Speed Trap

Emmett looked up at her approach. “She’s gone, Sheriff. There weren’t nothing I could do.”

Mandy laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You stayed with her, Emmett. That’s something. I’ll take it from here.”

She didn’t doubt his findings, but she had to check for herself. Leaving him, she approached the car. The air near the vehicle reeked of gasoline, burned rubber and hot oil. She cast a worried glance at the smoke curling out of the engine block.

Moving around the car, Mandy found the driver’s side door had been flung open. A woman with short blond hair lay sprawled on her back beside it. She wore jeans and a bloodstained yellow shirt.

Kneeling beside the body, Mandy checked for a pulse and found none.

“Sheriff, you’d better get away from that car,” Emmett called out sharply.

Mandy glanced up to see the smoke from the engine had become a thick black column with flames flickering at the base. It was then she heard a whimper—a tiny cry almost lost in the wind.

Was there someone still inside?

Mandy aimed her extinguisher at the burning engine. “Emmett, I need your help!”

Hurrying to her side, Emmett accepted the red canister Mandy thrust at him. Leaving him to deal with the flames, she knelt and peered inside the crushed vehicle. All she saw was a wadded-up blanket behind the passenger’s seat, but she heard another muffled cry.

The driver’s body was blocking Mandy’s way. Slipping her hands under the woman’s arms, Mandy dragged the body a few feet away. She could hear sirens now. The fire truck was almost here.

Emmett continued aiming bursts of CO2 at the engine. The flames leaped higher. One extinguisher wouldn’t be enough. The whole car could go up any second.

Breathing a quick prayer, Mandy ducked inside and began wiggling across the ceiling of the upside-down vehicle.

“Sheriff, what are you doing?” Emmett yelled. “I looked in. I didn’t see nobody else.”

“I hear crying. It sounds like a baby.”

Broken glass covered everything. It bit into Mandy’s elbows and stomach as she crawled. She could feel the heat of the fire. Smoke stung her eyes and scorched her lungs with each breath she was forced to take.

Behind the passenger’s seat, she pushed aside a patchwork quilt and discovered a baby buckled into a car seat that had come loose. The child whimpered pitifully.

“You need to get out of there,” Emmett shouted.

Barely able to move in the tight space, Mandy worked frantically to unbuckle the remaining straps holding the child in the seat. Fear made her fingers clumsy.

Don’t think about the fire. Get this child out.

The hiss and pop of the flames grew louder. The metal in the roof supports groaned as the weight of the car compressed them. If they crumpled a few more inches she would be trapped.

Tugging again at the fastener, she wished she had a knife, anything to cut the nylon straps.

God, please let me save this child.

Finally, the reluctant buckle clicked open. As Mandy pulled the baby loose, he cried out in pain.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, swaddling the blanket over him to protect him from the smoke. Cradling him close, she began to wiggle backward.

The heat of the engine fire singed her face and neck. She knew the smell of scorched cotton was coming from her uniform. With a loud metallic snap, the car settled lower.

The baby stopped crying, but she didn’t dare unwrap him to see if he was okay. They were almost out of time.

“Please, God, only a little bit more.”

She had her legs out when suddenly she felt hands grabbing her boots. An instant later, someone was pulling her free.

Emmett, having abandoned the empty extinguisher, helped her to her feet. They both turned and ran. With a deafening boom, the gas tank exploded and the flames engulfed the vehicle.

When they reached a safe distance, Mandy sank to her knees in the grass and stared at the blazing car.

“That was a near thing,” Emmett wheezed beside her, bracing his hands on his knees.

“Much too close.”

She looked down at the child she held and uncovered his face. To her relief he was still breathing. She sent a silent prayer of thanks.

The county fire department truck had arrived on the highway above followed by an ambulance and her undersheriff, Fred Lindholm. The fire crew quickly sprayed a thick layer of white foam over the burning vehicle. After a few tense minutes, the flames were beaten down.

Mandy sat rocking the baby while the EMS crew checked the driver. The men exchanged pointed looks and gave a brief shake of their heads.

Looking down at the child she held, Mandy’s heart went out to him. Poor little baby. Was the woman his mother? Where was his father? Did he have anyone in the world to care for him?

Dressed in a blue-and-white sleeper, he looked to be a little boy maybe four or five months old. She combed her fingers through the silky fine blond curls on his head. “I wish I could have saved her, too.”

Fred, a burly man in his late fifties, arrived at her side huffing with exertion. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you crawling out of that burning car. Talk about a stupid stunt!”

Fred rarely missed a chance to criticize her, but she was too emotionally spent to defend her actions.

“You’re bleeding,” he pointed out, his tone softening slightly.

Glancing down, she saw blood on her sleeves. “I must have cut myself on the glass.”

One of the EMS crew came to check the baby. Mandy bit her lower lip, reluctant to give him up. Holding the child kept her hands from shaking.

It was hard not to think about how easily they both could have died.

At the paramedic’s gentle coaxing, she gave the child over, but noticed how empty her arms felt without his weight. She clasped her hands around her knees to disguise their trembling.

After rolling up Mandy’s sleeves, a second paramedic cleaned her cuts, wound a roll of gauze around both her elbows and secured them with tape. She listened to his instructions on keeping the wounds clean and dry without comment. When he was done, Mandy rose to her feet, happy to find her legs were steady enough to stand.

She needed to get to work. There was an accident to investigate, reports to file, next of kin to be notified. Keeping busy was the best way to keep her mind off her close call.

Turning to her undersheriff, she said, “Get started with the scene, Fred. I want to know how fast she was going when she hit that railing. I’m going to take Emmett’s statement.”

She climbed the rocky slope to where the rancher was sitting in his pickup. When she reached him, she offered her hand. “Thanks for all your help, Emmett. I need to ask you a few questions for my accident report, but it shouldn’t take long. Then you’ll be free to go.”

“It wasn’t an accident, Sheriff.”