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smells like rust, like blood.
    A trellis of diagonal struts joins the metal beam to the roadway above. Squirming up one of the struts, I grab the bridge’s metal railing and pull myself higher until my head reaches the level of the roadway. I haul one leg onto the surface of the bridge. Dirt and pebbles scrape against my belly as I drag the rest of my body over.
    The full moon shines on the empty road. The water below the bridge sounds faraway, now that I’ve escaped it. Rusty would have been faster and more agile. Jeb would have been stronger. But I did it. I made it to town. I saved myself.
    Now I need to save Jeb.

chapter fifteen
    Water squelches from my sneakers with every step on the road into Mount Judea. My clothes hang from my body in sopping clumps. Main Street is shut down for the night. There’s no light on at the gas station or the general store. The diner’s empty, and the sign on its door is turned to Closed . But a light burns at the back of the building. The waitress stands outside, leaning against the brick wall, drinking a cup of coffee. The door to the diner’s kitchen is propped open with a chair. Light and the sound of a radio playing country music come from inside the kitchen.
    Even after a full day’s work, the waitress still looks dolled up, with her blond hair pinned in a perfect bun. I comb my fingers through my wet tangles and walk toward her. I’m ready to ask for help anywhere I can find it.
    â€œHoney, what happened to you?” Her black mascara makes her eyes pop wide.
    â€œI need help,” I say.
    â€œWhy, you’re the girl that was goin’ out climbin’ with them boys from the city,” she says. “Now before you say anything, you need somethin’ dry on your back and somethin’ warm in your belly.”
    She takes my arm and hustles me into the kitchen. The bright fluorescent lights are blinding after my long trek through the dark. The ceramic tile floor shines. The stainless-steel counters gleam. Every pot, pan, knife and spatula hangs in its proper place. I blink and squint while the waitress opens a closet door and pulls out a sweatshirt.
    â€œTake your top off, honey. Don’t be shy. I got kids. I seen it all. Now put this on. That’s right, and sit down whiles I git you somethin’ to eat.”
    She bustles around, laying food in front of me—steaming chicken and grits, pecan pie, hot coffee. My hand shakes as I pick up the fork. Once I start eating, I can’t stop until it’s all gone. The waitress pulls up a stool beside me.
    â€œYou look like you’re in a mess of trouble, honey. Why don’t you tell me what’s goin’ on?”
    The whole story comes rushing out of me. Jeb snooping around in the marijuana patch, the bikers chasing us, the gunshot wound, the truck getting trashed, the deputy and his dealings with the bikers.
    â€œWe need to get Jeb to a hospital. But how can we do that, if the deputy’s on the side of the bikers?” I ask.
    The waitress taps her long red fingernails against her coffee cup. “I never did trust that deputy,” she says. “Them boys was dealin’ so much drugs right under his nose, you had to figure he was either dumb as a mule or he was in on it.”
    She takes a sip of coffee. “Well, there’s the volunteer fire department, but it’s run by the deputy’s brother, so that’s out. Then there’s the state troopers, but they’re an hour away, and the first thing they’ll do is call the sheriff’s office. If the deputy’s in on it, could be the sheriff’s in on it too.”
    â€œWhat about calling the hospital? We could get them to send an ambulance,” I say.
    â€œHoney, as soon as you call the hospital with a story like that, they’re gonna call the police and the fire department. Emergency responders. Y’see? It’ll go right back to the sheriff and his deputy. You want