Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [49]
How many times had she experienced pure life-ordeath panic in her eleven years? None, probably, which was why she didn’t know what to do but panic and freeze. Yet, she knew not to jump out of the cab and chance getting run over by those enormous back tires. I’d never catch her, but if she’d just slow down her momentum . . .
I yelled, “Drop the bucket.”
Come on, come on, come on, think, Britt. 167
I screamed, “Drop the bucket. Drop the bucket. Drop the bucket!” each time progressively louder, as if she could hear me.
Maybe she did. Screech clank echoed and the bucket slammed to the earth. Instead of relief, I stared in horror as the wheels on the left side lifted from the uneven ground and the tractor listed to the right. This was an older model, not one of those new high-tech self-leveling types. Immediately Brittney jerked the steering wheel to the left to correct the imbalance, except she overcorrected. Even as the tractor slowed, it clipped the corner of the haystack. Hay toppled over. The bucket’s steel blade dug into the snow and dirt with a drawn-out screech. After demolishing the corner fence posts, the tractor came to a stop on an incline above the deep ditch. The engine sputtered and died. I’d heard that bleak sound before and it hadn’t ended well. I half-slid/half-ran down the embankment.
“Brittney!”
No answer.
“Hang on. I’m almost there.”
The cab door was wide open. I looked around frantically, seeing nothing but mounds of snow. I’d taken a step back when a glimpse of dark blue entered my peripheral vision. I spun toward it.
My stomach plummeted.
Legs stuck up out of the snow twenty feet ahead of me.
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No, no, please, no.
With each plodding footstep my vision blurred from intense concentration in such stark surroundings. Upon reaching the half-hidden form I clenched my hands into fists, realizing my hands burned because I wasn’t wearing gloves. I would’ve frozen in shock at the sight in front of me, if I hadn’t already been so goddamn cold. I’d found a body.
But it wasn’t Brittney’s.
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If this wasn’t Brittney, where was she?
I backtracked until I reached the open tractor door. “Brittney? You all right?”
No response.
Crap. I inched closer and stood on tiptoe to peer inside.
Brittney was buckled in the seat, motionless as a rag doll. She was unconscious; her chin nearly touched her chest and her arms dangled at her sides like sandbags. The bucket blade wasn’t firmly imbedded in the ground. I didn’t know how smart it’d be to crawl into the cab to check her injuries. I doubted my weight would tip the heavy tractor forward, but I couldn’t justify the risk. I’d leave her be. For now. But we needed help. Fast. With temps only near ten degrees, before long hypothermia would be a real danger. 170
Already my hands weren’t working well. I
squeezed a tight fist and opened them wide like a starfish several times to get the blood flowing. When I felt tingles, I slid my hand into my pocket for my cell phone. I curled my fingers around it as I carefully pulled it out. If I dropped it in this deep snow, chances were good it’d be lost until the spring thaw. I clutched the phone in my left palm and poked the buttons with my stiff right index finger. Using both hands, I held the cold metal to my ear.
“Bear Butte County Sheriff ’s Office.”
“Missy? This is Julie Collins. I’m at my dad’s ranch, and there’s been an accident.” I described the situation.
“Where exactly are you on the ranch?”
“Ah. I’m at the intersection where County Road 12 meets Dry Creek Road. That’s the easiest access point.”
“I’ve dispatched an ambulance and Search and Rescue. Sit tight, okay, hon?”
“Okay. There is one other thing. The tractor uncovered another body. A frozen one.”
“Could you please repeat that?”
I did with as much detail as I knew, which wasn’t a lot.
Missy said, “I’ll let the sheriff know. Keep your phone handy.