His heart pounded. Had she been hit? No, please. Dear God, no. Please, God, take me instead. His feet were rooted on the opposite edge of the highway as he looked in one direction at the truck shrinking in the distance and in the other where no help was in sight. A strange head arose from the ground, purple hieroglyphs on its skull and blood on its face. Then Brodie arose beside him, the very picture of terror. Carrick hesitated for a split second before charging to her rescue with no better weapon than his digital Nikon. He held it in his fist like a rock, ready to dash it against the alien being. And then he woke up in heaven, which to tell the truth was nothing like what he had expected. No angels or harps, only lingering exhaust fumes and shapes moving in a gauzy fog. One shape was certainly Brodie. Carrick felt sadness that she had died on the roadside just as he must have done, but the sadness melted into joy that now they were united forever. Mack’s sweet Mary must be here somewhere too.
