Chapter 3: Narrow Road

No one actually wants to get out for a better look. Their reluctance to investigate is understandable, because the size of the lump is dauntingly familiar. Their chief concern, in everyones mind, isn’t WHAT did they run over, but very likely, whom?

“I have to check on who we ran over. Maybe, they’re just hurt. If that’s so, I hope it’s not bad hurt. Rest of you, wait here. None? Take the wheel. Close and lock the doors. They may not be alone. I have a bad feeling, it’s not safe here, now.”

Slim eases out of the truck, taking with him, a tire thumper from beneath the front seat.

“Please, be careful, Slim!” Slim smiles reassuringly at Stephanie. Smooches her.

“Of course I will, Sweetheart. Always, you may count on my being careful.”

Watching in the side rear-view mirrors, everyone is antsy as Slim approaches the victim. Kneeling, he fumbles with the bundle of rags a moment then looks up, in their direction. Waving for them to back up to him, he carefully, gingerly, gathers the bundle into his arms, and stands. None stops the truck several feet away. Slim carries the victim the final yard, and climbs in with them into the cramped, shallow bed of the truck, built above the massive battery bank. Large tool boxes run along both sides further reducing bed space, which is already full of spools of wire and other electrician supplies, anyway. Several minutes are devoted to regulating sufficient space for them both, sandwiched in between and among the hardware contents.

“Okay, None. Destination change. We’re heading for the Ranger station at Yellowstone. If I pound on the cab or tool boxes, stop the truck. I’ll ride back here with her. Somebody pass me back a pillow and a blanket and a water bottle.”

“How bad is, it’s a she? Is she hurt bad? How fast should I drive?” Stephanie has a cool head for someone her age. And a jealous heart. Slim replies.

“She’s in shock. It’s life-threatening. I need to keep her warm, maybe she’ll need mouth to mouth. I intend to keep her alive, but she’s terribly injured. It’s up to you, None. Drive as fast as you’re comfortable with. It’s urgent, her life is at stake.”

Up to her? If it were really up to her call, Slim wouldn’t be riding in the back hugging some strange female! After they rolled only a few miles, Slim pounded as he forewarned he would, and redirected None to turn north, onto a narrow ill-maintained country back road. Completely different kind of driving than on the wide smooth major highway. Stephanie’s confidence nearly vanishes. She tells herself she will not be intimidated by some dumb inanimate pavement. She is in control, queen of the road. She won’t be intimidated by a dumb bimbo either.

Ann sits beside Stephanie, playing with a small steerable searchlight mounted between the front seats, on the cab-roof’s centerline, and controllable from either seat. Stephanie would prefer Ann light up whatever obstacles may await in the obscurity of the road ahead. She insists her reason for requesting Ann sit up front, is to assist her, by focusing the searchlight out beyond the headlights range. The shadowy road rushes too quick towards her to really assimilate what she sees before it’s passed history. Hazy misshapen horrors thicken into real roadside fixtures, and zoom at them out of the darkness. Ann demonstrates her majority preference by ignoring that young twit Stephanie, and just who does she think she is, imagines she can order her around, herself a grown woman? Huffy, she stubbornly concentrates on reducing road lining monsters with the searchlight morphing them into identifiable ordinary non-terrifying objects. The already warm night isn’t improved by their provoking in each other, overheated emotions, in a bitter clash of wills. Stephanie wishes she had a swimming-pool noodle handy to whack Ann with. An appropriate backhand swat across Ann’s lipstick caked ugly mouth, would be soul satisfying!

Ever so slowly, Stephanie increases speed. As she grows accustomed and confident, she tries adding a bit more. Furtive quick glances at the GPS dash map stimulates her increase in courage. She reads velocity and ETA. As velocity minutely increments, ETA minutely diminishes. Too many hours remain before predicted arrival. More speed is the only solution. She risks more. At fifty miles per hour, eighty kilometers an hour, Stephanie’ skill, nerves, and courage reach equilibrium. Her nerves are too taut to accept any more courageous imposition. At higher speed, she tends to oversteer and the truck fishtail, Fifty mph is the competence limit of her recently acquired skills. New ETA, six hours to Yellowstone. Stephanie hopes it’s soon enough.

Cappy and Susan are the only happy persons aboard. Susan has already forgotten the sharp penetrating pain that made her scream when they fell on the floor, at the time of the accident. Cappy is happy, things are progressing so well, and ahead of schedule. He’s happy with himself, his reflexes, his ability to opportunistically exploit a situation. It was a fortunate accident for him. Right now, he’s attempting to create his own luck, by tickling the shit out of cooperative Susan. Tickle, tickle! Susan is laughing hysterically. He should let up, normally he would, but not this time. TICKLE HER BEYOND ENDURANCE IS HIS PLAN.

“Susan! You’re supposed to tell mommy when you need to poopoo!” Ann hurriedly rolls down her side window. Stephanie wishes she could slow down enough to roll hers down too. She doesn’t dare. A life hangs in the balance. Having to breath baby poop smell is not an overriding concern. The funk is breathable, barely, eye watering and gag inducing maybe, but not choking. Soldier on. Ann’s window is ventilating the truck. Removing funk and accumulated heat. Fifty miles an hour creates a swirling wind storm inside the cab, necessitating closing the windows. Everybody is hot and sweaty as a result. The breeze through the opened window feels delicious. The funk is rapidly dissipating and nearly eliminated.

“Stop the truck, I need to get out and tend to Susan.” Ann orders. Stephanie grins delighted for an opportunity for revenge. Speeds up slightly, but quickly backs off the throttle, decelerates out of the rear-wheel-drive fishtail, then easy accelerating back up, resumes fifty mph again.