“Looks like you need a ride,” the driver called out. “Sorry, you can’t all fit in the cab, but I’ve got dry tarps for the back.”
“I need some help getting up,” Samuel said.
The man and a couple others helped him into the truck’s backseat, where he could sit with his leg stretched out. Two of the women got in the front seat with the man. Joe, he said his name was. The rest piled in the back of the pickup.
Samuel had entered an almost-trance state, with the pain, cold, and knowledge that God had sent this man to help him with the last bit of the journey. Samuel had shown his faith by telling them he wasn’t giving up. God had seen the sacrifice he was willing to make.
Joe started up the engine. Samuel felt the movement of the truck. It began to reverse.
“No, no!” he cried out. He’d assumed the guy knew where they were going. “We’re headed straight. Through the water. Up to the house.”
The man didn’t change direction.
“Did you hear me?” Samuel said, pushing closer to the front seat as best he could. “Straight.”
“Sorry,” the man said.
Wait. This wasn’t right. “Stop. Stop the truck.”
“Look,” the man said, turning to face Samuel. “You can either shut up, or you can get out of my truck and walk on that broken leg. Your pick.”