Helltown - Jeremy Bates Page 0,22
the park.”
Noah peered into the gloom. Visibility was nearly zero. “How do you know that?”
“Jeff told me. He did the research for this trip, so I assume he knows what he’s talking about.”
Noah contemplated that. “And if we get lost?”
“We can’t if we stay on the same road. And if worse comes to worse, we’ll backtrack. We passed a few houses before the bridge. We’ll knock on a door, tell whoever answers there’s been an accident, get them to call an ambulance. But going straight ahead is by far the fastest option right now.”
Accepting that logic, Noah circumnavigated the barricade. The road immediately deteriorated, a victim of the elements and neglect. Weeds overran the shoulders and sprouted up here and there through the blacktop. Low branches bounced off the Jeep’s windshield and slapped the roof, as if to shoo the intruders away. Noah thought briefly of the vehicle’s paintjob, then told himself this was a trivial, selfish concern, given Jeff and Jenny’s conditions.
And exactly what were their conditions? he wondered with a hollow feeling in the pit of his gut. Was Jeff going to lose his ability to walk? Was Jenny going to live out the rest of her life in a vegetable state until her family decided to pull the plug? Or was his overactive imagination blowing things out of proportion? “They’ll be fine,” he mumbled to himself.
“What?” Steve said. He had been examining his shattered reading glasses.
“Nothing,” Noah said, embarrassed he’d spoken his thoughts out loud. “Have you ever had a bad accident before?” he added, to say something.
“I broke my collarbone skiing in Aspen, if you can call that a bad accident.”
“Aspen, huh?”
“My parents were both into skiing. As a kid I probably saw every major ski resort west of the Rockies.”
“You still ski?”
“Not for years.”
Steve tossed the useless eyeglasses onto the Jeep’s dashboard, and a silence fell between them. The trivial talk was awkward given the circumstances.
Finally Noah said, “How long does it take to recover from a broken back?”
Steve shrugged. “It depends on the type of fracture.”
“How bad do you think Jeff’s fracture is?”
“We don’t know he has a fracture. There’s no way to tell the extent of his injury without an X-ray.”
“But if it is fractured?”
“A single fracture, and no associated neurological injury…” He shrugged. “Most tend to heal within a few months.”
Noah frowned. “Neurological injury? You mean, spinal cord injury?”
“Yeah.”
“Back at the crash, you mentioned he could be paralyzed from the waist down.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything. I was caught up in the moment. Again, it totally depends on the extent of the injury.”
“But there’s a possibility he could be paralyzed?”
“I’m not a spinal surgeon, Noah. I haven’t examined him. I don’t know.”
“Be straight with me, Steve. I’m not his mother.”
Steve hesitated. “Yeah, there’s a possibility. Even so, there’s always rehab, physio…”
“Which could last years.”
“Better than never walking again.”
“Yeah,” Noah said sourly. “Better than that.”
Noah saw the gravel driveway and white mailbox at the last moment. He slammed on the brakes. The Jeep squealed to a stop.
“What the hell?” Steve said, alarmed.
“A house!” Noah said, already swinging the Jeep onto the driveway.
The house was set a hundred feet back from the road, barely visible in the spectral haze. It had projecting eaves, tall windows, and a wrap-around porch. Yellow light glowed from behind a window in a square belvedere, which protruded vertically from the eastern corner of the low-pitched roof.
“Thank God,” Steve said. He twisted in his seat and checked Jenny’s breathing and circulation.
“How is she?” Noah asked.
“Her pulse is weak.”
“That’s not good, is it?”
“Could be due to shock, or internal hemorrhage.”
Noah banged over a pothole.
“Hey!” Steve cried out. “Careful!”
“Sorry, dude,” Noah said. “I’m trying. This driveway’s in shit condition.”
Steve sat forward again.
Noah avoided a few more potholes and stopped next to a waterless stone birdbath. He killed the engine but left the high beams on.
Steve hopped out. “Wait with Jenny. This shouldn’t take long.”
Noah nodded and watched Steve hurry up the veranda steps. Several spindles in the veranda railing, he noted, were snapped in half or missing altogether. In fact, the entire house seemed to be falling apart. Broken slate shingles littered the scorched-grass lawn, while the paint on the weatherboards and ornate pediments above the windows was blistered and peeling.
Steve knocked on the front door, waited, knocked again, waited longer.
He turned and shrugged.
Swearing, Noah joined him on the veranda. The knocker Steve had used was big and brass and couldn’t have gone unheard.
“Someone’s gotta be home,” Steve said.
Noah rapped the knocker