I heard the screech of the car slipping, and Stoner yelled to me, “Get me the hell out of here.” I detected the hysteria in his voice and felt a sense of satisfaction, a sense of power. I didn’t have time to rescue the bastard. I had to save myself. I had to save Louise. I pulled Louise to my chest, and her body was frail and light in my arms. I remembered carrying her mother from her deathbed, and closed my eyes. “Give me a chance,” I said, hoping it would suffice as prayer. I prayed as I carried her up the steep embankment, prayed I wouldn’t fall, prayed for strength for the both of us. I could hear gasoline hissing from the punctured tank of Stoner’s car, gasoline gurgling along the outline of the car’s fractured frame. I had to move fast.

I heard the cowboy sniffle and knew the man was crying. I laid Louise close beside him. “Help me here,” I said to him. I had to trust him then. The cowboy opened his arms to shelter Louise in the folds of his blanket. “I’m sorry,” he was saying, and I realized he was speaking to Louise. “I’m sorry for everything,” he said.

“I’ve got to go back and help the other guy,” I said, refusing to say Stoner’s name. “Help is coming,” I said, but realized I was not trying to be reassuring. I knew it was my own wake-up call. If I was going to act, I had to act now. I skirted down the hill, feeling the blunt swell of my own injury. The smell of gasoline made me swoon. I could detect the sweet shine of it spilling toward Stoner, lining the sleeves of his butter-soft jacket.

“It’s about goddamned time,” Stoner said. I stepped closer to him and gasoline wheezed in my chest. Stoner grabbed my leg then and I was startled by the strength of his clutch. I recognized the grasp of a desperate man. “Everything’s going to be OK,” I said. “Just take it easy. I can’t help you if you don’t let go of me here.”

“That’s the spirit,” Stoner said. “That’s the spirit,” he said again, coaxing me, urging me. “Now get me the hell out of here,” he yelled.