Fallout (77 page)

WE STOP AT A DINER

In Bishop. Splurge on a meat loaf

dinner, the Christmas Eve special.

That’s a little weird, I guess, but

hey. Special is special. And cheap,

too. I eat every bite, mop the gravy

from the plate with the last crumbs

of a big homemade biscuit. Good

thing the place is semi-empty.

I probably look like exactly what

I am—a homeless person

who hasn’t eaten much in a week.

The waitress comes over to check

on us. She smiles.
Hungry, eh?

Can I get you another biscuit?

Then, to Kyle,
Don’t like meat loaf?

I hadn’t even noticed that he’s sort

of just picking at his.
It’s fine. Guess

I’m feeling a little under the weather.

He looks it too. Parchment pale

and a bit shaky.
She’ll have a biscuit.

I WAIT FOR THE WAITRESS TO GO

“You okay? It would be better

if you could eat something.

You’re running on empty.”

I know. I’ll try. It’s just the last

of the shit in my system making

me queasy.
He does force down

a few bites while I polish off

the butter-slathered biscuit Jeanine

returns with. “A good night’s sleep

in a big ol’ bed will make you

feel better,” I predict. “Tomorrow

is Christmas. Our first one together.”

The thought seems to brighten

his mood.
Our first, but definitely

not our last. And look …
He points

toward the window.
It’s going to

be a white Christmas. My first

one of those, too.
Outside, wisps

of snow have begun to fall. “Maybe

we’d better get going. It would

be good to get there before dark.”

THE LIGHT IS DUSKISH

By the time we’re on the road. It’s not

all that late in the day yet, but the peaks

to the west are tall, and as the sun dips

below them, its failing light is swallowed

up by hastening snowfall. Glad Mammoth

isn’t too far. The food Kyle managed

to get down seems to have helped

his system recover some. His color

is better, his energy level higher.

Hurray for meat loaf and biscuits!

As we start up the highway, the snow

begins to come down harder. It’s sticking on

the pavement, and once the temps

fall nighttime cold, it’s going to be icy.

“Hope you’ve got tread on your tires.”

Just got new rubber six months ago
,

he says.
And the truck has four wheel

drive. Think I’ll go ahead and put it into

four-by now, in fact.
It’s a simple turn

of a knob, and the obvious traction

boost makes me feel slightly less

uneasy. We start up a long grade,

making deep tracks in the road slush.

And still the snow keeps falling.

Giant flakes, plummeting from the sky.

Holy crap! Check out this dumb-ass.

The words are barely out of Kyle’s

mouth when a black Hummer goes

barreling by.
Hope the jerk doesn’t

have to stop fast. He’ll be toast.

Intuition, or maybe subconsciously

willing the universe to make it happen,

the Hummer’s brake lights flash,

and suddenly it is perpendicular

to us and drifting sideways, right into

our lane.
Fuck, fuck, fuck
, says Kyle,

hitting his own brakes and whipping

the wheel to keep from broadsiding

the bigger vehicle. No. This isn’t

happening. Everything seems to go

slow motion. Turning sideways

ourselves. Floating on snow toward

the Hummer. Toward the shoulder.

“Kyle!” I scream as we go face-first

off the highway. Over the side.

Gigantic bump. My head snaps

forward. Back. Someone praying.

Kyle? Falling. Somersaulting.

Can a truck turn somersaults?

Finally, no motion at all. And silence.

STUNNED

It takes a few minutes to understand

I am okay, despite hanging at an odd

angle by the shoulder harness that

doubtless saved my life. Kyle is beneath

me, against the window. “Kyle? Kyle!”

He doesn’t answer. But I can hear

him breathing. Okay. What now? If

I unfasten my seat belt, I might fall on him.

But I can’t just stay here, dangling.

“Help,” I call uselessly. My voice is thin,

and there’s no one to hear, anyway.

I test my body. Legs, okay. Arms?

Okay, I think. A little pain where

the harness caught hold of my collarbone,

but overall I got lucky. Please, God,

let Kyle be lucky too. I have to try

and help him, so I chance letting

myself out of the seat belt. With my arm

still looped through the shoulder

harness, I manage to let myself down

without falling on Kyle. Now that

I’m loose, I can assess our situation.

Not good. The truck is resting on

the driver’s side, nose against a big pine.

I can’t get out that way, and to

exit the passenger door, I’d have

to push it up, over my head, which

would be hard enough without

figuring in the fact that the rollover

smashed it. Maybe the window?

As I work through the logistics,

I hear voices somewhere. “Help!”

I try again. But it becomes obvious

they’re already coming nearer. I lift

my hands so they know someone’s

here.
Hang on! We’re coming.

I manage to get the window

open. Strong arms reach down

through it, lift me out.
Are you okay?

says the man, who I refuse to let go

of. Just want him to hold me.

Let me cry into his chest. “Help

him,” I stutter. “Please, get him out.”

And please get him out alive.

IT IS COMPLETELY DARK

By the time I see Kyle again.

I am sitting in the warm backseat

of a highway patrol cruiser when

they carry him up over the lip of

the highway. I jump out of the car,

run toward the stretcher. “Kyle!”

A cop stops me.
Let the paramedics

do their job. His arm is broken, maybe

his collarbone, too. And he’s got one

giant knot on his noggin. But it looks

like he’ll be just fine. The truck

is definitely not so lucky.

We watch two tall uniforms load

Kyle into an ambulance. Then the cop—

Officer Strohmeyer—opens the passenger

door for me.
Might as well sit up front.

He comes around, slips beneath

the steering wheel.
Gonna take

a while to pull the truck out of there.

We’ll tow it to Bishop. The question

is, who’s missing you right now?