The Panic Zone

19

Quiggly Ranch, Ram River Ridge, Wyoming

The Quiggly place was thirty miles outside of Big Cloud in the foothills of the Laramie Mountains.

In the late 1800s, Lance Quiggly drove his herd from Texas to establish his Five-Spur brand here after purchasing five hundred acres of grassy rangeland in the river valley. But each time the operation was passed to a succeeding generation, it was parceled and subdivided.

All that remained were forty acres where Emma Lane had come to search for answers. She turned down the dusty road to the ranch, praying the Quigglys would come to her aid again.

“Of course we’ll talk to you,” Mave Quiggly told her earlier when she’d called. “Anything we can do to help.”

Driving out, Emma sensed the purity of this place and the goodness of its people. When she reached the house, Mave stepped from the porch and greeted her with a hug.

“Come on in, I’ll put the kettle on.”

She took Emma to the sofa in the living room, which opened to the large kitchen, where Mave gazed out the window.

“The fellas saw you drive in, they’re coming up from the river now.”

As the older woman busied herself, she punctuated her tasks by checking on Emma’s well-being, patting her hand and shoulder.

“We went to the funeral service,” Mave said. “We sat at the back of the church.”

The kettle boiled and Emma struggled to hold herself together as Herb Quiggly and his teenaged son, Rolly, entered the kitchen from the rear door, telegraphing concern as they approached her.

“Herb Quiggly.” The elder man shook Emma’s hand. “This is our son, Rolly.”

Rolly’s acne-ravaged face was as still as a mountain lake as he nodded to Emma, his eyes lingering on her cuts and scrapes.

“You drove out here all by yourself, in your condition?” Herb asked.

“Hush now.” Mave set a tea set down. “Emma’s a strong young woman. She wants to talk to us and after all she’s been through, we’re going to listen.”

Emma slid both hands around her teacup to steady herself.

“I need to know what happened that day, what you saw. Did you see the second car?”

“No, we saw nothing at all. We told the deputy we’d been out to Three-Elk Point. Rolly and I wanted to look at a bull J. C. Fargo was selling.

“We were northbound on that stretch, not another vehicle in sight until we saw your SUV on its roof. Rolly said he thought they were making a movie, or something. Kevin Costner shot part of one of his films out here years back.”

Rolly nodded.

“But he didn’t think that for long,” Mave said. “We saw you there-saw your husband halfways out, saw the baby’s seat caught up in the twisted metal like it was in a steel web.”

“Did you see Tyler? Could you see him inside?”

“No,” Rolly said. “Just saw that baby seat in the mess, heard you and smelled the gas.”

“Could you hear Tyler crying?”

“I don’t recall-you were screaming pretty loud,” Rolly said.

“We had to get everyone out of there on account of the gas,” Herb said.

“But you didn’t actually see Tyler in his seat?”

Herb and Rolly shook their heads.

“It was twisted up in there,” Rolly said.

“And you saw no other cars in the area?”

“Nothing,” Herb said.

The Quigglys were patient with Emma as she continued pressing them. But as they recalled details for her, their voices faded until she heard only fragments.

“It happened fast…like a blast furnace…nobody could’ve survived…”

Their recounting of the aftermath had catapulted her back to those terrible moments on the highway.

Emma struggled with what the Quiggly family was telling her: There was no other car.

It can’t be true because if it is it means my baby burned to death. But I saw someone. I saw someone save him.

Didn’t I?

Emma’s hands shook.

“Careful, Emma, careful.” Mave rushed to her.

Hot tea had splashed over the cup’s rim, onto Emma’s hands and to the floor.

“I’m sorry.”

Mave hurried her to the kitchen sink and ran cold water gently over her wrists and hands. It was an act of kindness and as the water soothed her skin Emma felt something deep inside break apart. Mave Quiggly comforted her until she was calm again.

“Thank you,” Emma said. “I should be going.”

“Maybe we should take you home and have Rolly drive your car back?”

Emma shook her head then collected her purse.

“You sure, you’re okay?” Herb asked as they saw her to the door.

“I am convinced there was another car.”

Rolly was scratching the back of his head, a habit familiar to his parents when something was gnawing at him.

“What is it?” Herb asked.

“Well, I was just thinking.”

“Is it something Emma needs to hear?”

“Well-” Rolly continued rubbing the back of his head “-there was a car.”

Emma stared at him.

“I didn’t see any car,” Herb said.

“Rolly, don’t be talking this way if you’re not sure,” Mave said.

“There was a car in the area,” Rolly said.

“But, Rolly,” Emma said, “in the statement you gave to police, in all of your statements, no one saw a second car at the scene, or on the highway.”

“That’s just it,” Rolly said. “The deputy asked me if I saw any cars at the scene or on the highway, and I didn’t. But I saw this car just before we came to yours.”

“Where was this?” Mave asked him.

“At the junction. Mom, you had leaned over to look at the gas gauge and tell Dad how he shoulda stopped in Big Cloud. I just looked east and it was way out there. I couldn’t tell you the make. It could’ve been white. This car was way off by the T-stop near Fox Junction, way off kicking up dust on that dirt road. It was moving real fast.”

Less than an hour later at the Big Cloud County Sheriff’s Office, Reed Cobb’s head snapped up from the glossy pages of a hunting magazine. Some fool was spanking the hell out of that bell at the front counter. Cobb’s utility belt squeaked as he got up and went to straighten them out.

“Emma? What the-?”

“There was a second car,” she said.

“What?”

“There was a second car fleeing the crash! Rolly Quiggly saw it. I just came from the Quiggly ranch.”

“Hold on-”

“This means someone saved Tyler! My baby’s alive!”

Emma’s commotion drew other deputies and clerks to the counter.

“Emma, you should be home resting.” Cobb gave a little nod to the others.

“No! You should get your people out there looking for that damn car!”

“Emma, you’re upsetting yourself.” Cobb exchanged glances with the other staff members. “We’re going to get you home. John and Heather are going to make sure you get home safely.”

“No!”

“We can take of care your car later.”

The deputies, John Holcomb and Heather MacPhee, approached Emma. She knew them a little from school fund-raisers down at the Big Cloud fair grounds. Holcomb was a part-time rodeo clown who operated a dunk tank and MacPhee sold home-baked pies and tarts. Her apple pie was very good. The deputies each took one of Emma’s upper arms.

“No,” Emma said. “Stop! What are you doing?”

“Take it easy now, Emma.” Holcomb’s grip was firm.

“My baby’s alive! Help me find him!”

“Emma, you have to stop this kind of talk,” Cobb said. “It’s not doing you any good.”

“No!” Emma struggled. “Why are you doing this? Help me find my son!”