Necessity

53

Gasping for oxygen she fumbles for the handle and gets the door open and tosses the revolver in and climbs into the Jeep. The baby is caterwauling at full decibels, flailing arms and legs.

I know. You feel exactly the same way I feel. Let me out of here! Right? Okay-okay. We’re going. Hang in there, kiddo.

She fastens the shoulder belt down across baby and all; snugs it tight; grips Ellen firmly and turns the key.

It starts right up. Thank heaven for small blessings. It’s still in dual drive low range where she left it so she doesn’t need to struggle with that.

She jams it into low gear and with one hand strong on the wheel points it off the road and holds the baby tight while the Jeep caroms off a stump and jounces toward the fence.

It would take an extra hand to shift gears. She leaves it in low and gingerly depresses her foot on the accelerator; braces her forearm across the steering wheel and clutches Ellen tight and she’s doing maybe ten or twelve miles an hour when the Jeep collides with the fence and stops short and damn near breaks her arm.

Jesus.

The engine has stalled. She can feel an ache in her neck. She lifts her arm off the wheel and works her fingers, makes a fist and then shakes the arm roughly with a wanton need to know.

Hurts like hell but everything works. Just bruised, evidently.

The baby wails. She strokes Ellen’s face and peers out through the windshield. The Jeep has bounced back a couple of feet from the point of impact and she can see the outline of its hood against the mesh of the fence. There’s the glitter of broken glass beyond the fence-pieces of headlight lenses.

Made a hell of a dent in that son of a bitch fence. One or two more and maybe it’ll give way.

At first she doesn’t recognize the sound; then because it’s quite faint she’s not sure whether she hears it or not. She opens the door and leans her head out into the open air and now she can hear it quite clearly: the drone of an airplane.

It grows steadily louder and she hears a change in its pitch. Descending now; throttling back.

Charlie. God bless him.

She shoves in the clutch and turns the key. The starter grinds.

Oh shit. Have I busted something in the engine?

Then it catches and roars. She backs her foot off the pedal and has a hard time ramming the gearshift into reverse. Backs up nearly to the road and that’s when, looking back, she sees the Bronco back there, engine whining high, bearing straight down on her.