The woman was looking over shoulder, staring in wild-eyed horror at something in the back.
Even as Isabel finally freed herself from the frozen moment, Jesse gripped her in his arms and got her into motion, pushing her back toward the picnic area. Caught off-guard, Isabel dropped the picnic basket.
Jesse propelled her from the path of the speeding van, but tripped as he shoved her. Isabel saw in an instant that he'd lost his footing and was unable to move to save himself. She turned and caught his jacket in one of her hands, then pulled him backward, acting like she'd tripped as well.
They went sprawling as the van rushed by, then hit the paved area of the rest stop hard enough to drive the breath from Isabel's lungs. Remembering the driver's frightened face, Isabel rolled from Jesse's protective embrace and turned to watch the van.
Evidently the driver came to her senses. The van jerked away from its course toward the stone picnic tables and benches. But the effort came too late and resulted only in causing the vehicle's tires to lose their precarious traction on the pavement. Rubber shrilled as the van's speed and weight tore the vehicle into an uncontrolled skid.
The passenger-side tires slammed into the high curb at the edge of the picnic area. Off-balance and riding high center, the van flipped over on its side. The momentum continued to flip the van another 180 degrees as the vehicle crushed one of the picnic tables and benches. The engine continued racing, revving out of control till it sounded like an explosion was imminent. The horn blared, holding steady and true over the banshee wail of the racing engine.
'Oh my god,' Jesse said.
Isabel struggled to her feet. The woman inside the van might be still alive.
'Come on, Jesse!' Isabel cried. 'We need to check on her.'
'Who?' Jesse asked, not letting go of her.
'The woman driving the car.' Then Isabel turned and started for the van.
'You saw a woman?'
'Yes.' Isabel had to speak loudly over the screaming engine. The odor of burning oil and gasoline tainted the hot, thin air. 'She looked scared. She was screaming.'
Familiar electronic beeps caught Isabel's attention as she closed on the rear of the van. She turned at once, watching as Jesse punched in the three numerals on his cell phone.
'What are you doing?' Isabel asked.
'Calling nine-one-one.'
Isabel grew more afraid then; 911 meant law enforcement personnel and reports, maybe even reports with Jesses name and her name on them. Her father was an attorney in Roswell; he looked at legal documents all the time. It was a stretch to think her father would see the report on the accident on U.S. 285, but the instant those reports were filed, that possibility existed. And if her father found out they'd been together, what would he do? And what could Max do? Thinking about her brother made Isabel feel even more guilty. Max had been through enough. Knowing she might have found happiness would make his own loss seem even sharper.
She looked around, knowing one couldn't do anything except wait for what was going to happen. All she could do was wait for the inevitable.
7
Taking a deep breath, Isabel nodded to Jesse and tried to calm herself. The odds were astronomical of her father actually seeing the documents generated by the state police or other law enforcement bodies.
Jesse started talking to the 911-dispatch person at the other end of the cell-phone connection, giving the person the location and the details of the wreck.
Staying focused on the van, Isabel started moving forward again, walking along the top of the vehicle rather than the undercarriage. Her imagination filled her mind with the possible bloody carnage that might be waiting.
The van's windshield had shattered with the series of impacts. Small, cube-shaped pieces of safety glass glittered like diamonds in a spray across the paved parking area and the sandy picnic area. The pieces glistened among the shattered remains of the demolished picnic table, too.
Before Isabel reached the front of the van, Jesse caught her by the elbow and stopped her. She turned to face him.
'What are you doing?' Jesse asked.
'Checking on the driver,' Isabel replied.
'Don't you smell the gasoline?' Jesse asked, pulling at her and trying to guide her away from the wrecked vehicle. 'This van could explode.'
'If this were a movie or a TV show, maybe,' Isabel responded.
A tender look filled Jesse's face. 'I'm serious, Isabel. I want you to back off. I don't want you to get hurt.'
'I'm going to check on the driver,' Isabel insisted.
'I can do that.'
'You're suddenly invulnerable?'
Jesse stared to argue.
'We'll do this,' Isabel said. 'I've had first-aid courses.'
Jesse looked like he wanted to offer a rebuttal to her decision, but before he got the chance, a woman's voice lifted in a terrified wail.
'My baby!' she screamed. 'Someone help my baby!'
Isabel spun then, heading for the front of the van. A chill ran through her as she thought about a baby being aboard the wrecked van.
The gasoline smell became stronger. Heat baked into the ground, reminding Isabel that the danger of a fire was real, not something inspired by special effects in a show.
She reached the front of the van, dropped to her hands and knees, and peered inside the vehicle. After being out in the bright sun, adjusting to the darkness inside the van took a moment.
The driver fought against the seat belt restraints, trying desperately to reach into the backseat. She was in her middle or late twenties, with blond hair and pale features. Blood streaked her face, but more fright showed than pain. The air bag stood out from the steering wheel compartment.
Isabel couldn't see how bad the woman's head wound was, and she knew from first-aid classes that those kinds of wounds bled profusely. 'Hey,' she said as calmly as she could.
The woman still kept reaching into the rear of the van, but she looked at Isabel. 'Help me!' she croaked.
'I will,' Isabel said, then moved aside so Jesse could join her. 'We will.'
'My baby!' the woman said.
'We'll get your baby,' Isabel promised. She peered into the back of the van.
Two more rows of seats were behind the captains' chairs. Boxes and bags from the cargo area littered the inside of the van. As she looked at all the destruction in the van, Isabel wondered how a small child could have survived the wreck. Don't think like that, she told herself. Everything is going to be fine. She's still alive. The child has got to be alive too. Just the same, Isabel wished Max were there.
Jesse reached into the van and pulled on the seat restraints holding the woman locked into position behind the collapsed steering wheel. 'It's no use. The locking mechanism is jammed.' He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small Swiss Army knife. 'I'm going to have to cut her loose.'
'Not me!' the woman yelled. Tears filled her eyes. 'Please! Check on my baby! They told me she was gone! They told me she was gone, but there she is!' She pointed. 'I can see her! Please! She needs help!'
'I'll get her baby.' Isabel slithered into the van.
'Don't,' Jesse said, grabbing Isabel by the shoulder.
'I've got to,' Isabel said. She stared into his eyes. 'We need to get the mother out, Jesse. We're miles from Roswell. It'll be a long time before help arrives.'
Indecision showed in Jesse's eyes.
'I'm not giving you a choice,' Isabel said.
