Copyright © 2007 Adelle Laudan
All rights reserved, Wild Child Publishing.
This excerpt contains some strong language and disturbing content. We do not recommend it for those under 18 years of age or for any one who is bothered by violence or profanity.
In the blink of an eye, a fully loaded log truck veered into their path. Experience enabled Shane to maneuver his motorcycle around the truck before it jackknifed, his vision blocked by the load of logs swaying precariously on the back. Above the screech of the truck's brakes locking, a blood-curdling scream sliced through the very core of his being.
Shane dropped his bike, lunged forward, and rounded the back of the truck in the same instant his wife and her bike parted ways. He heard the resounding crunch of metal as her Ironhead bounced off the cab and tumbled down the side of the mountain. Kelly flew through the haze of dirt and debris, landed with a sickening crunch; her body sliding down the road.
"Kelly!" Shane ran wildly after his wife. Sliding on his knees, he caught her crumpled body and held her head on his lap. Her glazed eyes held his for the briefest of moments before rolling back, her lids closing for the last time.
"Somebody help! You fucking bastard! You rotten, mother fucking, son of a bitch!"
Shane's venomous outburst stopped the dazed driver who burst from the passenger side of the truck. The man turned and stumbled back to call for help. A spasm of coughing stopped Shane's tirade. The acrid stench of diesel fuel assaulted his senses. Sobbing, Shane brushed his wife's matted curls from her bruised and bloodied face. Hearing the familiar rumble of a motorcycle, Shane looked up to see a man wearing a wide-brimmed leather hat come out from behind the truck. The stranger crouched down beside his bike and tied something to his swing arm.
"Hey! Over here!" Shane waved his hand in the air.
Shane rubbed his burning eyes with the heel of his hand, only to see the man was no longer there. Teetering on the brink of hysteria, Shane covered Kelly's mouth with his own. He blew long and hard in a futile attempt to fill her lungs with his breath. Gasping, he buried his face in her blonde curls, desperate to inhale her very essence.
The darkness erupted in a whirl of sirens and flashing lights. An attendant bolted from the rescue truck and fell to his knees next to Shane. He placed his hand gingerly on her limp wrist in search of a pulse. Finding none, the EMT sadly affirmed what he already knew with a nod. Shane hung his head. Slowly, he gathered his wife to his chest.
Another onslaught of blaring sirens signaled the arrival of an ambulance. The attendant beside Shane jumped up and halted their approach. After confirming Kelly's demise, two men pulled a stretcher from the back of the ambulance and jogged over to where she lay crumpled on the road. One of the attendants placed a hand cautiously on Shane's shoulder. He looked up in despair, allowing the other EMT to take Kelly from him and place her on the waiting stretcher. He took a white sheet and covered her broken body. Before the man had finished with her death shroud, Shane pulled the sheet away from her face and lovingly tucked it up under her chin. Puzzled, the young attendant looked at him.
"She doesn't like anything over her face while she sleeps." His voice cracked.