sinful one. That was what they’d called it. They’d never managed to beat or shame it out of me, though, no matter how hard they’d tried. Which was good, because that rebellion was my saving grace. It had got me out and kept me going, and sarcasm was par for the course in the Emergency Department, where the humor tended toward the black side. On the other hand, it probably wasn’t any more attractive to Gray than it was to most other men.
He said, “Mount Zion. The cult. With the …” He gestured down his body. “The clothes and all.”
“Yes.”
“Did they get caught up in it, then? Seduced away from school?”
“No. They were born in it.” Another breath. “Like me.”
Another silence, then: “But you don’t live there now. Wait, though. The Whore of Babylon. The tight jeans.”
“Yes. No. I don’t live there now.” I stared straight ahead, knowing my voice was tight, my body rigid. I didn’t tell people this. Not ever. I had no choice, though, not if I was going to use his ute. And him.
He turned off the road at the top of the hill and headed up a steep drive, framed by plantings and illuminated by the sort of modern squared-off lights that you had to pay extra for, and said, “Let’s get changed and do some sneaking, then. There’s just one thing I want to know first. Besides whether the dog’s still alive.”
“What’s that?” I asked, as he pulled the ute to a stop in front of a house like a cube. It was probably expensive, like the lights. I’d noticed that the simplest houses always seemed to be the dearest. Outside, that is, in the world of the Damned. It seemed an odd preference to me, but there you were.
He didn’t turn the engine off. He left it running, which meant the heat was on, and I was glad. I was still chilled to the bone. I needed a shower, preferably one about fifteen minutes long. I wasn’t going to get it, though, so never mind. And I was tensing, waiting for the question, knowing it would be awful.
He asked, “How did you get out of the car?”
Oh. Not awful. I said, “I’m a nurse. An RN.”
“Admirable,” he said, “but not really on point. Explains why you kept asking me how I was when you were half dead yourself, though.”
I said, “I work in Emergency. When you’re an Emergency nurse, you hear all the stories. You learn every life lesson somebody else’s hard way, which means you know what to do in most emergencies, including how to get out of a submerged car. As long as you keep your head, but that’s something else you learn to do in Emergency.”
“And how do you get out of a submerged car?”
“With a special tool, if you have one. A punch tool. I didn’t have that. Next time, I will.”
“Ah,” he said. “Next time.”
“Otherwise,” I went on, “you use your headrest, because it’s got those metal spikes, and it’s the one thing you can reach back and find in the dark. Your best bet is going out the back window. Weaker glass. They make it strong in front now, some kind of plastic layer in there, so people don’t get ejected. The worst injuries happen when you get ejected. Unfortunately, that also makes it harder to get out if your car’s underwater.”
“So …”
“So you wait for the car to fill with water first, which means the pressure equalizes and isn’t pushing against the glass as you’re trying to push it out. It can be difficult to wait, of course.”
“Of course,” he said gravely. “As a person would be holding their breath and all.”
“Yes. Especially since it’s better to stay belted in, so you’re not floating and can get enough leverage to break the glass. Hard to stay belted in when your instincts are telling you to get out. That’s another reason for the punch tool. I couldn’t stay belted in, but I managed anyway.”
“How?”
“I’m strong. And I had a car like a tin can. Cheap glass, probably. Also, I didn’t want to die.”
He digested that a minute, then asked, “Where did the dog come in?”
“I don’t know. I’d have thought it was an angel when it started pulling me along, helping me, but I don’t believe in angels anymore. Or miracles, or divine intervention, or that you get what you deserve. I believe in being prepared and keeping your head and doing what you have to do,