Beyond the Storm (9780758276995) by Joseph Pittman Read Free Book Online Page B

jeans.
    That’s when it occurred to him to wonder about what had happened to the other car. Was the driver okay? He’d caught a faint glimpse of a woman behind the wheel of the car, but no passenger. Though he supposed there could have been a child, a kid in a car seat in the back, someone you wouldn’t see sitting beneath the dashboard. A mix of fear and worry for the other car punched his gut. He had to get out and assess the damage, call for help . . . where the hell was his cell phone? Not in his pocket and not clasped to his leather belt, because he was driving and the law said only hands-free devices were allowed. So where was it? In his weekend bag, in the backseat? No, he remembered taking it out at the last Thruway rest stop, placing it on the front passenger seat. Great, with the car rolling and rolling in the mud and field, that cell phone could be anywhere. And he wasn’t exactly expecting anyone to call, so he wouldn’t hear it ring even had a friend decided to find out what was up. Patch had wished him well, call me when you’re back. Otherwise, radio silence. And for what’s up, Me, he answered. Upside down.
    No, he had only one choice. Get the hell out of the car.
    Adam struggled against the fleshy material of the air bag, his hands finding the release of the seat belt buckle. He felt the pressure against his chest ease, a certain amount of flexibility returning to his body. Wiggling his way upward, he again winced from the pain in his side. Still, pushing through the searing pain, he managed to get a better grip on the door. A rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins, Adam pushed, pushed harder, grunted for extra effort like a tennis player returning an angry serve, and finally he felt the first give of the door. A scrunch of metal sounded against the quiet backdrop.
    â€œCome on, come on, move, dammit . . . why won’t you let me out?” he yelled, his voice echoing out beyond the confines of the car, the sound caught by wind.
    Apparently the wind knew how to answer.
    â€œHello?” he heard.
    Adam stopped pushing, going silent again. Had he heard something? Someone? Did he just answer himself back, or was there actually someone outside his car? Was it the driver of the other car? Perhaps another car whose driver witnessed the accident? Or maybe a paramedic, already come to his rescue? How long had he been out, unconscious from the car flipping over? He didn’t recall losing consciousness; hadn’t only a minute or so passed since the car had come to a crunchy rest within the stalks? With one hand still pushing against the door, he stole a look at his watch hand. Just what time was it? He wasn’t going to get an answer because the face of his expensive, prized Rolex was cracked, the time stopped on 4:08 in the afternoon. Shit, as far as Adam’s world was concerned, time had come to a standstill.
    Or maybe it hadn’t. There came that voice again.
    â€œIs anybody in there, can you answer me?”
    Okay, Adam heard that clear enough, a woman’s voice calling through the storm, and it was near. Perhaps she was just outside the car, attempting to gain access to the upturned vehicle. Figuring out how to assist the person trapped inside.
    â€œYeah, hello, I’m in here, kind of trapped,” he called out. “Alone . . . it’s just me. I need help with the door . . .”
    â€œRoger that,” replied the woman. “I’m coming. Are you hurt?”
    Again, the question begged at him. Was he? Aside from the burning sensation on his side, the bleeding, dribbling cut on his forehead, he appeared none the worse for wear. No back pain, no broken limbs. “I guess I’m okay. I think. Some blood and aches . . . just help me get out of this damn car . . .”
    â€œI’m here,” he heard next, realizing the voice was so clear, cutting through the rain and the clouds and the muck and the twisted metal of his Malibu.