Rescue Me(40)

So much for her staying home to help Jess. Pete, the hero, had arrived and, judging by the laughter behind the phone call, Jess had clearly forgiven the jerk.

He didn’t care what Jess did. He just wanted to get them home, track down Sierra, and get to the bottom of why she didn’t want to spend time with him. Why they couldn’t seem to get their relationship off the ground.

It didn’t help that Willow’s inspirational talk had driven a knife into his gut. And now Sam had nearly gotten them killed. So much for Sierra’s assertion that the kids would be better off with him on this trip.

Sam’s vision began to adjust to the darkness. From what he could tell, the front windshield was still attached, although spider-webbed. The acrid odor of gas hung in the air, but he didn’t smell smoke, didn’t hear sparks.

“I’m going to unbuckle,” he said, letting go of Willow’s hand and reaching for his seat belt. He winced, leveraging his feet against the floorboard, glass crunching as he wrestled with the latch.

He forgot, however, to brace himself and nearly fell into Willow’s lap. He caught himself on the dashboard, his other hand clinging to the armrest.

Her hands came up to brace his chest. “I got ya,” she said, her voice shaky.

“I’m okay,” he said and carefully scooted down, stepping on her door, then moving so he crouched on her passenger side window. She lay crumpled against it, but he could barely make her out in the swath of dark shadow, night falling fast with the storm.

“I have a flashlight in my backpack,” she said. “Under my seat.”

He carefully moved his hand through the rubble and found the pack. He fumbled with it, then opened the zipper and reached inside. His hands closed on a small cylindrical object, and he pulled it out, found the rough edge of the Maglite and turned it on.

Light pieced the darkness, and Willow winced, averting her eyes.

“Sorry,” he said and flicked the light over her body, making a quick assessment.

She lay on her side, of course, her shoulder wedged hard into the door. She offered him a tentative smile, courage in her eyes.

“You’re cut,” he said, holding the light near, but not in, her face. He reached out to move her hair away from the wound just below her hairline. Broken glass was embedded in it, but he didn’t want to touch it, fearing digging the glass in deeper. The blood had matted her hair.

“The kids,” she said then and he nodded.

“Call out when I say your name!” He flashed the light into the back and called out their names, one by one.

Thin voices, shaky, a few hiccupping back sobs as they called back, but everyone was awake, albeit scared. He flashed the light on each one of them as they answered.

As a whole, they lay crumpled together, still buckled in their seats. Vi sat closest to him, her hands over her face, whimpering but otherwise okay. Maggy, next to her, had her arms wrapped around herself, her expression stricken.

Behind them, Gus and Quinn and Riley were trying to untangle themselves.

“Don’t unbuckle yet,” Sam said, glancing behind them to Zena, Josh, and Dawson in the last row. Zena, nearest the window, seemed dazed, with Dawson trying to push himself off her.

Blood ran from Josh’s nose. He pinched it, held his head back, moaning.

“Okay, everyone stay put.” Sam looked again at Willow. “I need to see how bad it is.”

Willow nodded but grabbed his sleeve. “Come back.”

He frowned at her request. “Of course.”

But she held on, so he gave her hand a little squeeze. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Then he stood up, put the flashlight in his teeth, and using her seat as leverage, pulled himself through the broken driver’s window.

The sleet and wind whistled outside the van, blinding him, and he nearly slid off down the roof.

He grabbed the mirror, clamping down hard on the flashlight to stifle a grunt, and scrabbled back to the side of the van.

His heart jammed into his throat as he cast his light around.

They’d come within two feet of careening off a cliff. Save for the shaggy arms of a white pine which, to his quick survey, had saved their lives, they would have slid all the way down the side of the mountain and into a black abyss. Now, the van lay in the embrace of the tree, its nose jutted out into thin air.

How long the tree could hold them, he couldn’t guess. He couldn’t see anything beyond the precipice, the cloud cover obscuring any moonlight.

Working his way over the slick body of the van, he slid toward safety into the bushy grasp of the tree.

The tree cracked, and he froze, his heart in his ribs. The van didn’t budge.

He shined the light on the trunk of the tree.