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'Don't let it touch you!' |
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'Gotta do better than try.' |
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'This is some fix,' Sandy said. She sounded fairly calm about it. |
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'We'll be all right,' Trev said. |
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'How do you figure that?' |
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'Cause we're the good guys.' |
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'Reckon that's what they said at the Alamo?' |
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'If you can get off me, I'll try to get out the back window.' |
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'That'll do us a heap of good.' |
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'You'd better do something quick!' Lisa blurted. |
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'Try to cover up the window with those bags you've got back there.' |
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He heard the rustle of plastic. |
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'It's just kind of running in along the . . . MOM! Oh God, Trev, Mom's face is in it! I didn't see . . . There's a puddle!' |
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'Don't touch it!' he snapped. Twisting so his back was against the door, he shoved at Sandy's shoulder and chest. She got a knee onto his hip. Then she put her other foot against the door. 'Try to stand up,' he told her. Then, to Lisa, he said, 'Your mom's still out cold, isn't she?' |
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'Yeah. I think so. She's moving a little, though.' |
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Hanging onto the steering wheel, Sandy pulled herself up. Her weight lifted off Trev's hip. As she rose, her head bumped the passenger window. She hunched down some. |
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