Chapter 11 Terror

The truck hummed along, the pitch changing as the gears shifted. The wind picked up outside, rolling over the flat prairie. Tired from worry, Ryan rested his head against the window and fell asleep. When he opened his eyes, he could hardly see outside. Snow was coming directly at the windshield. In fact, it was moving sideways. The semi’s headlights were on, but they weren’t helping. The world was blindingly white.

“Where the hell are we?” asked Ryan.

“Somewhere outside of Yorkton,” said Pete. “I wish I could pull over and wait this thing out. Damn blizzard came up suddenly. Can’t see a thing. There are ditches on either side of the road. If we hit one, everything will flip, so I’m trying to follow those tail lights up ahead. I just hope they know where they’re going.”

Ryan stared through the windshield. Ahead were two red tail lights, burning through the white needles of snow like hot eyes.

He looked over at Pete’s tense face, lit by the glow of the dashboard. Pete was gripping the wheel tight with his left hand. His right hand was ready to gear down and slow the truck if necessary.

“Anything I can do?” asked Ryan.

“Not a hell of a lot. But thanks. Just keep your eyes peeled for anything.”

Ryan narrowed his eyes, but all he saw up ahead were the two red lights appearing and disappearing in the snow. He glanced at the side mirrors, which reflected the headlights from the car behind them. Looking out the side window he saw a large ditch filled with snow alongside the road. He spotted a sign, but it was a blur of white. He looked out the windshield. The red lights ahead had disappeared. Bright headlights appeared, flashing everywhere. A vehicle was spinning out of control.

“No!” yelled Ryan as a large SUV slid sideways, heading directly for them. Ryan’s eyes opened wide. His body tensed. Pete swerved the semi left, trying to avoid the SUV. The semi’s trailer began to jackknife. Wheels spun. Metal and gears ground and heaved, wailing like banshees. The eerie lights of the dashboard began to turn sideways. Everything was happening so fast.

Then, roaring and grinding, the semi flipped on its side. It lodged in the ditch and the world stopped moving.

Ryan took a breath. Every muscle in his body was on edge. He was stuck at the upended part of the cab. He was leaning sideways, held in place by the seat belt. Ryan moved his body. Nothing seemed broken. He looked down at Pete, whose head was against the side window. In the glow of the dashboard he saw blood against the window.

“Pete,” Ryan yelled. There was no response. “Pete! Are you all right?”

The cab was silent, just the faint smell of iron from Pete’s blood. The odour was mixed with the sour smell of diesel fumes.

Ryan grabbed the dashboard with one hand and the seat with the other so he wouldn’t slide down into Pete. Ryan carefully undid his seat belt. He knew that diesel oil wasn’t as likely to ignite as gasoline, but there was still a possibility. Working at the ranch had taught him that. No matter what, he couldn’t leave Pete.

He balanced himself and checked Pete’s breathing. It was low and shallow.

He undid Pete’s seatbelt, then scrambled up the cab and shoved his head into the sleeping area.

Ryan pulled out a blanket, towels, and an upside-down first-aid kit. Then he returned to Pete. Lifting Pete’s head, he placed a towel underneath, letting the pressure of Pete’s head against the towel and the glass to stop the bleeding. He checked for broken bones and searched for anything else that looked wrong.

Then he glanced under the dark dashboard.

One of Pete’s legs was at a weird angle and the other was cut and bleeding. Ryan wrapped the bleeding leg with another towel. He slid off his wide belt and used it to hold the towel in place and keep pressure on the leg. Checking Pete’s breathing again, Ryan realized it had stopped.

He moved Pete into a better position and began CPR. Ryan tried to breathe life into Pete’s body — nothing else mattered. He tried compressions. It was hard to do, but Ryan kept going. He kept a steady compression by following the rhythm of the song “Staying Alive” in his head.

The passenger side door yawed open. A flashlight lit up the cab.

“Get help,” Ryan yelled.

“It’s okay. I’m a cop. An ambulance is on its way. How is the driver?”

“His breathing stopped. His head is bleeding and his leg too. One leg is at a weird angle. Can’t feel anything else wrong.”

The sound of a siren pierced the night. Within minutes, the red light from the ambulance filled the semi’s cab.

“Keep up the compressions,” said the cop.

Ryan kept going. His arms burned and ached. But all that mattered was Pete. The cop left and a paramedic entered the cab. Large hands covered Ryan’s. He moved his hands away from Pete’s chest as the paramedic took over the compressions.

“Come on, son,” said the cop from the cab’s open door. “They’ll help him. It will be all right.”

Ryan made his way to the cab’s open door and joined the broad-shouldered cop.

The man led Ryan to the cab of the ambulance and placed a blanket around him. Then he sat beside Ryan and closed the door.

Ryan’s body couldn’t stop shaking. He threw up in a barf bag and the shaking stopped.

“It will be okay,” said the cop. His voice was calm and kind. “The paramedics are good. They’ll take good care of you both. You’ll need to go to the hospital with them and get checked over. I’m Constable Davies. What’s your name, son?”

“Ryan Jenkins,” he said, then gasped. He’d given his real name. What was he thinking? The police computer would tell Constable Davies everything.

A husky paramedic with wire-rimmed glasses rapped on the window. Constable Davies opened the door and got out. The paramedic got in beside Ryan, a medical kit in his hand.

“That was fine work you did with the trucker,” said the paramedic. “Not many people can keep calm.” He began to examine Ryan. “Looks like you’re okay, but you need a good check at the hospital.”

When he left, Constable Davies got back in. He pulled a notepad and pen from his jacket pocket. A small toy car popped out of his pocket and fell on the floor of the ambulance. The cop picked it up. “My son’s.” He smiled. Ryan tried to smile back.

“You feel like talking?” asked Constable Davies.

“Are the people in the SUV all right?” asked Ryan.

“Thanks to the trucker no one was hurt. Looks like he saved their lives by swerving and missing their SUV. And from what I saw and what the paramedic said, you saved his. Where’d you learn first aid, Ryan?”

“On a course.” Ryan’s mind began to race. Here he was sitting with a cop in an ambulance. He felt like crap and his mind was cloudy.

Constable Davies began to ask details about the accident. Ask away, Ryan thought. There’s nothing to hide about the accident. But when the questions ended, then what?

The cop’s phone rang. He answered it, then grunted, “I’m on my way.” Constable Davies turned to Ryan. “I’ll be back in a minute; there might be a problem with the semi.”

He exited the ambulance. Ryan watched him in the side mirror. Constable Davies walked down the highway. Eventually, Ryan couldn’t see him for the swirling snow.