October 1991
The collision was momentous. As the dark Ford pick up truck swerved into the opposite lane of traffic, the driver of the car in the opposite lane stepped frantically at her break petal, desperately trying to get out of the way of the on coming truck.
It was no use. The truck hit the small sedan head on. The sound of metal screeching against metal, of metal twisting on asphalt rang in the dense silence. When the car came to a screeching halt, everything in the dark night air seemed still and dead, silent as the grave.
Twenty minutes later, the heavy set deputy sheriff worked on removing the small girl from the twisted wreckage when he found a small black purse crumpled next to the unconscious child. Ignoring it for the moment, Yancy worked on pulling the young girl from her seat. Doc Cameron was on his way, as he had radioed the accident in almost twenty minutes ago. Hopefully the doctor would be here any moment.
Sweat dripped down Yancy's spine, making his shirt feel cold and wet in the night air. He'd been working frantically for what seemed like forever trying to get the little girl out of the wreck. Initially the door had refused to open, so he had to enlist the help of the officer, who now worked on the other side of the car trying to get the woman out of it, to help him pry the door open. All the while, thoughts of knowing that the threat of a fire still plagued them danced in the Deputy's mind.
He worked diligently on the belt that fastened the little dark haired girl into the car. He pulled and tugged frantically, wishing for the pocket knife he usually carried with him. But damn him, he had left in the office this fateful night. Pulling frantically at it once more, it finally gave with a soft ripping sound.
Looking down at the little girl who appeared as still as death he felt a coldness wash over him. She should be at home in bed right now, he thought sorrowfully. Careful of her head, he reached out to pull her from the wreckage. His large hand touched her face gently, but quickly withdrew when he felt a cold wetness on his fingers. Pulling back, he looked at his fingers. Lord, but they burned. Smelling them, he couldn't name the chemical that had splashed all over the small child.
"Jesus H. Christ!" He yelled loudly and ducked into the compact car and pulled the girl out hastily, being as cautious as he could of her head. Her face was completely ashen and her eyes were closed lightly. Feeling a tightness in his chest, he laid the girl on the ground and tried to wipe away as much of the chemical on the girl's small face as he could. His hand burned from the effort, but he didn't care. The little one was all that mattered now. Digging in his pants pocket he quickly found his handkerchief, and begun to wipe her face with a renewed vigor.
"Did you get her?" He heard a voice coming from the other vehicle. Turning toward the voice, he looked across the desolate highway to see the blue Ford that hit the compact car. The driver, a young man no more than twenty five, was as drunk as a soldier celebrating his leave. He swerved to miss a damn squirrel and hit the woman and her child.
"Shut the hell up." Yancy ordered and turned his attention back to the little one. She was too small to be hurt this badly, his mind shouted. Suddenly he remembered the purse in the small car. Rushing back to where he had seen it, he ducked into the car and felt around the floor until he found it. Pulling it out, he returned to the child and leaned down close to her.
"I don't know if you can hear me, honey," he said quietly, "but if you can, we're gonna get you some help. I promise, honey. Don't you worry."
When he looked at the woman in the driver's seat, he wasn't able to recognize her. Her face had been mutilated, and all the bones in her face had been crushed. All it was now was a pile of mush and muscle matted where her face had once been. He winced at the sight of the poor woman.
Reaching into the little black purse, he found the wallet almost immediately. It was a matching black leather wallet that obviously carried many credit cards because of it's weight. Opening it, he scanned quickly for picture identification. A Montana State driver's license sat in a clear section of the wallet. Pamela Mills.
Oh, shit. Yancy knew immediately who the woman was. She was the wife of Jim Mills a local rancher. Oh God, this was little Jessica Mills, he thought looking down at the little dark haired girl. Yancy felt suddenly sick to his stomach. The Mills Family were pillars of the community, and had never done a thing wrong in the years their families had lived in these parts of Montana. He felt anger mixed disgustingly with bile, rising in his throat. If he could get his hands on the out-of-town drunk, he would kill him after he let Jim beat the hell out of him.
"Dave," Yancy called to the officer whom had just freed Pamela's body from the twisted wreckage. The young officer, barely twenty three, looked at Yancy, apprehension clear in his gaze. "It's the Mills women, Pamela and Jessica." Hearing Dave curse loudly, Yancy looked up to see a flash of yellow and blue lights, indicating Doc Cameron had arrived.
He watched silently as the doctor rushed out of the large black van that had brought him here, and rushed to Yancy's side and looked at the child. "Is this Jessica Mills?" He asked quietly as he began to check vital signs. Yancy nodded quietly. "So I can safely assume that wreck of a person over there is Pam." He said as more of a statement than a question.
"Yeah." Yancy said breathlessly.
"Okay, she's alive, but she won't be unless we get her to a hospital quickly." Cameron picked up the girl quickly and placed her on a stretcher in the black van. Walking behind the doctor, Yancy turned away from the sight the doctor walked to, and grimaced. Pamela wasn't recognizable. He knew they would have to use a combination of her identification card and dental records to verify her identity.
Feeling a wave of sympathy for Jim, Yancy took a deep breath and stared at the sky. "She's dead, isn't she Doc?" He asked, well aware of the tremor in his voice and how it made him crack emotionally. He had never seen anything this bad before. Nothing this bad in his fifteen years with the force. Feeling a deep sympathy for Dave, Yancy looked over at the young officer. The poor kid had only been on the Spring Creek Force for two short months. Already, he was seeing the worst humanity had to offer.
"Yeah, she's gone." Doc Cameron said quietly, and bowed his head. He knew that the doctor was praying for her and the child. "Do I need to check the driver of the other vehicle?" He asked finally standing and looking at Yancy. Yancy shook his head.
"No. He just got a couple of minor scratches, possibly a concussion, and that's about it." Yancy looked at the man who held on to his head in the blue pick-up. "I wish I could kill that bastard." He couldn't believe he was actually seeing a man who killed a woman, and almost killed a child, all because he didn't want to hit a damn squirrel in his drunken stupor.
Ten minutes later, Yancy watched as a helicopter rushed little Jessica Mills to the hospital, a hundred fifty miles away in Butte. Turning to the driver, he felt anger simmering. Walking over, he grabbed the man by the collar of his sweater and yanked him to his feet. "Your under arrest for manslaughter and for driving under the influence; possibly two charges of manslaughter. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can not afford one, the court will appoint one to you. . ."
Yancy's voice faded into the night as he placed the man into the police cruiser and closed the door. Quietly, he opened his door, slid into the driver's seat and started the car. Turning the car toward the Rocking M, Jim Mills' ranch, he drove into the night. His only assurance that the accident had really happened was the fact that a man sat quietly behind him, and his partner was quietly weeping to himself.
