She noticed first the car had stopped running. The deer’s heavy head was cradled in her lap. She felt its still tongue, rough and dry on her hand. The cupped moon was yellow through the frame of broken glass. A dim light pressed through the open front window, enough that she could see the stranger, his eyes half open and dreaming beneath the cover of the deer’s warm back. She felt a chill at her neck. She half listened to the dry slide of broken glass falling from the smooth leather seats as she pulled herself out of the car. She heard wood snap in the field as she headed for the highway. The haze on the road met the tops of the trees. She could see car lights filter the highest pine branches, a great powdered light that seemed to gather the ground. She lifted her arms to the first car and was resigned to see Charlie Kicking Woman.

Officer Kicking Woman HERE

She appeared in my headlights, sudden and brilliant, an apparition I could taste on the tip of my tongue, bitter metal on the backs of my teeth. Louise. There was a slashrip across her blouse, and her skirt was torn and ragged. It occurred to me after it was all over she must have been bleeding badly because all I remember when I think about seeing her that night is the red-wet back of her arm as she shielded her eyes from my car lights.

I had to stop the car and rest my arm on the steering wheel a moment, blow a long breath through closed teeth. It shook me up to see Louise on the roadside looking like my worst fears. Louise grabbed the door on the passenger side.

“Shit, Charlie,” she said. “I knew it would be you.”

I turned the dome light on and saw the pale frown of her mouth, her eyes black with pupils. I took my coat off and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“What the hell happened?” I said to her, knowing she was afraid of more than a highway accident, knowing she was afraid I would haul her back to Thompson Falls. She was shaking, a wet-dog shake that made me shiver in the heat.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Some guy got it down the road. The car’s off that way,” and she waved toward the low field. Her tongue looked swollen and tight against her teeth but there was no alcohol on her breath. Blood was slow on her arm. I looked at her closely. Her body seemed swathed in shock, jerky, oddly motioned, deliberate yet fast. Her mind had kicked in to save her.

“Let me take a look here,” I said and clipped her wrist, holding her arm firmly between my thumb and index finger. Her heartbeat was strong and fast. There was a half-moon puncture on her inner arm, like a trout’s mouth filled with blood.