False Impressions by Terri Thayer Page B

loudly. There were no houses along this stretch of road and no businesses. It was a wooded area with steep ravines and lots of undergrowth.
    April held the flashlight over her head and caught a glimpse of the car at the bottom of a small embankment. She eased herself down, treading carefully. The snow here was crusty and slippery. There was no way to tell how deep it was without stepping through the brittle surface. She didn’t want to end up knee-deep in snow.
    April reached the back end of the car. It was nose down, surrounded by broken branches. She played the flashlight around until she found the driver’s side. The car’s front end was bashed in. The windshield had a point-of-impact break as though a head had hit it. She pulled on the door handle. The door was iced shut.
    She circled, brushing away the accumulation on the windows, trying to see inside. It was light and powdery and flew easily away as soon as her mitten hit it, like tiny fireflies. She had the sensation that she was opening a secret cache. Like an archeologist brushing away sand to reveal the pharaoh’s tomb.
    It had to be a tomb. How could someone survive this crash? If they survived the impact, how could they stand the freezing temperatures?
    She tugged harder and was gratified to hear something cracking. One last yank, girding herself against the ground and using all her strength, and the door gave way.
    The nose-down position of the car prevented it from opening all the way. April squeezed into the small opening. There was no glass in the driver’s side window. She could see a body tossed over the passenger seat like a no-longer beloved rag doll. She reached in to see if she could feel a pulse. As her hand wavered over the man’s neck, a grunt came from his bloodstained lips.
    April drew back her hand in shock. “Hey, can you hear me?”
    There was no answer this time. April watched his chest and could see the rise and fall. His face was turned away from her, pushed into the plastic seat cushion. There was blood on the side of his face.
    She thought about how cold he must be. Maybe the cold had helped him by slowing down his heart rate. Meant he didn’t bleed out.
    She tucked the flashlight under her arm and called the dispatcher back, her frozen fingers fumbling, barely able to push the last-called button. “There is someone alive in the car. I can see that he’s breathing,” April said.
    “The EMTs are on their way. Are you visible from the road? You should be by your car.”
    April agreed to wait on the road.
    She began to back herself out. Another sound, this time more like a sigh, came from the broken body. April couldn’t leave him here alone. She had to offer whatever solace she could.
    She moved back into position, squeezed between the door and the car frame. “I’ve called for help,” she said. “They’re on their way. Any moment now.” She spoke softly.
    His hand flopped like a fish, and she gasped. The movement seemed deliberate, not involuntary. He whispered something she couldn’t understand. She tried to lean in further. The cold edge of the car cut her. He groaned again. April reached in to touch his arm, give him a bit of human contact. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had to offer.
    He was holding a business card. She loosened it from his fingers.
    She realized there was no broken glass around him. None of the pellets she’d have expected to find from shattered safety glass.
    She realized then that the side window wasn’t broken out. It was rolled down. He’d been driving with his window down on a night when the weather was below zero. That didn’t make sense.
    Her eye caught the faded string braid on his wrist.
    She backed up so quickly she hit her head on the door frame. “Ow!” she yelled before clamping down so hard on her lip that she bit it. She tasted the blood and felt her head throb.
    She pointed her flashlight directly on his arm. The string bracelet was familiar. This was J.B., Kit’s precious