They kept their speed at around ninety, and let their bikes eat miles. The V-rod was beginning to piss Elias off by the time they were out of San Antonio and heading for El Paso. The one-hundred-mile range was ludicrous. At each gas station he called Dave to see what was going on with Chelsea. She was in the hospital, sedated, and the doctors planned to keep her that way until Doc arrived in Yuma to take over her care. Dave told him again and again that he didn't need to ride hard. Chelsea was going to be asleep until Doc arrived anyway. And they weren't going to move her until Doc said she was stable enough to do so. That could be a month, but definitely—according to the doctors watching her now—more than a week. "She's bad, Elias, real bad. Worse than any of these doctors have ever seen, and one of them is ex-military. The sedation is holding though, and Doc will be here in—three hours? Four? Not much more than that, so everything that can be done is being done." Doc jumped a flight in Houston for Phoenix, where she planned on renting a car.
