FRIDAY 2:49 A.M.

We got uniforms and towels and jackets and shirts and anything else we could find to cover the wounded. While the night was still and humid, those going into shock needed to be kept warm.

I remembered hunting for Donny as I helped, but he’d been one of the first ones out. By now ambulances were being filled and rushing away. He might have been among the first to be transported.

A paramedic bandaged cuts on my left wrist and left ankle and checked for a concussion. I had a purple bruise along my abdomen where the seat belt had kept me from more serious injury. My bones felt as if a giant had picked me up and thought I must be his own personal Raggedy Ann doll that needed a good shaking.

Emergency sirens and human moans filled the night. Olsen was awake and screaming.

I spent the time checking people and seeing who was hurt. Some stood around in a daze. I found the guys who helped at the end with making an opening in the front and getting Henry and the rest of us out. I thanked each one.

I found Donny Campbell propped up against a tree stump about fifty yards from the bus. He was awake and breathing normally. As I approached, a person with a medical badge on leaned over Donny and said, “You were lucky.” I sat down next to my wounded friend and put an arm around his shoulder. Sweat and grit lined his face. His hair stuck up wildly in some places and was matted down with blood in others. His jeans were shredded and torn. One shoe was missing. “How are you?” I asked.

“I only woke up a few minutes ago. That guy who was just here said I was okay. The last thing I remember is your arm pressing on my chest. You saved me.”

“We were both lucky. We got everybody out in time. Do you want to lie down?”

“I don’t get as dizzy if I’m sitting up. Does anybody know what happened?”

“Not that I heard.”

“I wonder if Henry fell asleep. He’s usually so hopped up on caffeine, he’s hard to shut up.”

“Nobody’s said anything yet.”

Cops and paramedics worked the scene with what I thought was efficiency and aplomb. They were professional and kind. Many of the emergency vehicles said Albert Lea on the side. I learned later that was the nearest town.

Of the wounded I’d seen, Henry, the bus driver, was the most seriously hurt. A helicopter rushed Henry away.

Lights from cars, spotlights, one from another helicopter, gave an eerie glow to the scene. I could have done without the helicopter noise, but they were trying to help. Faces would go in and out of the light. Most of the guys were pale.

Strangers, passing motorists I supposed, were moving among us, comforting people, doing what they could, bringing blankets from their cars. Some started offering food. Several teenage girls showed up with cookies and coffee. We found out later they were from nearby farms.

I found a Mustangs T-shirt to replace the one I’d used on Henry’s wound. The adrenalin was wearing off, and the possibility that I, along with a bunch of the others, could have been killed, thundered in my brain. I felt myself getting a little shaky. Bunches of equipment were scattered around the cornfield we occupied. The outside compartments must have come open in the crash. I didn’t see my duffel bag. I didn’t care enough to look.

As the more seriously hurt were taken away, those of us who were mobile and had been seen to, began to gather about two hundred feet from the bus. Donny and I stood on the fringe of the group. We leaned heavily on each other. I didn’t break the contact. Human closeness felt right.

I used my cell phone to call Duncan.

“You sure you’re all right?” he asked several times.

I told him I was.

“Do you want any of us up there?” he asked.

“I presume we’re turning around and coming back.”

A yellow school bus drove up. The female driver opened the door. We shuffled in. People fell into seats. Nobody said much. They took us down the interstate to the next exit. They packed us into a chain motel. The coffee shop across the parking lot was open. Several of us trooped in. A few guys had pieces of pie. Donny had a soft drink. I had water.

None of us had changed. I had blood on my jeans and shoes. Swaths of dirt mixed with minor bits of blood on my abraded left arm. After people ate, we shuffled to our rooms.

Everybody had to share. I was with Donny. As soon as the door closed, we were in each other’s arms. We clutched each other passionately, our chests, hips, and legs mashing and entwining. He whispered in my ear. “We’re alive.” And that’s all we said as our lips met and tongues swirled together.

The resolve I had got swept away in the relief of being alive and having someone warm next to me. We weren’t lovers, but I hadn’t lost him.

Although I was exhausted from the adrenalin rush and the physical exertion at the accident scene and from making love, I had trouble falling asleep. In a few minutes I heard Donny’s breathing turn regular.

Lying there awake, mostly I brooded about the accident. Flashes of the crash, the fire, helping guys, and the realization that I’d been lucky kept me awake long past tired. Was it even an accident? If it was deliberate, I wondered if when I caught whoever did it, if I’d be able to control my own anger.

And if deliberate, who? From which faction of idiocy in town would someone be this desperate? Or was it a random insane killer? My mind whirled searching for answers. I shook my head and snuggled closer to Donny. As I noticed the first light of dawn, I finally nodded off.

I woke with Donny next to me. It felt good. A shower revived me a little. Donny had his traveling bag. I wore a pair of his underwear and a fresh T-shirt. They were a little big on me. I didn’t mind.