The climb was much harder than the fall—“The push,” Sue mentally corrected herself. It was also more painful and, in its way, more frightening. More frightening because of the height, but also more frightening because she had more time to think about what lay ahead. “First,” she kept telling herself, “I get to the top.” So she concentrated on that.
Small rocks kept sliding under her feet, causing mini-avalanches and big jolts of fear. Sue had never been particularly afraid of heights before, but after what just happened…“First, I get to the top.” Smaller rocks were embedded in her skin—knees, palms, elbows—any part of her that had skidded on the way down. Smaller than that, but more painful, were the countless spines prickling the palms of her hands each time she pushed herself up. They stung her knees as well, when she had to use those to push or to lean. But the palms were the worst. Time and again, she had to resist the impulse to pull away from the pain. “First, I get to the top.”
She did, too. She reached the top and never turned around to see what she’d just climbed. She looked instead into the roaring vehicles as they charged relentlessly from right to left. She stepped cautiously over the guard rail, not wanting to get closer to the traffic, but fearing the fall even more. Unthinking, she turned left to follow the flow of traffic.
It seemed a very short time before a car stopped.
The shoulder of the road was quite wide here, which allowed Sue to stay some distance from the traffic, but which was also the reason she’d been pushed from this particular spot. “Pull over here!” came the echo in her head. “There’s room here—pull over, G-- d--- it!”
Now there was another shout, from an unfamiliar voice: “Little girl!” She ignored the voice and the car, continuing to walk away from them.
She didn’t know it, but several people had already called 911 for her. Some of those people were afraid that she might be bait for a trap set by people hiding lower down the slope—people with guns, maybe—and called 911 rather than take the risk of pulling over. Some of the people didn’t want to get more involved than making an anonymous call. Some were going too fast to pull over in time to do her any good, and didn’t want to go to the bother of turning around. Some were in too big a hurry to reach their destinations. But hardly anyone could ignore the spectacle of a tiny girl all alone on the side of a freeway.
Another car stopped, this one in front of her. Sue stopped and stared in dismay. She looked behind. The first car was still there, and now its driver was walking toward her. “I’m not going to hurt you!” he called when he saw her looking. “I just want to help!”
She automatically ran away, but now she was running toward the other car. Trapped!
Then she heard the sirens. She didn’t grasp their significance at first, but, in the way of small children, was completely distracted by the wailing and the flashing lights. One—two—three police cars screamed down the freeway toward her. She watched, bemused, as the cars stopped so near to her. A pair of uniformed men got out to speak to the driver of the car behind her. She turned to see another pair head toward the car before her.
“Hello.” Now she noticed the occupants of the third car, right next to her, one of them kneeling. “Hello,” Sue replied.
“I’m Officer Sally,” said the kneeling cop. “What’s your name?”
“Sue.”
“Sue, where are your parents?” She shrugged. “Do they know you’re here?”
“I doubt it.”
“Well, a lot of people are concerned about you. Can you tell me how you got here?”
“Yes. The big kids drove me here.” Sue looked at her palms, spread her fingers, and began plucking the spines from her left hand.
