through.”
Mike grinned at the boy. “You’re a genius, Stephen!” he said happily. “I was wondering how to fix that. How old are you?”
Stephen grinned, the praise clearly welcome, even as he ducked his head in embarrassment. “I’ll be eleven on March 1 st ,” he said. “Well, actually, it’s February 29 th , but we don’t have one of those this year.”
Kari smiled, leaning forward and kissing Stephen on the cheek. “You keep a cool head, Leap Year Kid. I was more panicked than you were.”
She and Stephen helped Mike back into the driver’s seat, and he adjusted the seatback to recline a bit more. Jenn handed Mike his red Louisville Cardinals jacket, which he carefully worked into, hissing as he moved his left arm. Kari and Stephen used both sleeping bags, stuffing them into the broken driver’s side window as tightly as they could. Luckily, the front windshield was only spiderwebbed, not broken.
There was silence – much welcomed, Kari thought – for about fifteen minutes as the children ate. Even Ariel ate half a chicken leg and drank some Gatorade before she spilled it. When everyone was finished and Kari collected all of the trash in a bag, she and Stephen helped the older kids walk a bit into the woods to relieve themselves. The baby wipes in Ariel’s diaper bag were going fast, Kari knew. When the older children were all back in their seats, Kari changed Anthony and Ariel on the floorboard between the front and second seats. Ariel was much happier, and her eyes were closing almost as soon as Jenn wrapped her arms around her.
Mike started the engine and ran the heater for a few minutes after Kari got back in and closed her door. It didn’t take long to warm the SUV up, and with all those little bodies keeping the heat in, it was actually comfortable. The sky darkened around them, and the talking gradually subsided as the children fell asleep. The temperature dropped, and Mike periodically turned the vehicle back on, warming them for five to ten minutes.
“Why did you pull it out?” Kari asked finally. The deep breathing in the back seats told her the children were sleeping comfortably.
Mike looked over at her, his face serious. “We have at least ten miles to hike tomorrow.” His voice was quiet in the darkness. “Ariel and Anthony won’t be able to walk any distance at all, and I’m not sure how long Brittany will last. I can’t have a shard of glass sticking out of my arm with a kid on my shoulders.”
Kari absorbed that. It was annoyingly logical. “It could have been arterial,” she said finally. “You could have bled out.”
“I didn’t,” Mike replied.
“You could have,” Kari insisted stubbornly.
Mike sighed, tugging the elastic band out of his hair and setting it on the console beside him. “I thought about that, Kari,” he told her. “I promise, I did. But think about this part of it. The odds of me hiking ten to fifteen miles without that thing moving around inside me and doing even more damage are nil. If it was arterial and I was going to bleed out, I needed to do it and get it over with, so you could do whatever you needed to get the kids – and my sister – to safety.”
“That’s –“ Kari sputtered.
“Brave,” Stephen said softly from the seat behind them. Kari started – she didn't realize the boy was awake and listening to them.
“And stupid,” she snapped back.
“No,” Stephen replied, his tone more thoughtful than argumentative. “It was actually pretty logical, Miss Kari. Iron Mike is right – he would have ended up slowing us all down and still died before we ever got there.”
“Smart kid,” Mike approved, and then, for the last nail in the coffin, he quoted Spock. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few – or the one.”
Kari shifted in her seat, turning her back to them and looking at the moon outside her window. “You can both shut up anytime,” she huffed grumpily. Mike grinned, meeting Stephen’s
Mike grinned at the boy. “You’re a genius, Stephen!” he said happily. “I was wondering how to fix that. How old are you?”
Stephen grinned, the praise clearly welcome, even as he ducked his head in embarrassment. “I’ll be eleven on March 1 st ,” he said. “Well, actually, it’s February 29 th , but we don’t have one of those this year.”
Kari smiled, leaning forward and kissing Stephen on the cheek. “You keep a cool head, Leap Year Kid. I was more panicked than you were.”
She and Stephen helped Mike back into the driver’s seat, and he adjusted the seatback to recline a bit more. Jenn handed Mike his red Louisville Cardinals jacket, which he carefully worked into, hissing as he moved his left arm. Kari and Stephen used both sleeping bags, stuffing them into the broken driver’s side window as tightly as they could. Luckily, the front windshield was only spiderwebbed, not broken.
There was silence – much welcomed, Kari thought – for about fifteen minutes as the children ate. Even Ariel ate half a chicken leg and drank some Gatorade before she spilled it. When everyone was finished and Kari collected all of the trash in a bag, she and Stephen helped the older kids walk a bit into the woods to relieve themselves. The baby wipes in Ariel’s diaper bag were going fast, Kari knew. When the older children were all back in their seats, Kari changed Anthony and Ariel on the floorboard between the front and second seats. Ariel was much happier, and her eyes were closing almost as soon as Jenn wrapped her arms around her.
Mike started the engine and ran the heater for a few minutes after Kari got back in and closed her door. It didn’t take long to warm the SUV up, and with all those little bodies keeping the heat in, it was actually comfortable. The sky darkened around them, and the talking gradually subsided as the children fell asleep. The temperature dropped, and Mike periodically turned the vehicle back on, warming them for five to ten minutes.
“Why did you pull it out?” Kari asked finally. The deep breathing in the back seats told her the children were sleeping comfortably.
Mike looked over at her, his face serious. “We have at least ten miles to hike tomorrow.” His voice was quiet in the darkness. “Ariel and Anthony won’t be able to walk any distance at all, and I’m not sure how long Brittany will last. I can’t have a shard of glass sticking out of my arm with a kid on my shoulders.”
Kari absorbed that. It was annoyingly logical. “It could have been arterial,” she said finally. “You could have bled out.”
“I didn’t,” Mike replied.
“You could have,” Kari insisted stubbornly.
Mike sighed, tugging the elastic band out of his hair and setting it on the console beside him. “I thought about that, Kari,” he told her. “I promise, I did. But think about this part of it. The odds of me hiking ten to fifteen miles without that thing moving around inside me and doing even more damage are nil. If it was arterial and I was going to bleed out, I needed to do it and get it over with, so you could do whatever you needed to get the kids – and my sister – to safety.”
“That’s –“ Kari sputtered.
“Brave,” Stephen said softly from the seat behind them. Kari started – she didn't realize the boy was awake and listening to them.
“And stupid,” she snapped back.
“No,” Stephen replied, his tone more thoughtful than argumentative. “It was actually pretty logical, Miss Kari. Iron Mike is right – he would have ended up slowing us all down and still died before we ever got there.”
“Smart kid,” Mike approved, and then, for the last nail in the coffin, he quoted Spock. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few – or the one.”
Kari shifted in her seat, turning her back to them and looking at the moon outside her window. “You can both shut up anytime,” she huffed grumpily. Mike grinned, meeting Stephen’s
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