Layla arrived with another light blanket and he did his best to drape it around the girl’s neck. In her upside-down position, gravity was not his friend.
“Let me do that,” Layla said.
Without a word, he left her to it and headed back around the truck to the driver. Dropping to the ground, he noticed the kid’s head wound was bleeding more profusely. Vance stripped off his shirt, then used his teeth to rip a manageable piece of fabric that he wrapped around the cut on the boy’s forehead. As he tightened the knot, the teenager regained consciousness, lifting an arm to bat at Vance’s hands.
“I’m here to help,” Vance said. “Just relax.” He introduced himself again. “What’s your name?”
“Oh, God, oh, God,” the teen moaned. “My dad’s gonna kill me. I crashed another car last month. He’s gonna kill me.”
Vance’s father thrust another blanket at him. He glanced up. “Someone’s watching for oncoming cars? 9-1-1s been called?” Out in rural avocado country, it could take a while for emergency responders to reach them.
“Yes—”
“Wait!” the driver said in a sudden panic. “I can’t move my legs! I can’t move my legs!”
Vance stretched supine on the asphalt so he could reach in and palm the boy’s shoulder. “It’s going to be all right. We’ve called for help.”
“Don’t leave me,” the boy said, and wrapped his fingers around Vance’s wrist.
“I’m not going anywhere. Can you tell me your name?”
“Marshall,” he said, his hold not relaxing. “Marshall Richter.”
“Okay, Marshall Richter. The two of us will sit tight until the EMTs arrive.” From what Vance could see, it would probably require the Jaws of Life to extract the kid from the twisted front end of the car. Whether his legs were badly injured or just trapped, it was impossible to know.
“Vance.” His father crouched beside him and spoke in a low voice. “The gasoline’s leaking.”
Shit. He could smell it now. Even as he took in a sharp breath, he could feel the liquid beginning to puddle under his body. Oh, shit.
“Dad, do you think you can get the girl out?” Between risking possible further injury or frying to death if the vehicle caught fire, it was a no-brainer. “Put her down on a flat surface a distance away from here. Keep her covered and calm.”
“Vance—”
“A safe distance.” He turned his head to meet his father’s eyes. “Get everybody a safe distance away. You understand?”
“Yes,” William Smith said, his jaw tightening.
“Good.” He hadn’t wanted to say the word explosion and freak out the kid.
The teen was no fool, however, and his fingers bit into Vance’s flesh. “You can’t leave me,” he said, his eyes going wild.
“I’m not going to leave you. I’m right here.” On the other side of the truck, he could see his brother, father and uncle making quick work of releasing the girl from the harness and belt. The door on that side wasn’t crumpled like the driver’s door, so when she dropped into Fitz’s arms, he was able to ease her out. The girl cried throughout the entire process and it was Layla who reassured her, her husky voice telling her it would be fine, she was almost free, everything would be okay.
Then the girl was gone. Vance let out a long breath of relief as he sensed the others retreating toward the house. His gaze remained on the kid, though, maintaining eye contact to bolster the boy’s confidence.
Footsteps alerted him to the return of someone. He glanced over, recognizing his father’s shoes. Then there was Layla, the little moons and stars on her toenails giving her away.
“Dad,” he called, new worry making his voice sharp. His jeans had soaked up the gasoline like a sponge. More of it was wet beneath his bare back. “Dad, please move back. Take Layla. Take her and yourself away right now.”
There was a hesitation. “Son—”
“Right now.”
Layla made a small sound of distress and he closed his eyes, not sure if it was the smell of gasoline or her fear that was making his stomach churn. “Go, Layla,” he said, making the order harsh. “Go on.”
The footsteps retreated again and he blew out another long breath. Marshall was making panicky noises in the back of his throat and Vance reached in to cover the fingers that were still curved around his wrist. “So, Marshall, where do you go to high school?”
“Say you won’t leave me,” the kid said. “Say I’m going to make it out of this.”
Words echoed in Vance’s head, the ones he’d told every