Page 100 of Cold, Cold Bones
“Stay in your vehicle.”
I followed that directive for about ten minutes, ears straining for the wail of sirens. Mind conjuring images of a girl bleeding out on wet concrete.
Adrenaline rushing to every cell in my body, I shifted into gear and crept forward. I’d gone maybe twenty yards when, to my shock, the Mazda’s engine chugged, chugged again, then stalled.
Crap!
I pushed the starter. No response. I tried repeatedly. The damn car was dead.
Stay calm. Cops are on the way.
Trying to save my battery, I killed the headlights and wipers and leaned back to wait.
The car’s interior slowly cooled. The outside world turned a blurry black peppered with fuzzy pink splotches.
My inside world went cinematic.
I saw blood. Mangled limbs. Skin white as bleached bone.
Screw it.
Throwing the door wide, I stepped out into the rain.
I’d gotten as far as the front bumper when the back of my head exploded.
Stars danced in my vision.
Then nothing.
I felt roughness beneath my cheek.
Heard people talking.
I raised my lids.
Saw a blinding white light.
I crooked an elbow to shield my eyes, tried pushing myself up with the other hand. Was restrained by a firm pressure on my back.
“Are you armed?” Deep voice.
What was he asking? My limbs were fine.
“Are you carrying a weapon?”
I shook my head. Pain slashed through every lobe of my brain.
“Are you drunk, ma’am?” A different voice, softer.
“What?”
“Have you been drinking?”
“No.”
“I don’t smell alcohol on her.” Soft voice.
“I’m going to release you, ma’am.” Deep voice. “Move slowly.”
