by Farris, John
"Hey! Anybody around here?"
Barry straightened, looking up toward the road. She saw a crimson glow from the flasher atop the station wagon. The day was darkening, and it seemed colder. She wiped freezing snow from her lashes and shivered; she was wearing only, a lightweight cotton sweater.
A figure partly materialized out of the storm above her. A man with a flashlight.
"Down here!" Barry screamed. "I need help!"
The flashlight beam, diffused, highlighted the branches of the hawthorne tree and the young man's unconscious face. The newcomer studied them for several seconds, then abruptly vanished.
Barry slumped bleakly in the snow, teeth chattering, wondering if he was just going to drive off again. But within a minute he was back, picking his way cautiously down the slope in his Vibram-soled boots, a coil of rope over one shoulder, a rolled-up square of pearly plastic in the other. Barry recognized him, jumped up, and almost lost her footing.
"Albert!"
Albert Tweedie raised his head. "Barry?" He was a hulking young man of twenty; he had been in Barry's classes, off and on, from the first grade, but had fallen steadily behind her. A year ago he had dropped out of the high school to marry a homeless girl with two small children. His family was still upset, but Barry had heard the marriage was going pretty well; Albert was good with the kids.
He kneeled beside the victim, then glanced at her again; "What happened?"
"Well, I—I don't know where he came from. He was just on the road, and I—I couldn't help it, I didn't see him in time—"
Fresh tears threatened; Barry blinked hard. Albert studied her, taking time to think over everything she was trying to tell him. He was excessively prognathic, with acne like blackberry stains on his jaw. His eyes were on the small side, and everyone thought him irredeemably stupid. Barry had decided long ago that Albert had good sense and a willing heart—he was just a little slow and socially inept. With Albert, as with most people, patience and understanding paid off. "You run over him?"
"I hit him. His leg looks b-bad above the knee—it m-may be broken."
Albert unfolded the quilt and chewed his lip vigorously upon discovering that the other young man was naked; but he said nothing to Barry. After a while Albert wrapped him again and looked back, pondering the steepness of the slope behind him.
"Can you c-carry him?" Barry asked.
Albert shook his head. "Better not try. He's big." He unfurled the plastic, which had metal grommets around the edges, and began threading the Dacron rope he'd brought with him through the grommets. Barry, rocked by shudders, guessed what Albert was up to and looked at him admiringly.
He was aware of her distress. He paused to take off his down-filled vest and handed it to her.
"No, n-no, I'm o-k-kay."
"Go on—cold don't bother me." He even seemed to be perspiring lightly as he worked. Barry slipped into the old vest, which needed cleaning.
"What'll we do?"
"This is like a hammock, see? This way we can drag him uphill and he'll be wrapped tight, won't be moving much. In case there's broken bones."
"I don't know what I'd've done if you hadn't c-c-come along, Albert."
"Don't worry. You hold his head steady now, and I'll move him."
Together they laced the young man into the dropcloth until his arms were tight at his sides, hands overlapping his thighs. Albert went first up the slope, moving backwards, grunting with effort, feeling for handholds behind him. The rope was belayed around his waist. Barry followed, trying to act as a brake, holding the wrapped victim steady when Albert paused to be sure of his footing.
They were near the top of the slope when they heard a siren; a police car appeared in the tunnel of the bridge. Albert had left his pickup truck on the other side of the road, engine running. He hurried to flag down the cop with his flashlight.
