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The Mercedes slammed into the ditch. Kaleb was in the air, strapped to a seat tilting both diagonally and forward. On the passenger side below Sharon slumped limp and unresponsive as a doll. Then he saw blood and water and knew he’d have to look out for himself. The door was above him, the air bags were in the way, and he hurt. He struggled with the door. Jumping free, he landed in a rocky stream. The rain still hammered like nail-guns, the creek was rising, and the Mercedes reared over him and the rising waters like a shipwreck. He dialed, his fingers numb and slow. “Jeb, it’s Kaleb. I’ve had an accident on Bentcreek Road, on the turn past the old bridge. Will you help me?” “Haven’t you called the police?” “You’ll get three thousand if you come and keep your mouth shut.” “I should’ve known. Coming, Governor.” Shivering, Kaleb waited in the blank dark. Finally, headlights crept around the wipe-out turn. It was Jeb. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” “Where’s Sharon?” “Dead.” “Get in the car.” Suddenly sirens screamed. “I thought you didn’t call the police.” “I didn’t.” Realizing what’d happened, Kaleb turned numb. The police cars and ambulance stopped. A door opened, shut. “There’s been an accident here? We had a call from Sharon Rogers. She said she’d been with you, Governor.” The voice froze with contempt. “When you went into the ditch you left her while the water rose.” “I thought she was dead. Didn’t I say so, Jeb?” “Yes,” Jeb said hurriedly. “Did you check?” Kaleb licked his cold lips. “Yes.” The second police officer turned to the first one. “They aren’t telling the truth.” He turned back to Kaleb and Jeb. “Until we find out what’s happened, you’re staying here.” |