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.”