Evelyn looked at the rocks pinning his lower leg.
She tested the smallest one.
Heavy.
Movable.
“Can you feel your toes?”
“Yes.”
“Move them.”
He did.
“Pain?”
“Enough.”
“Sharp?”
“Mostly pressure.”
She reached toward his boot.
Daniel watched.
Evelyn pressed around the ankle.
“Nothing obvious there.”
“Your knee?”
“Feels intact.”
She looked at him.
“You are lucky.”
“Not my strongest day.”
Evelyn glanced toward the road.
Still empty.
“Tell me what happened.”
Daniel breathed carefully.
“Truck.”
“What kind?”
“Dark pickup.”
“Two men.”
“Maybe three.”
“They came up behind me.”
“Too close.”
“I accelerated.”
“They followed.”
“Then hit the rear tire.”
Evelyn looked at the motorcycle.
The back wheel was bent.
“That’s not an accident.”
“No.”
“You know them?”
“One.”
“Who?”
Daniel’s eyes hardened.
“A man I hoped I’d never see again.”
Evelyn stood.
Daniel caught her sleeve.
“Where are you going?”
“My SUV.”
“You finally listening?”
“No.”
“I have a jack.”
Daniel blinked.
Evelyn pulled free.
“And blankets.”
“And water.”
“And if you are going to continue being difficult, at least be useful and stay conscious.”
She walked back toward the vehicle.
Daniel watched her go.
Something about the way she moved reminded him of hospital corridors.
Fast without running.
Efficient without panic.
He had known people like that before.
Usually they were tired.
Usually they were dangerous when ignored.
Evelyn returned with a small hydraulic jack, two pieces of wood, a blanket, water, and a compact medical kit she still carried even after everyone in her family told her retirement meant she was allowed to stop preparing for catastrophe.
She knelt beside him.
“You ride alone?”
“Yes.”
“That seems foolish.”
“So does stopping for strangers.”
Evelyn looked at him.
“I’m beginning to regret it.”
Daniel smiled faintly.
Good.
Smiling meant oxygen was reaching the brain.
Probably.
She slid the board beneath one rock.
Daniel watched.
“You know how to use that?”
“I was married to a man who thought roadside assistance was a moral failure.”
For the first time, Daniel laughed.
It immediately became a groan.
Evelyn’s expression changed.
“Ribs?”
“Two maybe.”
“Don’t laugh.”
“You’re funny.”
“No one has accused me of that in years.”
“That seems unfair.”
Evelyn adjusted the jack.
“On three.”
Daniel braced himself.
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
The rock lifted.
Daniel clenched his jaw.
Evelyn pushed the second stone away with both hands.
Dust filled the air.
Another rock shifted.
For one terrifying second, the slope above them crackled.
Daniel grabbed her arm.
“Back.”
They both froze.
Nothing else fell.
Evelyn exhaled.
“That was stupid.”
“Yes.”
“You could have warned me.”
“I did.”
“Earlier.”
“Didn’t know the mountain personally.”
She gave him a look.
Then pulled the last smaller stone away.
His leg was free.
Daniel tried to move it.
Evelyn placed one hand against his shoulder.
“No.”
“I need to stand.”
“You need to be evaluated.”