Mush pushed the Rambler to the limits of its abilities. Dap lay in the back. It was hard to see him from the front and even harder to hear his breathing over the rough running engine. The hospital was still at least thirty minutes away and the whole world was hanging from a fragile string of potential accidents waiting to happen.

The weekend was supposed to be a laugh. It started that way. Mush and Dap worked at the Mortworth foundry. They met in high school and became fast friends spending lunch periods and time after school getting to know each other. They had enough in common to become fast friends, and just enough subtle differences to build a mutual deep respect and genuine admiration.

The plan was to leave around noon on Friday and head to a cabin by Lake Morris. Dap’s uncle had cleared the weekend just for them with nothing to do but fish and drink some beer. If you told him he would be tearing up small mountain road, not 24 hours later, with his friend in the backseat fighting for his life, his only option was to turn you in and have you locked up.

Dap’s mind was far from the backseat, having been tucked away for safe keeping the moment he slipped into unconsciousness, but his body was full on and quietly fighting to retain life as it jostled, bounced and bled it’s way around the Rambler’s dark interior.

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