The headlights of Evelyn Harper's old Buick Cutlass cut through the dark, illuminating the winding road ahead. It was a peaceful night drive—one she often took when the insomnia got the better of her. The quiet stretches of highway outside of Colorado Springs calmed her nerves, allowed her to think. She hummed softly to herself, her hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary, as they always did since her hands had started shaking in her later years.
But tonight, something felt off. As she rounded the bend, her headlights caught something in the distance—something lying near the side of the road. At first, Evelyn thought it might've been debris, a fallen branch maybe. But as she drew closer, her stomach twisted.
It was a bike. A motorcycle, or what was left of one, crumpled and twisted near the shoulder.
Her foot slammed on the brakes, the car skidding to a halt. Heart pounding, Evelyn sat frozen for a moment, staring at the wreckage through the windshield. Then her instincts kicked in. She unbuckled her seatbelt and clambered out of the car, her hands shaking not from age but from adrenaline now. The night air hit her sharply, but she barely noticed.
"Hello?" she called out, her voice trembling with concern as she stepped cautiously away from her car. "Is anyone there? Hello?"
The only response was the eerie silence of the road. Evelyn's pulse quickened, fear gnawing at the edges of her mind. She hesitated, scanning the roadside for any sign of movement. Her old eyes weren't what they used to be, and the shadows seemed to play tricks on her.
And then she saw it—or rather, saw her.
Just beyond the wreckage of the bike, a figure lay still on the ground, barely visible in the dim glow of Evelyn's headlights. It was a person. A biker.
"Oh, Lord," Evelyn gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Without thinking, she hurried forward as fast as her legs would carry her, her heart thundering in her chest.
The closer she got, the more she could make out. The biker was lying awkwardly on their side, not moving. Short blond hair poked out from beneath a cracked helmet, and though it was hard to tell in the poor light, Evelyn thought the biker was a woman. Her leathers were scuffed and torn, and her body was twisted in a way that made Evelyn's stomach churn.
"Dear God…" Evelyn whispered, kneeling beside the woman, her frail hands hovering uselessly above the injured body. She didn't know where to touch, what to do. The biker wasn't moving, wasn't making any sound.
Forcing herself to breathe, Evelyn fought back the rising panic. She had to stay calm. She had to help.
She scrambled to her feet, running back to her car. Inside, she fumbled in her purse for her brand-new Nokia 5110, the phone she'd just bought last month—something her children had insisted she carry at all times. Apparently it would be the best $156 she ever spent. Her fingers trembled as she punched in the emergency number, the phone pressed to her ear. Every second felt like an eternity.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"There's—there's been an accident," Evelyn stammered, her voice shaking. "A motorcyclist. She's hurt, I think badly. She's not moving. I'm on Route 115, just outside of Colorado Springs. Please, send an ambulance right away."
The operator's voice was calm, asking for details, guiding her through the process. Evelyn could barely focus, her eyes constantly flicking back to the motionless figure on the road.
After hanging up, she grabbed the small first aid kit she always kept in the car. It had been part of her routine for years—ever since she worked as a secretary at the umbrella company. They made her take first aid courses back then, just in case, though she'd never imagined she'd have to use it. Now, though, the knowledge was the only thing keeping her grounded.
Clutching the kit, she rushed back to the biker. Kneeling again, Evelyn's hands shook as she opened the kit, the contents spilling slightly onto the ground. She fumbled with the zipper of the bag, remembering her training as best she could.
"Okay, okay," she muttered to herself, her voice trembling but determined. "Stay calm, Evelyn. You've done this before."
Gloves first, she thought to herself, struggling with the latex over her shaking hands. Then she wet her lips, her stomach churned as she turned back to the injured woman.
Leave the helmet much she knew. They'd taught her in training that it was best to keep a motorcyclist's helmet on unless it was absolutely necessary to remove it for breathing or resuscitation. Touching the sides of the helmet gently, she made sure it was still secured in place and didn't shift, helping to stabilize the woman's neck. But the biker had other injuries: Her leg lay twisted at an unnatural angle. Blood pooled around her upper arm, where a piece of shattered bone had punctured through the leather of her jacket, staining it dark and sticky. Evelyn's heaved a breath, swallowing past the nausea, but she forced herself to keep focused, grabbing a thick bandage from the kit and pressing it firmly against the wound. Her fingers shook, but she did her best to stanch the bleeding, keeping pressure steady against the torn flesh even as she felt the damp warmth seeping through.
She knew better than to try to move the arm or leg, fearing further injury. Gritting her teeth, she whispered words of comfort, her voice barely above a tremor. "Stay with me, please. Help's coming." She could hear the distant wail of sirens now, drawing closer.
Through the cracked visor, she looked down at the woman's face—young, probably mid-thirties, with pale skin and bruises already starting to form. There was a deep cut on her forehead, and her lips were slightly parted as she gasped for shallow, labored breaths.
Evelyn's heart clenched at the sight, but she kept the pressure up. She had to.
"I've got you, honey. Help's on the way," she whispered, more for her own comfort than the woman's, as she carefully applied pressure to the wound on the biker's head. "Just hang on."
The woman's eyes fluttered, barely opening, and Evelyn could see the confusion and pain swimming there. She couldn't tell if the biker was conscious enough to know what was happening, but she kept talking, her voice soft, soothing.
As she applied pressure, Evelyn scanned the woman's body. There had to be more she could do! Leaving on hand on the woman's arm and pressing down the soggy gauze, she grabbed for another bandage, trying to secure the leg as best as she could without moving the woman too much. It felt like she made only more of a mess, the bandage rolling uselessly over the ground until she bit her lip and gave up.
"Oh Lord please have mercy," she prayed heavenward before returning her attention back to the woman. Her eyes had closed and something about her had gone slack. For a moment, Evelyn's heart stopped but then she heard the raspy indraw of breath and saw the struggling rise of the biker's chest. The faint rise and fall of the woman's chest was the only sign of life, and even that seemed too shallow, too fragile."You'll be okay," she murmured, more to herself than to the unconscious woman. "They're coming. Just hold on."
The wind blew softly around them, carrying the distant sound of sirens—a faint but welcome sign that help was on the way. Evelyn kept her hands steady, fighting the fear that gripped her. She might be old, but she wasn't useless. Not tonight. For now, all she could do was wait.
Evelyn knelt beside the injured woman, her heart racing as she prayed and twisted her head to spot the ambulance along the curving street. The distant sound of sirens grew louder, a strange comfort amidst the suffocating fear that pressed down on her.
Please hold on, honey. Just a little longer, she silently begged, her voice trembling in her throat.
Moments later, the ambulance came screeching to a halt, its red and blue lights cutting through the dark. Two paramedics jumped out.
"She's over here!" she called, her voice hoarse with emotion and the medics rushed toward her, their faces sharp with focus. Evelyn scrambled back to give them space, her legs wobbling as she stood.
The paramedics moved quickly, their hands deftly assessing the biker's injuries. One of them, a young woman with sharp features, carefully tilted the biker's head, checking her airway and murmuring medical jargon to her partner. The other medic—a man with a rough beard and steady hands—was already setting up an IV and trying to stabilize her leg. Behind them another car pulled up and more blue light sent flickers across the quiet street. A police man jumped out and strode over, already pulling a note pad from his jacket.
Evelyn watched in helpless silence, her heart pounding in her chest. The paramedic's movements were efficient, but the frantic urgency in their expressions told her all she needed to know.
The biker—this young woman—was barely clinging to life.
The machines they attached to her beeped erratically, and Evelyn's stomach twisted with dread. The beeping, loud and sharp, filled the air with a sense of impending doom.
"She's military," the bearded paramedic muttered, his voice tight with concentration as he pulled something from around the biker's neck. Evelyn squinted through her glasses and realized it was a set of dog tags, tangled in the wreckage of her jacket. The medic quickly handed them to the police officer who had stayed quiet so far, letting them work.
"Captain Samantha Carter," he read aloud, glancing at the dog tags before tucking them into his pocket. "Air Force."
Evelyn's chest tightened even further. This poor young woman, she thought, her heart aching for her. She watched, her hands trembling, as the paramedics worked to stabilize her neck with a brace and splint her leg with delicate but urgent precision.
"Neck's clear, but the helmet is cracked. Trauma, maybe a cracked skull and the arm's a mess. Possible internal bleeding," the female paramedic said, her tone clipped. "We need to move her now."
They wasted no time, lifting the unconscious woman onto a stretcher as carefully as possible, but still, the machines beeped in protest, the rhythm uneven and frightening.
The police officer turned to Evelyn, his brow furrowed with concern. "Ma'am, can I ask you a few questions?" he said, though his voice was gentle.
Evelyn nodded absently, her eyes fixed on the paramedics who were now hurrying the stretcher toward the back of the ambulance. "Y-yes, of course," she stammered, her hands still shaking, the adrenaline wearing off only to be replaced with icy fear.
"Did you see what happened?" the officer asked. He was an older man with a mustache and a serious expression. "Was there another vehicle involved?"
"I—I didn't see it happen," Evelyn said, her voice trembling. "I was driving, and I just… I saw the bike and her lying there when I rounded the corner." She paused, the memory hitting her like a wave of nausea. "But I think—I think someone might've hit her. There was no one around, and I saw tire marks on the road, like someone swerved. The car that did this… they drove off. Didn't stop."
The officer frowned, glancing toward the road. "We'll check it out. Thank you for letting us know." He motioned toward the tire marks, instructing another officer to take photos and measurements.
Evelyn's hands trembled as she gripped the edges of her coat, watching as the paramedics slid the stretcher into the ambulance. Her throat felt tight, her mouth dry. The police officer continued asking her questions—basic things, like what direction she had come from, how long she'd been on the road—but Evelyn barely registered them.
All she could think about was the young woman, her pale face under the blood and grime. Captain Samantha Carter, she reminded herself, feeling an odd connection to the name now that she knew it. A military woman. Someone strong, brave. And yet here she was, lying on the edge of death because of some reckless driver who didn't even stop to help.
"Where… where are they taking her?" Evelyn suddenly asked, her voice small and strained.
The officer blinked at her, his brow knitting together with concern. "Memorial Hospital in Colorado Springs. It's the closest trauma center. They'll take good care of her, ma'am."
Evelyn nodded, her mind barely registering his words. The ambulance doors slammed shut, and the sirens wailed to life again. In a blur of lights, it sped off into the night, taking Samantha Carter with it.
She should go home, she thought. This wasn't her burden to carry. The paramedics were professionals, the doctors would do their best. But something inside her—some deep-seated need for closure—kept her rooted to the spot.
"I… I have to follow them," Evelyn said, more to herself than to the officer. "I can't— I just can't leave it like this. What if… What if she doesn't make it?"
The officer looked at her, surprised by the determination in her voice. "Are you sure, ma'am? You've already helped a great deal."
Evelyn shook her head firmly, already stepping toward her car. "I'm sure. I won't be able to sleep not knowing. Not after this." Her voice was soft but resolute. She couldn't live with herself if she didn't follow, didn't know if this brave young woman would survive.
She climbed back into her car, hands still shaking but her resolve firm. She started the engine, pulling onto the road behind the ambulance, its flashing lights still visible in the distance. Evelyn pressed her foot down a little harder on the accelerator, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on her shoulders.
She wasn't family, wasn't a friend—but tonight, she was all this woman had.
Please review!
Also: Thoughts on Evelyn? Should she stick around for a while?