Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [51]
Didn’t take long for the experienced crews to get Brittney out of the tractor. Knocked cold from the impact, she sported a goose egg smack-dab in the middle of her forehead.
Protocol demanded a trip to the hospital for routine tests. Since she was a minor and I wasn’t her legal guardian, and she didn’t require acute care at this point, the consensus was to wait until her parents arrived. Brittney regained consciousness just as Trish and my dad pulled up. I hid off to the side, watching, scared, waiting, a part of it yet not.
The crowd surrounding the ambulance parted.
Trish crawled into the back of the vehicle and my father stood there, lost. Displaced. Haggard. Dad saw me. When he rushed up the embankment 175
I braced myself for his verbal onslaught. A punch in the stomach wouldn’t have shocked me.
But his full body hug did.
He whispered, “Thank you.” Then he released me quickly, spoke to Don, and climbed into his truck to follow the red and blue lights back into town. I might’ve stood in the ditch forever in utter shock if Sheriff Richards hadn’t pulled me aside.
“Collins?”
I blinked, expecting the surreal scene would vanish and I’d wake up. Nope. The sheriff loomed over me in his woolly coat like a big brown bear.
“You need medical attention?”
“No. Why?”
“You look a little dazed.”
“I am. Cold, too. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had and it’s not even four o’clock.”
He frowned. “Nothing surprises me when it comes to you, Collins. You wanna give me a rundown?”
I did. Starting with finding Vernon Sloane. His eyes stayed flat and emotionless until I came to the part about Brittney. My stupid voice hitched and he put his hand on my arm.
“She’s lucky. Doan know what gets into people—not just kids. Third time in as many months something like this has happened. Two of those didn’t turn out so good.”
“I’ve sort of been out of it. What’s gone on?”
“Remember Darvin Pearson? Ornery old rancher, 176
calls the office and complains ’bout Atberry’s bulls getting out all the time? Well, he tipped over his tractor, fell into Old Woman Creek, and froze to death in his pasture walking back home.”
“No.”
“Yeah. Chris Greywolf used his ATV to pull his buddies on inner tubes. Lost control and ran himself and his friends into the side of a metal barn. Broken legs and arms weren’t the worst of it. Cody Capshaw will be using a colostomy bag for the rest of his life. He’s seventeen. So it coulda been worse.”
“Sheriff?” Deputy Peach Fuzz yelled and motioned him over.
Richards sighed and ambled away.
I didn’t know how long I’d have to stick around—
at least until someone jerked my truck out of a snowbank. I needed a cigarette, but the thought of dragging ass up the embankment made me consider giving up smoking.
People wandered. More neighbors showed up, not strictly for the voyeuristic factor. This ranching community pulled together, for the most part. Don and Dale slouched against the tailgate, chewing the fat, watching the activity, so I wandered in that direction.
“Feelin’ better now?” Don asked.
“A little.” I looked longingly at Dale’s cigarette.
“You have an extra one of those?” He took out a pack of generics, shook one out for me, and offered me the 177
lighter. “Thanks.” I inhaled deeply. God. Ambrosia.
“So, you worked for the sheriff, Julie. How long you think it’ll take ’em to wrap this up today?”
“I was just wondering the same thing.” Be impossible for Sheriff Richards to contain the crime scene. It’d been completely trampled, say nothing of how he’d gather evidence beneath three feet of snow.
“Well, his ma is damn near dead, from what I understand. This’ll probably kill her, what with all the other stuff that’s gone on.”
My cigarette stopped short of my mouth. “They’ve already identified him?”
“Yeah.” Dale squinted at me. “Din’t no one tell you who got plowed up?”
I shook my head.
“Figures. Damn bureaucrats doan wanna tell nobody nuthin’.”
Both Don and Dale made a harrumph of agreement.
“’Course, it doan