pine tree with half his face resting in a trickle of water. Sliding uneasily down into the steep ditch, Ginger touched his cheek. It was cold. Sticking her fingers into the neck of his coat, she found not only a pulse but heat.
“Samuel, we need to get him to the hospital.”
There was no answer. Ginger stood and looked around. Samuel was nowhere to be seen.
“Samuel!” she yelled.
“I think I see another!” he replied, his voice echoing from deep in the darkness of the wood.
Ginger shook the boy. He stirred.
“Hey. Hey. Wake up.”
Opening his eyes, the boy blinked away from the flashlight.
“I’m sick,” he said, his breath smelling of whiskey.
“Yeah, no kidding.” Ginger coughed. “Come on.”
With effort, she helped the boy to his feet and, struggling, dragged him up onto the road. There, he promptly threw up.
“How much have you had?” she asked.
“I dunno.” He retched. “I’m so tired.”
“Don’t go to sleep. Hang on. Samuel!”
“Coming.”
Opening the back of her cab, she sat the boy down on her backseat.
“Please don’t throw up in my truck.”
“I don’t feel good.” He groaned and crawled farther inside, collapsing across the seat.
“Samuel!” Ginger yelled again to the trees.
“I am here, Virginia Moon.”
Startled, she spun around and there he was on the driver’s side of the truck.
“Wh-what happened to the other one?”
“He ran when he saw me coming.”
“I have to get this one to the hospital. You climb in.”
“I am going home.”
“Yes, I know, and I have to go to work. Where’s home?”
“Yet far from here. Laurel Creek. South.”
“Well, get in and I’ll drive you to Franklin. Can you sit with him? Keep him awake?”
“I cannot,” was his reply.
Ginger blinked. She must have heard him wrong.
“Samuel. It’s freezing out here and this kid has alcohol poisoning or hypothermia or both. I need your help.”
“I have helped. I stopped you here. Now I must go.” Samuel turned and walked to the edge of the trees.
“Samuel!”
“I am sorry. I cannot help more. I would if I could.”
Then he was off, moving down into the ravine from which Ginger had just pulled the boy and disappearing into the forest beyond.
“Samuel!” she yelled. But there was no answer. Ginger lookedaround in the darkness and snow, her jaw moving up and down, saying his name over and over.
“What the hell?” she whispered and slammed the cab door. She came around the front of the truck and lifted her right foot to climb in. She stopped.
“Last call, Samuel! I’m leaving!” She waited, but there was no answer.
Pulling herself into the driver’s seat, Ginger shut her door and shifted the truck into gear. The boy groaned.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Jacob,” he mumbled.
“Well, Jacob. We’ve got about fifteen minutes to Franklin. Please don’t throw up in my truck.”
“Okay.” He moaned, and then he retched.
Chapter 4
Sloosh
G inger pulled up to the emergency room entrance at one forty-five a.m., climbed out of the truck, and with slippery steps walked to the glass door. She banged three times and as she waited for an answer she gazed at her reflection. Her ginger-colored roots were peeking out of her dark brown hair. She’d need to do something about that soon. A woman in her late fifties with close-cropped gray hair and pink scrubs poked her head out from behind the triage room wall.
“Morning! I got an inebriated teenage boy I found in a ditch,” she yelled through the glass.
The woman stepped out from behind the desk, walking to the door. Her name badge read, “Margery T., RN.”
“His name Jacob?” she asked with a scowl.
Ginger tilted her head. “Yeah,” she replied.
Nurse T. unlocked and opened the door. “Let’s bring him in,” she mumbled, setting the door ajar. “I’m Margery Thompson.”
“Virginia Martin,” Ginger replied. “You know him?”
“This is only his fifth time here in as many
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