but Hayden was the center. Now I had the protection of Hayden's presence: and Martin didn't. I nearly decided to turn back twice, even stopped and physically began to reverse, but I couldn't seem to figure out anything. I was shocked and freezing and desperate, and the remembered urgency of Martin's tone kept me on my course. The snow and the baby and the rough ground made the walk seem twice as long as it actually was, but finally I was among the trees. There was Karl's black pickup, carefully parked so it was unobtrusive. I got the keys from my pocket and climbed in awkwardly, the baby making an upset choky noise in protest at the continued cold.
I laid Hayden on the floor on the passenger side. That was the best I could do. Then I scooted the seat up so my feet could reach the pedals. The pickup started on the first turn of the key just like the Jeep had, which was a real blessing, and it had an automatic shift, which was another blessing. The heater roared into life, and after a few minutes I felt a sheer, pathetic gratitude for the onset of warmth. I began backing out of the trees. When I'd turned the truck to face the road, I saw a little track at least two vehicles had made. Under those tracks must be the dirt road Margaret had told me about. I followed them up the gentle slope to the county road, figuring the smoothest ground would lie that way, and though the pickup lurched a couple of times, we reached the road in one piece.
I started to turn the wheel left, toward town. Then I thought longingly of the Granberrys to the right, so much closer.
But Martin had said to go to town, and Martin always had a reason for making a decision. So I prepared to turn left, and I peered both ways to see if anything was coming.
It surprised me that something was.
And to compound the surprise, the traveler was Margaret Granberry, in her Dodge pickup. She stopped when she saw me by the side of the road and lowered her window.
"What are you doing?" she called. "Isn't that Karl's truck?" "Margaret, you should get home and lock the doors!" I yelled. "Someone came up to the house and shot him!"
"Shot Karl?" Margaret's pale face looked even whiter, and she jumped out of her truck, which she left running in the middle of the road, and made her way swiftly over the packed snow to my window, her hands shoved in her pockets. "He's bad," I told her. "I have to get to town to get help."
"What about Martin? And Rory?" Margaret asked.
"Rory's dead," I said baldly.
"So you left the baby there?"
Just then Hayden began crying, and I looked down to the floorboard to make sure he was okay.
When I looked back to the window, Margaret had a gun in her hand.
"Oh shit," I breathed. "Don't shoot, Margaret."
"I won't if you'll come without any trouble."
"Sure," I said instantly.
"Then you bend over and pick up my baby."
I did, though it was difficult to maneuver both our bundled bodies in the cab of the pickup.
Margaret stepped back from the door. "Now, get out holding the baby. And don't try anything like throwing him at me to get me to drop the gun." "I wouldn't dream of that," I said indignantly, and then told myself it would be a good thing to keep my mouth shut.
Margaret's head was uncovered, and her red hair had caught a lot of snowflakes. She turned her head uneasily from side to side, like she was tracking movements invisible to me.
I slid down off the high seat, holding Hayden.
Margaret seemed to be thinking hard.
"Go get in my pickup," she ordered. "You're going to have to drive." So I struggled uphill to the road, praying for more traffic to come along. This wasn't the day for my prayers to be answered the way I wanted them to be. The road was empty as far as I could see, north to south. Following Margaret's directions, I got in the driver's seat, having slid Hayden over to the passenger side. The truck, still running, was older than Karl's fancy pickup and it had seen harder usage. Before I could do more than formulate the thought that I could throw the truck in drive and take off, Margaret had grabbed Hayden and was getting in herself, the gun pointed at me.