A car drove down the road to the south, going too fast. After it passed, crickets filled up the quiet. A while later, another car came down the road, scattering gravel. I was just about asleep when a squealing thud jerked me wide awake. I sat up and Wavy woke up with a whimper, clutching at me.
The car engine clunked and died.
“Somebody just wrecked up on the road. I’m gonna walk over and check it out,” I said.
I wanted Wavy to stay there, but when I pulled on my boots, she did the same. We struck out across the meadow toward the road and, when we came over the rise, I could see headlights off to the southwest. The road curved there, with a fork to the north for a service road to the stock tank and windmill. There was a cattle guard across the ditch between iron gate posts. Car musta took the curve too fast.
When Wavy broke into a run, I knew she’d figured it out, same as me. Two cars driving away from the farmhouse in the middle of the night? One was probably Val.
Cutting through the hay, Wavy left me behind. When I got to the ditch, the passenger side headlight blinded me, skewing up at the wrong angle. I tripped over something and landed hard, gravel digging into my elbow. I hauled myself back up and ran like I hadn’t since I played football in high school.
One of the gate posts had cut through the car’s hood, ruptured the radiator, and rammed the engine right into the front seat. There was antifreeze and gas pouring onto the road, turning it to mud. The driver’s side was down into the ditch, and with the engine in the way, I couldn’t see any way to get to Val. She was pinned behind the wheel and covered in blood. Dead for all I knew. For all I cared really, except I didn’t want Wavy to see that.
Wavy jerked open the rear passenger door, getting ready to crawl into the backseat before I caught her. She tried to pry my hand off her arm, so I grabbed her around the waist and tossed her over my shoulder. Even with her kicking and pounding on me, I didn’t dare let go of her.
Headed down the road toward the ranch, with the headlights at my back, I saw what I’d tripped over coming out of the meadow. Donal, laying face down in the ditch. I set Wavy down, but when she saw her brother, she went crazy trying to get to him, so I had to drag her back.
“Don’t, Wavy, don’t! You can’t move him. You can’t.”
She dug her nails into my arm where I had her around the waist, but she stopped fighting.
“If he’s hurt, his back or his neck, you can’t move him, okay? Promise?”
She nodded and when I let go of her, she crawled to Donal and touched his hand. I woulda checked for a pulse, but it didn’t matter. If Donal was alive, we needed to get help. If Donal was dead, we needed to get help.
“You’re faster than me, Wavy. You gotta run and get help.”
She stood up and looked west down the road, then east. Trying to decide which was closer.
“Go down to the ranch and tell them what happened. Run as fast as you can,” I said. I wanted that to be the right thing.
She ran west, toward the farmhouse.
She was gonna call 911.
The day I wrecked, I sent her to call Liam, because you don’t call 911 if you wreck your bike a mile from a four-thousand-square-foot metal barn full of meth-making equipment. But when your little brother’s lying in a ditch, maybe with a broken neck, things like that don’t matter.
I got down on my hands and knees in the road next to Donal. I put my ear as close to his cheek as I could and held my breath. So soft I almost couldn’t hear it over the wind in the hay, Donal breathed in and out. In and out. Whatever happened, Wavy made the right choice.
11
DEE
“Thank God we weren’t cooking tonight,” Dee said. The cops had been less than a mile from the barn. If Butch had been cooking, the cops would have smelled it, but they didn’t. And nobody got killed. The cops said getting thrown out of the car probably saved Donal’s life. All he ended up with was a concussion and a broken arm. If he’d had on his seatbelt, the engine would have crushed him.
The other good thing was that when the ambulance came, the only person the cops talked to was Kellen. He kept them away from the trailers.
Liam freaked out anyway. Of course, he loved Val—she was his wife—but listening to him cry and carry on pissed Dee off.
“She’ll be fine,” Dee said as they drove to the hospital in Garringer. She’d smoked too much crystal trying to get herself jump-started. So had Liam, because he couldn’t stop talking.
“This whole deal is my fault. If I were living at the farmhouse, taking care of her like I promised, this wouldn’t have happened. I’ve gotta fix this. I’ve gotta make this right.”
“It’s gonna be okay, baby.” Dee kept saying that, because if something got fixed, it might fix her out of the picture.
At the hospital, there wasn’t enough crank in the world to make Val look okay. They glimpsed her through a window, lying in a bed with tubes running in and out.
“I’m her husband,” Liam said, so they let him into the room for a minute.
Dee got in with a lie: “I’m her sister.”