Short Cut to Santa Fe by Medora Sale Page A

will you?”
    â€œThe hell you will.” His voice was strained. “Stay where you are.”
    â€œBrett—don’t be a fool. Let me out. Unless there’s someone else in the bus who knows what he’s doing?” Silence. “Right. I’m a nurse and I’ve seen my share of gunshot wounds. Now let me out.”
    Jennifer Nicholls’s husband seemed to have turned to stone. She sighed and crawled past him into the aisle. “Excuse me,” she said to Mrs. Green, “but if that’s a first-aid kit—”
    â€œThere’s one in the galley, too,” said Karen.
    â€œGood. I can use both.”
    â€œWhat in hell do you think you’re doing?” The man with the weapon seemed to gather his wits together again at last.
    â€œI’m keeping this woman from dying. If I were you, I wouldn’t try to stop me, not unless you’d like to face a charge of first-degree murder.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œAs it stands, you fired that gun because the bus lurched. But if you stop me from helping her, and she dies, you’ll have murdered her.”
    â€œIs that true? Can he get away with calling it an accident?” whispered Karen as she knelt down beside Diana Morris with the second medical kit.
    â€œShit, baby—I don’t know,” whispered Jennifer in return. “And with any luck, neither does he. Open that thing up, will you?”
    The bus felt as if it were gaining momentum in spite of the fact that it still seemed to be climbing. Karen’s fingers were struggling unsuccessfully with the clever device that kept the kit safe from small children, when an alarmed voice boomed over the noise of the engine and of wheels racing over rocks and gravel. “Shit, Gary, look out!”
    The driver hit the brakes, the bus skidded on the loose surface and came to an abrupt halt, nose in to a very steep slope.
    â€œWhat is going on?” said Harriet. “The bus has disappeared. Just like that.”
    â€œDon’t be silly. It can’t have disappeared. It’s turned off somewhere up there.”
    â€œInto what? In case it had escaped your notice, on your right we have what you might call an upward precipice. A cliff. The steep side of a mountain. It would be a clever bus that drove up that thing.”
    â€œThen there must be a break in it, with a road. Slow down, Harriet. We’ll miss it.”
    â€œI can’t see why we want to find it. If one thing is clear, it’s that the lousy bus is more lost than we are. I don’t believe in a rapid short cut that goes straight up a mountain. Jesus! There it is.” Harriet brought the van screeching to a halt and then began to reverse.
    â€œI thought we didn’t want to find it,” said John. “I call your attitude a trifle inconsistent.”
    â€œWe might as well try it for a mile or so,” said Harriet. “If a bus can make it, then this thing can, too.”
    It turned out to be a narrow canyon with a very rough track running along it, its entrance half-hidden by brush. “Not the best-marked road, but what the hell,” she said, putting the van into forward and heading into the blackness ahead.

Chapter 4
    Kate Grosvenor pulled into the gravel drive of the motel with a deep sigh. What aberration of mind or spirit had forced her into her car and made her drive all the way down here? Just to spend a couple of days with a chance professional acquaintance and her fascist cop boyfriend? Because no matter what Harriet might think, all cops were fascists under their skins, even the ones who went around giving talks on community involvement and minority rights and all that sort of shit. Besides, she hurt. Everywhere. Last night’s Scotch—its grip unsoftened by a kindly lunchtime haze—was still exploding in her temples. Her shoulder throbbed, her arms were trembling, her neck and back were stiff and sore from the unaccustomed driving.