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“Nola, honey, that’s great. We’ll find out all the details soon enough, but right now, you’re the one I’m worried about.”
When the ambulance took a sharp turn to the left, she moaned as the gurney shifted with it.
“My chest hurts…hard to breathe.”
“We did CPR.”
Her eyes widened as his meaning sank in.
“Was I dead? I didn’t see any light. I didn’t see Mama anywhere.”
“That’s because it wasn’t your time to go. Just relax, Nola. Listen, the siren’s winding down. We must be there.”
When the ambulance stopped and the doors flew open, they rolled her out so fast Tate had to run to catch up.
Doctor Tuttle was on duty when they came in, and he was visibly shaken to see that the patient was Nola. The paramedics briefed the staff and then left her to them.
“Tate! What on earth! They just said drowning patient,” the doctor said as Tate followed them into the examining room.
“It’s a long story, Doc, but she was in the river, and when we pulled her out, she wasn’t breathing.”
“Nola, can you hear me? Can you tell me where you hurt?” Tuttle asked.
She opened her eyes. “Arm hurts. Chest hurts. Hurts to breathe.”
“Those stitches will have to be redone,” Tuttle said as he eyed the ripped flesh of her arm, and then he began issuing orders to the staff. “Clean up this wound, and be thorough. She was in the floodwater. Prepare for stitches. I want a picture of her lungs. Get a portable x-ray here, STAT.”
Nola closed her eyes. There was too much going on to deal with, and all she wanted to do was sleep. But the moment she closed her eyes, they popped open again.
“Tate? Where’s Tate?”
“I’m here,” he said, and patted her foot beneath the sheet. “Just lie still. You’re going to be fine.”
Someone was swabbing her arm, bringing fresh tears to her eyes, and her voice was thready when she asked, “Will you be here when I wake up?”
“Always.”
She was beginning to shake. “I’m cold,” she mumbled.
Doc Tuttle brushed a hand across her forehead.
“She’s going into shock. Start an IV.”
It was the last thing she heard as she realized Tate was there. It was safe to give up control.
* * *
Hershel found the truck after dark just by walking along the shore until he saw the dark hood gleaming in the moonlight.
The pain was his only companion, because Louise had been silent ever since she’d told him how to find the truck, and he was wondering if it was possible for her to die twice. She never had been as strong as he was, but he’d stayed with her through their ordeal, right to the bitter end and beyond. The only reason he could think of to explain why she would abandon him in his hour of need was if she had died again.
When he finally crawled into the cab and reached for the key, his heart nearly stopped. It wasn’t in the ignition. Then he remembered putting it in his pocket and wondered if, by some miracle, it was still there. He patted his pocket, and when he felt the bulge of keys beneath his fingers, he started sobbing with relief.
The truck started, but at first he didn’t hear it. It was only after he felt the vibration and put it in gear that he knew it was running. He didn’t know whether it was a temporary thing from the explosion, or if he’d truly lost his hearing, but it scared him. He turned the radio up as loud as it would go just to reassure himself he wasn’t deaf, and drove out of the cove and back onto the old blacktop, then headed east, putting as much distance between him and Queens Crossing as he could manage.
When he saw a highway sign indicating a road that would take him in to Jackson, Mississippi, he took it. His whole body was shaking, and he couldn’t focus on one thing long enough to have a complete thought. His only plan was to drive until he found a city, then a hospital. They took in indigents without IDs and good sense. He knew how to blend in. He’d been crazy after Louise died, but he knew how to act. He knew what they looked for.
* * *