“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get those flares on the road.”
Together the two men trudged back up to the highway as another car careened into the pileup. They hurried through the downpour and set flares at the mouth of the curve. The red and blue lights of the emergency trucks flashed in the distance.
“Get that looked at.” The driver tapped his own head over the feed cap. “Head injuries are nothing to mess with.”
Finn turned his back to the trucker. “It’s fine.”
The man didn’t argue further but ran ahead with a lit flare in his hand, waving down the first responders.
Finn needed to get out of here. He wasn’t undercover; he wasn’t on an op, but old habits die hard, and disappearing meant disappearing. He took in the scene one last time. A teenage girl was helping an old woman with a cane get clear of the cars. A black man moving faster than his size should have permitted ran past a young boy standing alone on the shoulder. Nobody was trapped. Nothing was on fire. Sparing one last glance at the kid standing alone, Finn turned and headed back to the semi. Grabbing his go-bag from the back of the cab, he set off into the woods.
The rain let up in the afternoon as Finn headed west. When the sun passed him on its journey, he sank down against a tree and fished a protein bar from his pack. Resting his head against the bark, he slowly chewed the tasteless meal and took in his surroundings.
Finn forced two deliberate blinks to clear his blurred vision. The forest was deep and quiet, yet the entire scene seemed encased in a shimmering veneer. Chalking it up to the last remnant of the rain and the fading twilight, Finn marveled at the ethereal setting. He felt the damp moss under his fingers, heard the gentle sounds of woodland life. Resting his head against the broad trunk of the oak, Finn closed his eyes. He thought of the wound on his head and wondered idly if he was dying. He breathed in the sweet, damp air, enveloped in a completely foreign but welcome feeling of contentment, and smiled.
If he was dying, that was okay.