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“Call the cops,” I demanded of Briggs.

“The cops?” he asked, clearly surprised.

The car was gone.

The bikes with it.

This needed to be reported.

And Georgie needed an ambulance.

“Yes, the cops. We’re on Sleepy Hill Road. There was an accident. That’s all they need to know. We heard it then came across it. Hurry up.”

I turned back to Georgie, who was letting out a weak little groan as her eyes squinted open.

“Hey, sweetheart. Hey. You’re okay. I’m here with you.”

“Cain?” she asked, blinking at me.

She was conscious but she seemed out of it still. Disoriented.

“Yeah, it’s me. You crashed. Briggs is calling the police. An ambulance should be here in no time. I don’t want to move you until someone who knows more than me gets here.”

Georgie tried to straighten, but even the smallest of movements had her crying out.

“No, don’t move. Stay like that, okay? We don’t know if you hurt your neck or spine. Just stay like that.”

“I taste blood.”

“Your nose is bleeding into your mouth. The airbag can make that happen sometimes. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Reaching in, I grabbed her wrist, giving it a little squeeze as I tried to look her over.

The belt was squeezed tight to her chest and stomach. She was going to have nasty bruising from that. If not a bruised or fractured rib.

“How’s your breathing? Does it hurt to take a deep breath?”

“Everything hurts.”

“I know, sweetheart. But do your ribs or lungs hurt when you breathe?”

She took a small breath. “No.”

“That’s good. Hopefully, you avoided a busted rib.”

I glanced down at her feet, the wheel well crushed around her legs.

“Can you feel your legs and feet?”

“They hurt.”

Thank God.

It sounded fucked up but sometimes pain was exactly what you wanted.

“Anywhere in particular?”

“My knees.”