AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Her headlight beams barely seemed to make a difference—twin jet streams of diminishing illumination that seemed only to find snow, snow, and more snow. Finally, she spied the edge of the dirt road—now snowed over—a road that would avail her a shoulder to pull onto, away from the massive ditches on either side. Carefully, she turned the steering wheel, touching the brakes lightly, avoiding any chance of skidding.
“C’mon,” she whispered.
The beginning of another contraction. Savvy desperately tried to turn off first. Her rear end fishtailed. Her Escape swung around to the right too quickly. Suddenly she was spinning 360 degrees, agonizingly slowly. She clenched the wheel, took her foot off the brake, bore down on the contraction, and screamed for all she was worth, the sound deafening in the car. Her headlights swung over the ground, but she didn’t stop. The Escape kept on turning and turning, out of control. She realized there was a sheet of ice beneath the snow, laid down from the rain that had spit from the sky first.
Swearing in short, staccato monosyllables, she gently tried to reverse the spin. Her heart thundered in her ears. No studs. No grip. “Come on.... Come on. . . .” But it was no use. In a slow-motion glide the Escape slid off the road, missed the turnout, and slipped into the ditch, nose first, clattering and banging onto its side.
Savvy sat sideways in the vehicle, hung in place by her seat belt. Unhurt, but little tremors of fear were running through her. Okay. Okay. She was okay. She was okay. The slide had happened slowly enough that the air bags weren’t triggered.
Then she felt the gush of warmth between her legs.
“Oh . . . shit.”
Panic wasn’t far off now. With an effort, she tamped down her fears. She’d been trained to keep a cool head, but she was playing a losing game with so many strikes against her.
She would try the cell phone again. Maybe there was reception. Maybe. Hopefully. God, hopefully . . .
She’d put the cell back in her messenger bag, which had been on the passenger seat. Now the bag was lying against the passenger door. She tried to reach for it, but her arms weren’t long enough, and she could only wave at it like a trapped animal due to her seat belt restraints. She immediately tried to find the release mechanism for the seat belt, but the pressure of her own weight made it difficult to release. “Damn!” She wanted to shriek and flail and cry.
Her fingers pressed hard on the release. She gritted her teeth. She pressed and pressed and pressed, then yanked on the belt itself, then shifted and pressed again. Suddenly, her seat belt snapped open, and she half fell downward into the passenger seat, her legs tangled in the driver’s footwell.
Her fingers found her messenger bag. Hallelujah! Her breath came in trembling gasps. Her pulse slammed in her ears. Relax. Relax. Relax. Fingers scrabbling beneath the bag’s front flap, she searched blindly for her cell.
Please . . . oh, God, please . . .
She could just touch the case, couldn’t get a grip. Sweat slipped down the side of her nose.
“Goddamnit!” she yelled.
A fingernail slid across the molded plastic. She tried to scooch closer, and she felt the beginnings of the wave. How many minutes in between? How many? Three? Two? One?
No.
Calm. Calm. Stay calm. The contraction overcame her, sending her into the fetal position, as much as she could manage. She counted in her head. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Missi . . .
“Oh, for God’s sake!” she yelped.
Slowly, slowly, the contraction ebbed, and as she lay sprawled across the front seats, she listened to her own breathing for several seconds before reaching forward again. She probed with her index finger and worked it around the phone. Her middle finger came next, carefully, and when two fingers surrounded the casing, her thumb came in for the grab. Precarious but caught. She momentarily reveled in victory.
With the patience of a saint, she worked the cell out and let out a sob when it was fully in her hand. Yanking it to her, she quickly pressed the power-on button, slid to unlock, and called up the keypad. Nine-one-one. Then the TCSD. Yes, they would give her hell for her predicament, but that was the least of her worries. She’d be lucky to . . . The phone started singing, and she nearly dropped it.
“Damn! Son of a . . . Hello?”
“Savannah! Where are you? Tell me you’re over the summit. They’re closing roads, and I don’t know what the hell that means, but nothing good.” Hale sounded half frantic. “God. Where are you?”
“I’m . . . over the summit.”
“Good. How far? What the hell are the roads like?” He drew a breath.
“What about Kristina?” she demanded.
“She’s in surgery.”
“Okay. Good. That’s good?”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s good, as far as I know. They’re doing everything they can. When will you be here?”
“Not sure. I’m, um, having some difficulties. I hit some ice and the Escape . . .”
