Just called 911 as soon as the pile-up started. That’s all. It was that other guy, Gabriel. He’s the one you should thank. I saw him catch you when you fell. Moved like greased lightning. One second you were falling, and the next he was there, keeping you from cracking your head open on the highway.”
I searched the gathering crowd, looking for Gabriel so that I could thank him, but he was gone.
“Where’d he go?” I asked.
Frank took off his hardhat and scratched his balding, sunburned head. “Don’t know. He was just here a second ago.”
I scanned the crowd some more, but there was no sign of him. “It’s like he vanished.”
“Seems to be a lot of that going on,” Frank said. “Couple of other people are missing, too. Your friend over there, the one helping that blonde—he said one of your other friends was missing? That who you two were hollering for earlier?”
I nodded. “Craig. He’s got to be around here somewhere, though.”
The yuppie from the Volvo, the one who’d been paying more attention to his cell phone than the road and had caused the truck to swerve into our lane, climbed out of his car and slammed the door. His face was like a storm cloud. Running a hand through his perfectly coifed hair, he surveyed the damage to his rear bumper, muttered something under his breath, and then glared at me. His tie fluttered in the wind. Then he turned his attention to our van, and caught sight of Hector’s body. He flinched. The color drained out of his face, but he still looked angry.
“That guy still alive?” He walked over to Frank and me, one hand massaging his neck. “Because if so, then he’d better have a damn good lawyer. I think my spine is hurt.”
“He’s dead,” I told him. “So you’ll probably have to sue somebody else.”
“Dead?”
“Yeah. In case you didn’t notice, he’s got a twelve-inch pipe sticking through his fucking face.”
The Volvo driver suddenly forgot all about his supposedly injured back. “Jesus Christ. This is bullshit. I’m supposed to be in York by six. I’ve got a meeting.”
Dismissing him with a wave of my hand, I turned back to Frank. “Is your cell phone working?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Signal was fine when I called 911. The woman said she was dispatching units right away. Sounded like she was in a hurry. Frazzled. I’ll bet other people were calling about this, too.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “I hate to ask, but can I borrow your phone? Mine’s not working, and I’d like to call my wife. Let her know that I’m okay.”
“Sure.” Frank handed me his cell phone. “I’d call my old lady, but she left me two years ago.”
He launched into the story, but I tuned him out, made sure I had four bars on the display, and then dialed Terri. This time there was no recording. Just silence. Dead air. I waited, but there was no dial tone or ring.
“I think your cell is out of service, too.” I handed the phone back to Frank.
“That’s weird.” He glanced at the network bars. “It worked before. Looks like I’ve got a signal, too.”
“Maybe they’re jammed up or something. Like what happened on September 11 th , when everybody was trying to call home at the same time.”
“Could be. If that’s so, then this is even bigger than we think. That explosion was the damnedest thing. Couldn’t tell where it came from exactly, but it must have been close. And I still say it sounded like a trumpet.”
Before I could reply, somebody screamed nearby us. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. It was just a high-pitched, drawn out wail that went on and on, and then finally faded after what seemed an eternity. A dog barked. Then another person called out, wondering where Thomas had gone. Thomas didn’t answer. A small child began to cry for her mother.
Frank looked scared. “This is getting bad.”
“Thomas? Thomas, you get back here, right now! Where are you?”
“Mommy? MOMMY! Where’s my mommy?”
“Thomas! You quit