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"Huh?" She tried to sit up, then drew in her breath on a hiss of pain and lay back against the door. "Wh-where are we?" |
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"I don't know. You're shot. I'm going to take you to a hospital." |
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"No. No hospital. Too easy to trace us there." She put her hand to her forehead and pressed, as though she was trying to draw her thoughts forth. "Isadora. Go to Isadora. Stay on this road. About ten milesturn left. Then right on Going Road. There's a doctor. A friend. He'll help us." |
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But D.J. had passed out again, and Chris's question went unanswered. He didn't like the growing paleness of D.J.'s face. A fresh wet patch on her blouse told him her movements had caused the gunshot would to bleed again. Chris gritted his teeth and tightened his fingers on the wheel to keep from gathering her into his arms. He had no time for that now. He had to drive. |
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Chris put the car into gear and sped down the two-lane highway. The colors of autumn hummed in the trees lining the roadred, yellow, orange. He'd always loved this time of year. The air smelled crisp and fresh, and the sky shone blue and white. He never felt more alive than during a Wisconsin autumn. But right now the life of nature contrasted with the terrible fear of death lodged in his chest, and Chris ignored what he would usually relish. |
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He had to get to Isadora, or he might lose D.J. Chris drove down the highway, his panic increasing with every mile that rolled beneath their wheels with no sign of civilization. He could keep driving |
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