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She looked for Alonzo’s phone but couldn’t see it. Theo’s was in the holder on the left side of his steering wheel. Or it had been. She would have to lift up, get her knee in the seat, and grab onto something while she looked over the airbag on his side. The whole time, she’d have to pray his phone hadn’t been shattered to smithereens in the crash.
Easier to find hers.
Where had it been before the crash?
She jabbed at the seatbelt button, her finger flashing with pain. When it finally released, the seatbelt whipped across her, but Kenna managed to untangle her arm. She wasn’t hurt. At least not apart from the general battering and going unconscious again, which wasn’t good.
She needed to get help on the scene to take care of these two men.
Ambulance. Life Flight again, like with the K-9 handler.
Kenna pushed out a breath and bent forward. No phone. Where was it? She sat back.
Light flashed from her right.
She twisted to the window. Stan Tilley stood there with a phone, the camera light on. It flashed several times in a row. He was taking pictures of her? Kenna grabbed for her pistol and tugged it free of the holster. It fell on her lap, but she got it back in her hands. Safety off. She opened the door with her left hand across her body and kicked it wide.
Help. Please.She could use some holy wisdom right now.
Kenna clambered to her feet. Everything spun, but she fought back the wave of dizziness and grabbed the top of the doorframe to stand. Gun up. “Taking pictures?” Her voice was stronger now, but she could use even more than that. “Did you hit us?”
Stan Tilley took a couple more pictures, then lowered the phone.
“Give me that phone, and go.”
He chuckled. “You think you can aim and actually hit me?”
Kenna lifted her hand from the doorframe to give herself a two-handed grip on the gun. Everything rotated. She leaned back without realizing it and slammed against the rear passenger door. That would help her keep upright, as long as her legs didn’t give out.
Stan came over, stomping. He was at least six inches shorter than her, wearing a lined jacket over jeans. Boots. Bushy gray beard and a beanie. His nose was red from the cold.
Why wasn’t Kenna feeling the cold?
She gripped the gun. He came almost close enough she could’ve touched the barrel to his shirt. She blinked. His hand connected with the gun, and she lost her grip on it, crying out.
He slapped it out of her hand. It fell to the ground.
Kenna tried to grab him and toppled over, landing on her hands and knees. Stan swiped the gun off the ground and threw it toward the trees. As if that left her without a weapon?
“Don’t.” He stood over her, but too far away for her to do anything. “That’s not what this is about.”
She backed up and leaned against the rear door. “If the Walker wants to talk to me, he can come here himself.”
Stan’s beard shifted as he moved his mouth. “Nah, this is fun.”
“Friend of yours?”
“More like a business associate with mutual interests.”
Kenna said, “He’s a serial killer.” She took them down, and anyone who was an accessory to their actions. Didn’t he know that meant him? “And you’re his accomplice.”
And yet, right now there was nothing she could do about it. She didn’t have the physical strength to take him down. Not even her will could overcome the fog in her mind and the lack of strength in her arms. She needed to protect Theo and Alonzo from him and get them to the hospital.
“Just go.” But maybe leave the phone.
Or she needed to find hers on the floor where she’d been sitting.
Determination could get her to a result. God could use her consciousness to direct her to the solution of how she was going to get help here. Or He had it already in the works.