Seven

Chapter 9

When Tim came to, he found that it was still dark. Darker, if possible. Had night fallen? Was anyone able to see the accident from the side of the road? You couldn't drive to or from Crestwood without seeing the bright red truck crumpled into the trees. 

His head was throbbing. He felt the stinging pain of a nasty gash on his forehead, and tasted the blood in his mouth. The impact of the crash probably knocked some teeth out, but he wasn't concerned about his looks. Moving his body was painful. Every muscle screamed with pain. Tim ran his hand down over his legs. He noted the cuts, but nothing deep enough to make him hemorrage to death.

Thank God, I'm alive, he thought as he tried to push the driver's side door open. It was jammed, so he unbuckled himself and looked around. The front end of the truck was wrapped around the tree trunk, but it was long enough to prevent any major damage to the cab. The right side looked like it took most of the impact, but the side Tim was on was largely spared. 

Turning his body sideways, he kicked the door open. He stumbled onto the ground and spit the blood out of his mouth. Looking out, he saw that it was dark. Nighttime, judging from the deep black color of the skies.

"How long was I out?" 

Tim's head was in pain, likely from the massive whiplash, and he couldn't quite focus. He propped himself up on one of the truck's wheels and just stared in front of him. The fog was out, but it was thick and he could hardly see anything. 

The girl.

He suddenly rememberd swerving off to avoid hitting a girl in the middle of the road. Where was she? Tim recalled seeing a young girl, maybe around ten, in a white gown just standing there. Did he see her face? Was she the one who whispered 'seven' as he blacked out from the crash? 

"Hello?!" Tim yelled into the bleak night. He was so confused, he couldn't figure out what was going on. Had he been sitting in that mangled truck all these hours? Why was it nighttime? Did anyone look for him? He knew his sister Becca would've noticed if he hadn't made it home, and he knew she'd call the hospital or the authorities to look for him. Tim was close to his older sister, and if he was running late, he always called her. If not, she'd be quick to knock him out. 

Becca. She'd know what to do. She'd call. Tim prayed that she'd find a way to get to him or send help.

Donnely was still a good ways from where he crashed, so the only thing left for Tim to do was to walk back towards Crestwood. His body ached, and his head felt like someone had pummeled it, but he was determined to make it back to the hospital. He needed to. 

Tim couldn't think of how far he was from Crestwood, but he estimated that he was a mile or two out before he crashed. It wasn't far. He could walk back. He didn't know the time, but he knew that if he made it back, the third shift would be there. He thought of Salcedo and the rest of the crew, and of Jodie, who'd probably stitch his wounds up herself. Standing up, he limped back towards the hospital.

Not far in the distance, hiding through the fog, a figure silently watched him.