Page 3 of One More Betrayal

Jessica

June, Present Day

Maple Ridge

* * *

My head pounds. My thigh screams. My ribs ache. I pry my eyes open, hoping that will end the pain. Hoping I’m just experiencing a dream that feels too real.

But I’m not.

I’m in the driver’s seat of a truck. Troy’s truck? And it’s lying on its side. Beyond the cracked windshield, the world is nothing more than trees and rocks. At an angle to me…as if the truck is on a steep incline.

The inside of the cab is dim. Rain hammers the windshield and the metal exterior of the vehicle.

And I’m alone. So very alone.

A pained groan reaches my ears. My groan, barely heard over the wind roaring through the valley.

Despite the throbbing in my head, I try to slot the other puzzle pieces together, but a third of them are missing.

A vague memory fades in, fuzzy around the edges. Of a deer leaping onto the road. Of me swerving to avoid it. Of losing control of the truck.

A wave of panic wells up, threatening to pull me under. Breathe. You’ll never get out of here alive if you don’t keep yourself together.

“Bailey! Are you okay?” My voice comes out weak, raspy, pained.

I don’t hear her panting breaths or whines or any other sound she might make.

Images flicker in my head. Finding her lifeless body in the living room. The vet told me that Bailey had ingested poison but would be okay. She’s still at the vet clinic so they can monitor her condition. She’s not in the truck. Relief floods me at that realization. But it’s only temporary.

A long gash slices across my bare thigh, blood spilling from it. I need to staunch the flow of blood first and then figure out what to do next. I look around the cab, but the only thing I can use is the T-shirt I’m wearing and the sweatshirt in my daypack.

My trembling fingers locate the seat belt buckle. I yank on the strap while pushing the button. C’mon. Release the goddamn seat belt. PleasePleasePlease. Nothing. I jerk on it hard. Still nothing. I try again and again, my movements becoming more frantic and utterly useless.

C’monC’monC’mon. Unclick, dammit, before I bleed out…or something worse.

Something sticky drips down my face. Tears and raindrops join it. A strong coppery smell mingles with the normally soothing scent of pine.

Don’t panic.

Channeling everything I’ve learned in yoga, I breathe out an exhalation that isn’t as slow as it should be. But it’s enough to help me coordinate my efforts, and the seat belt clicks open.

I shift toward the daypack. It’s still where I left it on the floor, wedged against the passenger side of the console. I hook my fingers on the strap and yank it. The bag smacks the gash on my thigh, sending a fresh wave of pain coursing through my leg.

A whimper escapes me, but I don’t let the sharp pain deter me from my task. I unzip the daypack and pull out my sweatshirt. The better option would be to use my T-shirt as a bandage and put my sweatshirt on to stay warm. But the T-shirt is sweaty and dirty from hiking and too small for that idea to work.

I wrap the sweatshirt around my thigh, tying the sleeves to secure the top in place. It’s not great, but it will have to do until I get help.

Help. My phone isn’t in the cupholder where I’d left it. My gaze searches the cab for where it could have gone, but I can’t see it anywhere.

A surge of panic pumps through my body, sending my heartbeat thundering. My breathing comes in fast and tightness spreads through my chest. No, no. NoNoNoNoNo. The phone barely had any battery power left, and I’m not even sure I can get cell reception out here, but the phone definitely won’t be of any use if I can’t find it.

It could be anywhere in the truck. Or maybe it fell out of the smashed window and it’s on the ground somewhere.

Rain falls through the broken side window above my head. I shiver. Perhaps I can climb back up the slope and wave down a passing vehicle and ask the driver to call 9-1-1. It’s that or wait until someone spots the truck. If they spot it.

I examine my options for escape. I can try kicking out the cracked windshield, but I’m not sure my thigh would be too thrilled with that. Plus, the steering wheel is in my way. But if that’s what it comes down to, I will attempt it.

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