Only We Know by Victoria Purman Read Free Book Online Page B

knee was instantly wet from the grass. She didn’t respond, but he heard sounds from inside her helmet. Was she breathing? He scrambled to the other person, repeated the question, but there was nothing there either.
    Sam slipped his fingers through the handle of his trauma pack and ran to the sedan on the other side of the road. New South Wales plates. The bonnet was smashed in, the front window a spiderweb of broken glass. Sam leant down to look inside the open driver-side door. The airbag had deployed and was now a withered pouch on the steering wheel. Sam recognised the metallic smell.
    â€˜Can you hear me? You folks okay?’ Two pairs of wide eyes turned to him. Mid-sixties, maybe, both conscious. Pale as ghosts.
    â€˜That m-motorbike,’ the woman in the passenger seat stammered.
    â€˜Bloody hell,’ the driver added with a cough, his voice thin. ‘It came right at us. On the wrong side of the road.’
    â€˜You okay, ma’am? I can see there’s no airbag on that side. Did you hit your head?’
    The woman shook her head, sobs rising as her shock set in. ‘The seatbelt cut into me, I think. It hurts.’
    â€˜Are they all right, the people on the motorbike? I’ll come and help.’ The driver undid his seatbelt and moved to get out of the car.
    Sam rested a firm hand on his shoulder, pressed him back down in his seat. ‘I do need your help. Do you have a mobile phone?’
    The driver nodded.
    â€˜I need you to ring triple-zero and ask for an ambulance. Tell them we’re on Hog Bay Road out of Penneshaw on Kangaroo Island, just past the marina. Can you remember that?’
    The driver retrieved his phone from a cup-holder between the seats and dialled.
    â€˜I need to go back to the others. Stay here in the car. It’s cold and it might rain again and this is the safest place to be. Do you understand?’
    As soon as they nodded, Sam sprinted back to the motorbike victims. Still no movement from either of them. He knelt down on the soggy grass, unclipped his trauma pack and found plastic gloves, snapped them on. He bent down close to the matte-black helmet.
    The rider’s head was bent back at an odd angle, exposing the skin of his neck between the helmet and the collar of his leather jacket. Sam could see the skin was blue. He pressed his fingers to the carotid artery. Nothing.
    â€˜Can you hear me?’ he shouted. No response. Even in the dim morning light he could see blood on the inside of the clear visor. He worked it open. The face inside was still, blood pooling under the nose. There was no sign of life.
    He scooted to the woman and searched desperately for a pulse, first at her wrist and then at her neck, and then putting his ear right down to her chest.
    That’s when he heard it.
    There were no breath sounds, no moaning.
    There was music coming from her helmet.
    It was the same song he’d been listening to when he’d heard the squeal of brakes and seen Calla’s red car in his rear-vision mirror, skidding into his.
    The flashing lights got brighter and the sirens wailed louder.
    Calla watched as an ambulance manoeuvred around Sam’s four-wheel drive, followed by a white truck with Country Fire Services in letters on the side. They pulled up ahead and a whole lot of people in uniforms jumped out.
    Something terrible had happened. An accident. Isn’t that what Sam had said? There had been an accident on the road and, by the look on his face as he’d told her, it was much more serious than the bingle she’d caused by running into him. She wiped the inside of the window, which had fogged up again with her breath. She went to turn on the engine but realised her keys were gone.
    Calla felt around on the floor in front of the passenger seat where her rucksack had been tossed. She shoved a hand inside, feeling around for her mobile, but it wasn’t there. When she sat up and peered through the window at the flashing