Chapters (24)
Because we’d just come around a curve, and lying in the road, directly in front of us, was a man.
“No, no, no,” I murmured as the bookmobile locked into a screeching skid, and it was as much prayer as anything. There were so many things that might go tragically wrong. Maybe we wouldn’t stop in time and we’d hit that poor guy. The back end of the bookmobile could start swinging around and I’d lose control. We could—
“No, no, no,” I said again, and focused on keeping us straight and solid. A small part of me heard Julia’s panicked yells, and another small part of me hoped that Eddie was hanging on tight, but the only thing I saw was the man’s legs, bare from mid-thigh down, coming closer and closer.
“Please, no,” I whispered. “Please.”
I heard shrieking noises and I didn’t know if the noise came from the brakes, Eddie, Julia, or myself. We slid, slower and slower and slower . . . and finally, finally came to a stop.
“Call nine-one-one.” I punched the four-way flashers, unbuckled myself, and ran to the door.
“What do I say?” Julia called.
I left her to figure that out on her own, because I was already hurtling down the bookmobile stairs and onto the road. We’d managed to stop before hitting the prone figure, but I hadn’t seen any movement. That an approaching vehicle, let alone something the size of the bookmobile, hadn’t made him even turn his head was a bad sign.
Running, I came around the front, into the beam of our headlights, and saw our large tires stopped two feet away from the prone man wearing a colorful shirt, black shorts, and odd-looking shoes.
I dropped to my knees. “Sir? Do you need help?” I asked, tapping his shoulder gently and looking around for signs of blood or other injuries. It was library policy that all bookmobile staffers be certified in first aid, and I was beyond glad I’d taken a refresher course last summer.
“Sir?” Still no response. I studied his chest.
Julia hurried toward me. “An ambulance is on its way,” she said. “Ten minutes out. Fifteen minutes tops. How is he doing?”
I shook my head and started chest compressions. I’d continue doing them until I couldn’t do them any longer; then Julia would take over.
But nothing we did would matter, because even with my limited medical knowledge, the signs were there. There was no rise and fall of his chest, no pulse, no eye movement. No movement at all.
He was dead.