Nine #2
Heavy cloud cover had turned the morning to gloom, and as I closed in on the car, a moan came from inside. Hearing proof of life loosened some of the tension in my shoulders, but no one got out, and the only other sound was a man’s voice on the radio.
My pulse kicked up as I stopped at the driver’s door and leaned toward the open window. “Hello? Do you need help?”
The engine wasn’t running, and a woman in her forties sat behind the wheel with the saggy airbag resting in her lap. Her dark hair was styled in a choppy pixie cut that looked like it might have been done at home, and her brown eyes landed briefly on me.
She tilted her head back and sighed, breaths coming in slow, shallow bursts, with too long a space between each one.
No mask. Hollow cheeks. Skin red with fever.
A bag from the nearby pharmacy had been upended between the passenger seat and the door.
Shit.
After Ava’s messages and the shock of the crash, I wasn’t thinking.
The woman didn’t answer, and Tim grabbed the back of my top, yanking me away from the window. I immediately pulled up my mask and wished I’d done it earlier. I’d already taken several breaths of contaminated air.
Tim did the same and stood beside me, sharing a look that spoke volumes. Too late now, though.
I couldn’t see any blood on her clothes or skin, and there were no obvious injuries to her extremities, but we couldn’t help her anyway.
“Are you hurt?” I asked.
“No… not… really,” she said, her voice weak. She used all her strength to lift her arm and cough into her elbow, then dropped it again as if it weighed a ton.
“Is there someone I can call to come and get you?”
“There’s no one.” She turned the radio down, then closed her eyes. “It’s just me.”
The defeat in her voice made my throat ache. “What can we do to help you?”
“Just move me. Then leave me.”
I frowned. “Where?”
“Push my car to the side of the road,” she said, with a pause between each word. “You can’t come near me. Move me. So I don’t get hit. Please.”
She didn’t have the energy to open her eyes. Her arms were lax, her chest fighting to fill with air. The longer I watched her, the heavier my heart got, and I’d never felt so useless in all my life.
"We can do that for you," Tim said. “Turn the ignition a single click to the right, then put the car in neutral.”
She huffed with fatigue and fumbled for the dangling keyring. Once she’d completed the task, I almost reached in and gave her shoulder an encouraging pat, but stopped myself before I could make another mistake. Stupid. Too close. Too risky.
“You’re doing great,” I said. “Now, the gear shifter.”
The woman opened her eyes and shoved the car into neutral with a last burst of determination. The exertion sent her into a coughing jag so hard and violent I winced.
When it was over, her chin lowered to her chest, and blood fell from her mouth, droplets of bright red staining her white cardigan.
“All right, last job,” Tim said. “Turn the wheel to the right so we can push you out of traffic.”
She used her remaining strength and wrenched the steering wheel to one side, then coughed and coughed until I thought she’d never stop.
Tim’s eyes reflected my frustration. We wanted to be patient, but we needed to get away from her as quickly as we could.
Another car passed through the intersection. The driver, a young man with a mullet who couldn’t have been older than eighteen, stared as he weaved through the scene at walking pace. The second he caught sight of the woman’s condition, he sped up and disappeared.
“We need to get out of here,” Tim mumbled. “I’ll ring the hotline when we get home and have her body picked up.” In a louder voice, he addressed the driver. “Okay, love, we’re disappearing behind you and pushing. Hit the brakes when I tell you.”
She nodded, then her head fell back against the headrest, her once pristine cardigan splattered with red.
With the image burned into my mind, I hurried to the rear of the car with Tim and positioned myself on the opposite side of the boot. As we began pushing, I sent him a sideways look. “I hate this,” I said. “She’s dying. Something’s wrong with Ava. My car’s a wreck.”
“There’s no food in the supermarkets. People are turning into selfish dickheads. We’re going to be extinct soon.”
Letting my legs do most of the work, I stepped up the pace. “You’re supposed to be making me feel better, not depressing me even more.”
“I’m joining your sad little pity party,” he said as a light mist fell. “It’s what best friends do.”
“Well, can you be less of a good friend?”
“Impossible, I’m afraid.”
If distracting me from the task had been his goal, it worked. We reached the side of the road in no time.
As the front wheel of the Audi wedged against the curb, Tim called out to the woman to hit the brake and put it in park.
More coughing came from inside. I didn’t know her and never would, but the thought of her spending her last moments with no one to hold her hand brought tears to my eyes.
“Looks good.” Tim straightened and dusted off his hands. When he caught sight of my expression, a sense of urgency took hold of him. “Let’s move.”
“Are you sure?” Torn between compassion and self-preservation, I whispered, “Should we stay with her until… you know?”
“No.”
We returned to the driver’s window, and he instructed her to engage the handbrake. She’d been given too many tasks for her dwindling capabilities, but somehow dug deep and complied.
“Thank you,” she said, her breathing laboured. “I’m sorry. About your car. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“Don’t be sorry. We’re not hurt. What’s your name?” I asked.
Her eyes shone with tears, and when she inhaled, a wheeze carried through the open window. “Brynn.”
We were the last people who’d ever know her name.
“We need to get out of here,” Tim said.
“I know, I know.”
She fell into another coughing fit, and I backed out of range, hoping to God my mask was doing the job the endless government commercials had convinced us it would.
When the noise stopped, she slumped against the steering wheel, spent.
Walking away from someone in need went against everything I believed, but based on all I’d seen and heard about Ultimus, she wouldn’t live to see the next hour.
In her current state, that might be a blessing.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Tim said, “but we’ve been exposed for too long. There’s nothing we can do.”
I pressed my lips into a firm line. She’d either fallen asleep or unconscious.
I couldn’t tell which one. With her head turned toward me, her features were relaxed and peaceful now she no longer had to struggle with the full-body effort of coughing.
It was the most serene I’d seen her in the short time we’d known her.
“I’ll remember you, Brynn.” I patted the roof of her car, then turned away and filled my lungs with air. I had a text to read and a phone call to make. “Let’s go home,” I said to Tim.
“Now you’re making sense.”
I’d just taken a step toward my damaged car when a cyclist whizzed by. There was no warning, no sound. One second we were alone, and the next, he was right there.
Just as surprised as me, the rider snapped out a curse and tried to swerve, but it was too late.
I didn’t have time to dodge him or make any decision at all.
Tim called out my name.
The cyclist sideswiped me and sent me tumbling onto the road. My head hit the unforgiving surface with a thud, and I let out an oof, too shocked to feel anything, let alone pain.
Stunned, I tried to rise, but the world around me spun, creating a confusion of colours that swiftly narrowed to a pinprick.
A breath stuttered from me, and I lowered my head.
Seconds later, there was nothing at all.