.
Damnit! The call didn’t go through.
She tried again.
“9-1-1,” the operator said.
“Yes, hello,” she said breathlessly. “There’s a man on Route 5, about twenty miles outside Bakersville in route to Denver. His car went into a ditch. He’s hurt badly. He needs help now!”
“Can you describe the vehicle, ma’am?”
“A white sedan. Might be a Honda. Shit, I don’t know. Just get out there!”
“Your name, ma’am?”
“Sydney Buchanan. The man’s name is Sam O’Donovan. Please! Now!”
“We’ll send an ambulance.”
