Snow Blind-J Collins 4 (17 page)

And Brittney was still headed straight for disaster.

Hitting that stack wouldn’t be like jumping in a fluffy pile of fresh straw; it’d be like slamming into a brick wall.

I didn’t want to watch; I couldn’t look away. I felt useless and scared shitless that another tragedy was unfolding right before my eyes and I couldn’t do a fucking thing to stop it.

Something must’ve gotten stuck or broke. I thought of Dad and his piss-poor equipment inspection. Had he neglected to tell his family of the problems with machinery? Did she even know where the emergency brake was? Why didn’t she turn off the ignition? There were a million things she could’ve done. She did none of them.

How many times had she experienced pure life-or-death panic in her eleven years? None, probably, which was why she didn’t know what to do but panic and freeze. Yet, she knew not to jump out of the cab and chance getting run over by those enormous back tires.

I’d never catch her, but if she’d just slow down her momentum . . .

I yelled, “Drop the bucket.”

Come on, come on, come on, think, Britt.

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I screamed, “Drop the bucket. Drop the bucket.

Drop the bucket!” each time progressively louder, as if she could hear me.

Maybe she did.
Screech clank
echoed and the bucket slammed to the earth.

Instead of relief, I stared in horror as the wheels on the left side lifted from the uneven ground and the tractor listed to the right. This was an older model, not one of those new high-tech self-leveling types.

Immediately Brittney jerked the steering wheel to the left to correct the imbalance, except she overcorrect-ed. Even as the tractor slowed, it clipped the corner of the haystack. Hay toppled over. The bucket’s steel blade dug into the snow and dirt with a drawn-out
screech
.

After demolishing the corner fence posts, the tractor came to a stop on an incline above the deep ditch.

The engine sputtered and died. I’d heard that bleak sound before and it hadn’t ended well.

I half-slid/half-ran down the embankment.

“Brittney!”

No answer.

“Hang on. I’m almost there.”

The cab door was wide open. I looked around frantically, seeing nothing but mounds of snow. I’d taken a step back when a glimpse of dark blue entered my peripheral vision. I spun toward it.

My stomach plummeted.

Legs stuck up out of the snow twenty feet ahead of me.

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No, no, please, no.

With each plodding footstep my vision blurred from intense concentration in such stark surroundings.

Upon reaching the half-hidden form I clenched my hands into fists, realizing my hands burned because I wasn’t wearing gloves.

I would’ve frozen in shock at the sight in front of me, if I hadn’t already been so goddamn cold.

I’d found a body.

But it wasn’t Brittney’s.

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If this wasn’t Brittney, where was she?

I backtracked until I reached the open tractor door. “Brittney? You all right?”

No response.

Crap.
I inched closer and stood on tiptoe to peer inside.

Brittney was buckled in the seat, motionless as a rag doll. She was unconscious; her chin nearly touched her chest and her arms dangled at her sides like sandbags.

The bucket blade wasn’t firmly imbedded in the ground. I didn’t know how smart it’d be to crawl into the cab to check her injuries. I doubted my weight would tip the heavy tractor forward, but I couldn’t justify the risk. I’d leave her be. For now.

But we needed help. Fast. With temps only near ten degrees, before long hypothermia would be a real danger.

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Already my hands weren’t working well. I squeezed a tight fist and opened them wide like a starfish several times to get the blood flowing. When I felt tingles, I slid my hand into my pocket for my cell phone. I curled my fingers around it as I carefully pulled it out. If I dropped it in this deep snow, chances were good it’d be lost until the spring thaw.

I clutched the phone in my left palm and poked the buttons with my stiff right index finger. Using both hands, I held the cold metal to my ear.

“Bear Butte County Sheriff ’s Office.”

“Missy? This is Julie Collins. I’m at my dad’s ranch, and there’s been an accident.” I described the situation.

“Where exactly are you on the ranch?”

“Ah. I’m at the intersection where County Road 12 meets Dry Creek Road. That’s the easiest access point.”

“I’ve dispatched an ambulance and Search and Rescue. Sit tight, okay, hon?”

“Okay. There is one other thing. The tractor uncovered another body. A frozen one.”

“Could you please repeat that?”

I did with as much detail as I knew, which wasn’t a lot.

Missy said, “I’ll let the sheriff know. Keep your phone handy. I’m sure he’ll wanna see this.”

Time passed in a blur of nothingness. I was cold, I was scared, and I could do nothing about either. I 171

talked to Brittney until my voice became hoarse.

Screaming hadn’t done my vocal cords any favors.

I needed to move, to keep the blood flowing. My gaze locked on the body downhill. The second body I’d found today. And sad to say, but finding two bodies in one day wasn’t even a record for me. I started toward the legs, out of more than morbid curiosity. It’d save the sheriff time if I identified the person beforehand.

Although why I was still looking for ways to make the sheriff ’s job easier was beyond me.

When I reached the corpse I couldn’t see the face, or the upper half of the body. I’d have to move it slightly.

Don’t do it.

I placed my palm on the denim-covered shin and pushed hard. The cardboard rigid body toppled over, leaving the man prone.

“Shit, oh Jesus, that’s fucking nasty.” I jumped back from the gruesome sight. The man’s head wobbled as if it was only attached to the body by the spinal cord. Dark splotches covered his face and I couldn’t tell if it was blood or mud.

The tractor had ripped chunks out of flesh, in a couple of places, like a cleaver slicing away frozen meat. Were the holes in the cloth puncture wounds from the tractor tines? Or was the body too hard to pierce?

He wore the typical rancher wear: a flannel shirt and jeans. No coat. Yellow cotton liners layered under 172

stained leather work gloves. The boots were a hybrid between hiking and old-fashioned rubber galoshes.

I had not a clue who this dead man was. But he was seriously fucked up.

The sound of approaching vehicles made me glance up and scramble back to the tractor. Not an ambulance, or patrol cars, or the volunteer fire department’s extraction van, but two pickups. The men parked alongside the road climbed out. My dad’s buddies, Don Anderson and Dale Pendergrast. Evidently they’d been listening to the police scanner again.

Dale rummaged in his truck bed while Don

shouted, “Julie? You all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Emergency folks oughta be here soon.”

I didn’t answer.

They started toward me, each holding a pair of heavy-duty bolt cutters. In no time flat they had the four remaining sections of the barbed-wire fence cut and rolled out of the way for easier access for the emergency crews.

Huffing and puffing uphill, they finally reached me.

The concern on their usually stoic faces made me jabber. “Brittney’s still in the tractor. I don’t know how bad she’s hurt and I didn’t want to chance moving her—”

“It’s okay. You did fine. They’ll get her out of there an’ fixed up in no time.”

Dale’s gaze dropped to my bare hands. “Girl, 173

where are your gloves?”

“I-I’m not sure.”

“Losin’ your gloves is a damn good way to lose your fingers. Here.” He tugged off his gloves and passed them to me, then grunted and lumbered back to his truck.

I almost wept when the warmth from the fleece-lined leather seeped into my hands.

“What else can we do?” Don asked.

“After they get her out of there . . .” I swallowed.

My mouth was bone-dry from yelling and raw from the cold wind. “While I was chasing after her, I high-centered my truck. I’ll probably need a winch to get unstuck.”

“No worries. You got chains?”

“Yeah. I carry a little of everything in my truck bed.”

“Smart.”

Sirens wailed ever closer.

“Is your daddy on his way?”

I stared at him like an idiot. “They don’t know.

Brittney was home alone when she called me. When I found out she was climbing on that tractor by herself, I sped out here. Then this happened . . . and I didn’t think.”

“S’okay. We’ll let ’em know. I got the number right here.” Don dug his phone out of the front pocket of his bib overalls.

“Will you tell him it’s not my fault? That I’d never 174

do anything to hurt her . . .” My throat closed and I couldn’t finish.

Don’s beady eyes narrowed on mine. “If it weren’t for you, who knows what woulda happened to that little gal. If your daddy cain’t see you saved her, then he’s a bigger fool than I thought.”

The ambulance screamed up, followed by patrol cars and the Search and Rescue van. I said nothing at all as I stumbled to meet them.

Didn’t take long for the experienced crews to get Brittney out of the tractor. Knocked cold from the impact, she sported a goose egg smack-dab in the middle of her forehead.

Protocol demanded a trip to the hospital for routine tests. Since she was a minor and I wasn’t her legal guardian, and she didn’t require acute care at this point, the consensus was to wait until her parents arrived.

Brittney regained consciousness just as Trish and my dad pulled up. I hid off to the side, watching, scared, waiting, a part of it yet not.

The crowd surrounding the ambulance parted.

Trish crawled into the back of the vehicle and my father stood there, lost. Displaced. Haggard.

Dad saw me. When he rushed up the embankment 175

I braced myself for his verbal onslaught. A punch in the stomach wouldn’t have shocked me.

But his full body hug did.

He whispered, “Thank you.” Then he released me quickly, spoke to Don, and climbed into his truck to follow the red and blue lights back into town.

I might’ve stood in the ditch forever in utter shock if Sheriff Richards hadn’t pulled me aside.

“Collins?”

I blinked, expecting the surreal scene would vanish and I’d wake up. Nope. The sheriff loomed over me in his woolly coat like a big brown bear.

“You need medical attention?”

“No. Why?”

“You look a little dazed.”

“I am. Cold, too. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had and it’s not even four o’clock.”

He frowned. “Nothing surprises me when it comes to you, Collins. You wanna give me a rundown?”

I did. Starting with finding Vernon Sloane. His eyes stayed flat and emotionless until I came to the part about Brittney. My stupid voice hitched and he put his hand on my arm.

“She’s lucky. Doan know what gets into people—not just kids. Third time in as many months something like this has happened. Two of those didn’t turn out so good.”

“I’ve sort of been out of it. What’s gone on?”

“Remember Darvin Pearson? Ornery old rancher, 176

calls the office and complains ’bout Atberry’s bulls getting out all the time? Well, he tipped over his tractor, fell into Old Woman Creek, and froze to death in his pasture walking back home.”

“No.”

“Yeah. Chris Greywolf used his ATV to pull his buddies on inner tubes. Lost control and ran himself and his friends into the side of a metal barn. Broken legs and arms weren’t the worst of it. Cody Capshaw will be using a colostomy bag for the rest of his life.

He’s seventeen. So it coulda been worse.”

“Sheriff?” Deputy Peach Fuzz yelled and motioned him over.

Richards sighed and ambled away.

I didn’t know how long I’d have to stick around—

at least until someone jerked my truck out of a snowbank. I needed a cigarette, but the thought of dragging ass up the embankment made me consider giving up smoking.

People wandered. More neighbors showed up, not strictly for the voyeuristic factor. This ranching community pulled together, for the most part.

Don and Dale slouched against the tailgate, chewing the fat, watching the activity, so I wandered in that direction.

“Feelin’ better now?” Don asked.

“A little.” I looked longingly at Dale’s cigarette.

“You have an extra one of those?” He took out a pack of generics, shook one out for me, and offered me the 177

lighter. “Thanks.” I inhaled deeply. God. Ambrosia.

“So, you worked for the sheriff, Julie. How long you think it’ll take ’em to wrap this up today?”

“I was just wondering the same thing.” Be impossible for Sheriff Richards to contain the crime scene.

It’d been completely trampled, say nothing of how he’d gather evidence beneath three feet of snow.

“Well, his ma is damn near dead, from what I understand. This’ll probably kill her, what with all the other stuff that’s gone on.”