Page 27 of Savage Reckoning

“Holy shit,” Gabe breathes. “Is she…?”

“Let me see.” I do some quick observations, just as the woman starts to regain consciousness. Blood pressure worryingly low, heart rate elevated. Obvious compound fracture to the left tibia, and I suspect internal bleeding, too. Where’s that bloody ambulance?

“Noah,” she murmurs through cracked lips.

“He’s safe,” I assure her.

Gabe sits up. “Where’s the boy?” he mouths.

“In our car. You go and check on him, I’ll stay here and look after her.”

He doesn’t argue. By the time he’s scrambled back up the incline to the road, the reassuring whine of the emergency sirens hovers on the slight breeze.

CHAPTER 6

Gabe

The last time I was in and emergency department it was when the woman now dozing beside me, her head resting on my shoulder, damn near shot my foot off. That was a military hospital, and I have to say, the facilities in Raigmore hospital in Inverness are somewhat better than those offered by the US Army. I stretch out in my seat and consider making another trip to the vending machine for my third hit of frothy coffee.

“Do you have any change?” I wonder

“You used it all,” she murmurs sleepily. “I could go—”

“Was it you? It was you, wasn’t it?” We’re interrupted by the arrival of a dishevelled-looking individual who appears as though he hasn’t slept for a week.

In reality, I guess it was just the one night, but his face is haggard.

“Mr Mathison?” I ask.

The woman in the car has been identified as Mrs Helen Mathison, aged thirty, on her way home to Dundee from visiting her mother in Inverness when her car went off the road. The cause of the crash has yet to be discovered, but it seems no other vehicles were involved, and she’s stone-cold sober. The last news we had was that she was in theatre where surgeons were working on her shattered leg, but otherwise she’ll be fine.

Noah is spending the night in the children’s ward for observation but seems uninjured. We were planning to go across there and say goodbye to him, then maybe continue our journey to the Rothwell. We’ve told the police all we could, which wasn’t that much, really, so there’s no point hanging around here.

“Yes. Dick Mathison. You were there, when she crashed?” He offers me his scrawny hand to shake.

I accept it. “Not when she crashed. We arrived later…”

“But you got her out. They told me you saved her.”

“Well—”

“I don’t know how to thank you. Both of you.”

“Really, there’s no need. We just—”

“Noah told me you stopped. Everyone else just drove past, but you stopped.”

“I spotted him, that’s all.”

“Not many people would have got involved…”

Personally, I doubt that. This is the remote Scottish Highlands, not the Bronx. People keep an eye out for each other in these places, especially a five-year-old boy, abandoned and alone at the side of a main road. Any passing motorist who saw Noah sitting there would have done the same as we did. Mr Mathison clearly doesn’t share my faith in human nature. His effusive thanks and glowing promises to tell the papers about the Good Samaritans who saved his family from certain death echo behind us as we eventually make our escape.

“He had a point, you know.” Megan hops into the driver’s seat for the rest of the journey to the Richmond but doesn’t start the engine. “If you hadn’t been paying attention and spotted little Noah…”

“Maybe I have you to thank for that. You certainly couldn’t be accused of distracting me.”

“Whatever. And you got Helen out of that car. Christ, when I think what could have happened. All that petrol…”

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