Russian Boss’s Secret Baby by Bella King

Ch 25

MIA

Ican hardly see at all.

An invisible ice pick digs through my grey matter as small beams of light come through my eyelids. I’m lying in the ditch in a pile of mud and wet grass.

I have no idea where I am.

Instinctively, I check all my teeth, fingers, and toes. Can I feel everything? Is everything there? It feels like it, but goddamn does it hurt. There’s a big ragged chunk of flesh inside my cheek where I must have bit myself as we crashed. Despite the well of potential for brain damage, paralysis, and infection, my bitten cheek bothers me the most.

I force my eyes open, and at first, I’m met only with blinding bursts of sunlight that force my eyes closed again. As badly as I want to jump to my feet and sprint in any direction away from this place, I know I have no choice but to lie here and regain my bearings very, very slowly.

Moving my legs is my first task. Ensuring that they work in the first place is imperative.

Just able to tilt my head downward and look at my legs, I can see that they’re both intact. Good. Now I just need to move them.

I start with my toes, trying to feel for the inside of the shoe that remains on my left foot as a point of reference. My left foot seems okay. I slowly pull my left foot closer to my body to gain stability as I drag the right foot after it. They both move almost with no effort.

My arms are a bit more difficult; I think I might have fractured my left elbow at some point during the crash. I steady myself on my good arm and slowly lift myself up onto my feet.

At first, I collapse back into my starting position, as my legs are weak and severely bruised. Inhaling deeply, I try again, and I’m able to hold myself on my feet, close to the ground, for three seconds before I collapse again.

Panic rushes over me. Is this how people die in the wilderness? Am I simply going to dehydrate to death out here because I can’t stand up long enough to find help?

My phone must have been thrown from the vehicle just as I was. I will have to crawl over to the wreckage and try to find Katie’s phone. But what will I do if she’s still alive? Do I fight her in my already battered state? Do I try to find help for her too? Am I a good enough person to seek out help for someone who had a gun to my head the last time I was conscious?

I’ve decided that I’m not.

I’m able to sit up almost all the way at least, and from where I’m sitting, I can see the Firebird flipped completely on its back about thirty feet away, the front end smashed to pieces as a light pole enters the passenger’s side of the windshield and exits from the driver’s side window.

Oh, god.

Do I dare look?

I know I don’t have any choice but to at least find a phone and call an ambulance. If not for me, than for my baby. My stomach turns at the thought of what the inside of that car must look like. No matter what, I’m going to find out.

Bit by bit, I slide my body closer to the car, careful not to overexert anything that feels broken or particularly pained. It takes about ten minutes of sheer willpower and gritting my teeth to get all the way over, but eventually, I make it.

The door is upside-down, so I steady myself on the frame where the windshield is still partially intact and lean my body on the car for leverage as I open it. When I do, it takes everything in me not to scream.