Chapters (57)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Foreword
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Praise for Linwood Barclay
- Also by Linwood Barclay
- About the Publisher
“Okay, I won’t try to move you,” Katie said. “I’ll get help.”
She looked out through the windshield, turned around, and checked where they’d come from. Getting her bearings.
“Bruce, Bruce, listen to me,” she said, bracing her feet against the passenger door to keep her close to him. “I’m going to go. If more of those cars come, I think they’ll leave you alone because you look like, well, you kind of look dead and the other Arrival is totally wrecked.” She sniffed, worked to hold back tears. “I’m heading for home. Maybe my mom is there and she’ll know what to do. And if I see a police car or an ambulance on the way I’ll flag them down.”
Bruce said nothing.
Katie, now unable to hold back the tears, leaned in closer and kissed him on the cheek, his stubble like sandpaper to her lips.
“Please don’t die, Bruce. Please, please don’t die.”
She allowed herself to slide back over to the passenger side. When she opened her door, she hung on to it, not wanting it to snap off the hinges. No sense doing any more damage to Bruce’s car than had already been done. Think positively, she told herself. Bruce is going to be okay. He’s going to recover.
And so will his beloved Cadillac.
She dropped into the ditch and, putting her shoulders into it, pushed the door shut. She scrabbled back up onto the highway. But before she started to trek into town, there was one thing she had to do first.
She walked over to the smashed Arrival and, with chin quivering, looked at it and said two words:
“Fuck you.”
Katie started heading for home.
Thirty-Eight
Sandra entered the administrator’s office carrying a small blue nylon bag with a Red Cross symbol on the side. “Found this,” she said to Joe, who was behind the desk, looking at the laptop. “There’s all kinds of stuff in here. Bandages, cold compresses, gauze, those antiseptic wipes. I know you’re not a paramedic, but you’ve probably had more experience with this kind of thing than I have, so—”
But then she looked at Ruskin and said, “Oh, shit, he doesn’t look good.”
Joe, grim-faced, got out of the chair and came around the desk. Sandra was still looking at Ruskin as he put his hands on her shoulders.
“Shit,” she said, starting to make a move to get down on one knee to have a closer look at him. But Joe held her back.
“There’s nothing you can do,” he said mournfully, keeping her in front of him.
“Jesus, what happened?” she said. “It was a bump on the head. He was alive when I left here. Wasn’t he?”