The air bag popped out, slamming Jennie against the seat. For a moment she thought she would suffocate. But just as quickly the air bag released, leaving Jennie covered with a fine powder and making it nearly impossible to breathe. She coughed and gasped for breath until the powder settled.
Once the coughing stopped, reality set in. She hadn’t been injured—at least not that she could tell. The driver’s-side window had imploded. Glass shards lay across her lap.
Peering through the sharp, jagged glass still adhered to the window frame, she could see the damage. The front passenger side of the expensive-looking car she’d hit had imbedded itself into the front driver’s side of her Mustang. The driver, a man in a business suit, still had a cell phone in his hand. Chalky gray powder covered his dark hair, face, and clothing. He stared straight ahead as if he couldn’t quite believe what had happened. Then he crumpled, his head lolling forward and hitting the deflated air bag.
He’s hurt. Jennie reached for the door handle. She had to get to him. Wedged against the other car, her door wouldn’t budge. Her hand shook as she brought it back to the bent steering wheel. Even if she had been able to open the door, it would have done her no good. Her left leg was wedged in the twisted wreckage.
Feeling nauseated, Jennie leaned back against the seat.
“Hey!” A man with a scruffy gray beard pounded at the passenger side. The already shattered glass caved in, tinkling like wind chimes as the shards bounced against one another. “You okay in there?”
“I … I think so.” Fresh air wafted in, stirring up the dust.
“Stay put!” the man ordered. “I’ve called 9-1-1. They should be here soon.”
“The man in the other car …” She coughed again, batting her hand against the annoying powder. “He’s hurt.”
“There’s another guy checking on him. You just take it easy. You’ll be out of there in no time.”
Take it easy? As if she’d ever be able to do that again. The crazy woman driver had tried to kill her. A number of people had stopped to help. Everyone seemed to be talking at once.
“Anybody hurt?”
“What happened?”
“Kid crossed the lane.”
“I thought I heard a gunshot.”
“Anybody hit?”
“Anybody else hear a shot?”
“I did. Did you see who did it?”
That’s what Jennie wanted to know. The woman had been wearing sunglasses. It had happened so fast. Had it been a random shooting? A case of road rage? Or had the woman deliberately singled her out? Was this somehow connected with the bank robbers?
Sirens interrupted her thoughts, and before long Jennie was in an ambulance on her way to the hospital—again.
Two hours later Jennie still lay in the ER on a stretcher, watching the hospital staff scurrying back and forth between patients. Most of her injuries were minor. Though the bullet had missed her, the accident itself had resulted in a number of cuts. Her left leg was bruised but not broken. If it hadn’t been for her recent head injury, the doctor might have let her go home. But the impact of the crash had thrown her against the headrest and caused a nasty headache and more swelling. Dr. Mason insisted she stay for a couple of days so he could run some tests and observe her.
A state patrol officer had come in to question her shortly after her arrival at the hospital. “Sounds like another case of road rage,” he said after hearing her take on the accident.
“It definitely wasn’t road rage.” Jennie then told him about her encounter with the bank robbers.
“And you think there’s a connection?”
“The woman set me up. When she saw I was turning off she zipped around on my right and blocked my exit. Next thing I knew she pulled out a gun and fired.”
“People do all kinds of crazy things on the road.”
“Yes, but I think she was just after me.”
The officer asked a few more questions, then said, “We’ve got a number of witnesses. Hopefully we’ll be able to piece together what happened out there. And track down the woman responsible.”
“Is the man I hit okay?”
“Shaken up. You were both very lucky.”
Jennie didn’t feel lucky. She felt plagued and very afraid. Her parents’ arrival did nothing to ease her fears. After their initial hugs and kisses and reassurances, Dad had gone to make some phone calls. Mom sat down next to her, furiously knitting a baby afghan. Worry etched her face. Every once in a while she’d wince as if in pain.
Jennie felt guilty over being so much trouble. Mom needed rest and wasn’t getting it. “Mom, why don’t you have Dad take you home? You shouldn’t be here.”
Mom looked up, a puzzled, blank look in her eyes. Her face had gone a pasty white. Jennie’s heart plunged.
Mom clutched at her stomach. A knitting needle clattered to the floor.
“Mom!”