by Smitty
He buried the accelerator pedal in the floorboard. The truck was already redlined.
He is concentration was all on the road; the destination, the hospital a few miles ahead, was a fixed point. He seemed to move the vehicle by force of will against the wind to get there.
The storm outside was reduced to flashy detail; the intricacies of the lightning were as flat as the road to his single-minded focus on the hospital.
Moaning in the passenger seat was his motive. If he could just get his pregnant, hemorrhaging wife there in time, his future might be saved.
—
via Darleen