Had Tim Bolton known the remainder of his life was measurable in mere minutes, it's doubtful it would have made him any more tense. The strain he was feeling was evident in the white-knuckled grip he held on the steering wheel, the scowling "V" his brows made above his nose, the thin-lipped line of his mouth, and the ramrod set of his shoulders. But his tension generated from another cause altogether—a cause that, if asked, Tim Bolton might have said was more frightening, more foreign to him than mere death.

A vacation.

A vacation fit Tim Bolton's lifestyle like a too-small suit that bound and chafed at the tender areas of his skin—a fact his wife, Jennifer, knew all too well. She sat beside him in frustrated silence, having given up on her attempts to engage him in conversation some forty or so miles ago.

She supposed she should have expected this. Tim was a uniquely driven man with a seemingly innate inability to endure more than a few hours away from his research. Unlike most marriages, in which wives worried about competition from other women, Tim's mistress had always been his work. Though Jennifer had to admit that the progeny of this relationship had been undeniably fruitful: a doctorate in bioengineering, a job with Bioceutics, and status as one of the leading geneticists in the country. All by the age of twenty-nine.

Still, when she'd heard that Tim's boss, Peter McClary, had not only insisted Tim take some time off, but had also offered his mountain cabin in West Virginia as a scenic and isolated retreat, Jennifer had been unable to contain her excitement. Surely Tim could set aside his work for one short week. But after three hours on the road, Tim's obvious preoccupation was dampening her hope as much as the constant rain outside dampened the day. Now, an awkward and pervasive silence filled the car, broken only by the pattering of drops on the Volvo's roof, the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers, and the occasional gurgling coo from their six-month-old son, Tanner, who was quietly entertaining himself in his infant seat behind them.

As they wound their way over the curving, mountainous road near the border of Virginia and West Virginia, Jennifer gazed out at the view surrounding them. Behind them were the lower, rolling foothills of the Blue Ridge, the hovering haze and the deep green of spring combining to tint them the gray-blue color that gave the mountains their name. Along the road's edge, bright sparks of color burst everywhere: the vibrant yellows of daffodils and forsythia, the delicate lavender of redbuds, and the pink and white flowers of the dogwoods and pears—all of it blanketed in the tender, yet vibrant green of new leaves, still curled around themselves like a newborn baby's fist.

Ahead, the slopes grew steeper and more jagged. The wooded terrain had given way so that the road was edged on Jennifer's side by craggy striations of rock. Here and there a scraggly conifer jutted out of the stone wall, clinging tenaciously to the vertical climb. Pregnant clouds scudded across the sky, birthing a steady drizzle of cold rain. The sun occasionally managed to peer through, casting a subdued and silvery light on the ground below so that individual spots were highlighted, making them seem somehow magical as the vibrant colors manifested themselves against the dreary, gray light of day.

On the other side, out Tim's window, the road dropped away over a mist-covered valley of velvet green. Tiny rents in the mist revealed peeks at the life below: scattered farmhouses, teetering barns, a field of young calves huddled beside their mothers. Behind and below them, Jennifer caught an occasional glimpse of a red Volkswagen Beetle wending its way along the serpentine curves like a ladybug, making a childhood chant run through her mind: Ladybug, Ladybug, fly away home. Your house is on fire and your children will burn.

The sound of a whimper drew Jennifer's attention away from the scenery and toward the backseat. She twisted around and saw that Tanner had fallen asleep, his puckered lips sucking frantically on one finger. Jennifer smiled as she watched him, drinking in the sight. She could stare at him for hours, never tiring of the miracle of his existence. It gave her the same pleasant sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach—like cresting the first big hill on a roller coaster—that she'd felt when she first saw Tim. And small wonder. Tanner favored his father strongly—the same long, narrow nose, heavy-lidded, brown eyes, and thick black hair. Not so much as a trace of her own fair complexion and blonde hair.

She wondered if Tanner's personality would be like his father's as well. So far he seemed to be as quiet and introspective as Tim, almost brooding in the way his lids stayed at half-mast, as if he were contemplating some weighty thought that so totally consumed him he needed to block out the outside world.

At that thought, Jennifer shifted her gaze back to her husband, noting the furrowed look on his brow, and sensing the frustration boiling up inside him. She winced as she watched his grip on the steering wheel tighten even more, so that his fingernails carved tiny half-moons in the palms of his hands. She sighed heavily.

Hearing her, Tim looked over and a weary smile softened the grim set of his mouth. Jennifer watched his eyes rove over the faint freckles on her face and then follow them downward, where they led like a connect-the-dots game to her chest. She smiled back at him, her hope renewed by the spark in his eye as he reached across the breach between them to give her thigh a reassuring squeeze.

It was this one moment of inattention—the last tender moment they would ever share—that probably saved Jennifer's life.

There was an odd popping sound and Jennifer saw the steering wheel jerk violently beneath Tim's left hand. The front end of the Volvo lurched into the oncoming lane and Tim made a frantic grab for the wheel with both hands, yanking it back. Jennifer knew he had overcorrected even before the car began its sickening sideways slide, the back wheels skidding over the solid yellow line.

The slide picked up speed as the Volvo crested a hill and started down the other side. Jennifer watched in horror as Tim's foot slammed on the brake pedal, only to have it give way, sinking to the floor. In the next instant, her eyes registered the oil tanker that was lumbering up the hill toward them, coming around the curve dangerously close to the center line.

Jennifer saw Tim's arm muscles strain as he tried to gain control of the car. She heard the tanker's horn bellow an ear-shattering blast. The car's front tires hit the gravel shoulder, spewing up a tiny storm of dust and stone. And with a sickening sensation deep in the pit of her stomach, Jennifer watched as the Volvo slid inexorably toward the looming grille of the truck, like iron drawn to a magnet. A shrill screeching noise cut through the air and some distant part of Jennifer's mind recognized it as her own scream blending with the piercing shriek of metal on metal. It was a soul-shattering sound that seemed to go on forever—bouncing around inside her head, echoing off the rock wall beside them, and infiltrating the valley below.

# # #

Jennifer's first conscious thought was that the rain had somehow caught fire. She felt spots of cold wetness strike her face, but it burned where it touched her skin. She struggled to open her eyes, succeeding with only one as the other was glued shut with blood. With one hand she reached up and gingerly explored her face, grimacing when her fingers found a mushy lump above her left brow. She dropped her hand and turned toward Tim.

He was moaning, his head lolling from side to side, the Volvo's steering wheel pinned up tight against his chest, the car door pushed in so far it caused him to lean at an odd angle. He was covered with blood—on his shirt, his face, his hands, his lap.  Jennifer had never seen so much blood.

She looked through the fractured front window and saw the twisted remains of the fuel truck, its image kaleidoscoped in the cracked glass. A large gash split the tanker's side and liquid fuel spewed out like Old Faithful, raining down on the Volvo and through a large hole on Jennifer's side of the windshield. The acrid sting of gasoline assailed her nose, and with a sudden, horrifying clarity, Jennifer understood what the fiery rain was. Her heart leaped as she thought of Tanner.

She tried to twist around but froze halfway, grimacing as a piercing pain shot up her back. When the spasm passed, she tried again, more slowly, only to be thwarted by the restraint of her seat belt. She fumbled with the release and finally managed to turn herself around.

Tanner sat in his infant seat, awake but quiet, his brown eyes like the frozen stare of a deer caught in headlights.

Jennifer heard Tim mumble, "Tanner," and the sound of his whispered anguish nudged her into action. She yanked up on her door handle and pushed, but the damned thing didn't budge. Sucking in a deep breath, she tried again, pushing harder, the movement causing an agony of pain to rip through her back. Still it resisted. With a moan of frustration, she slumped back against the seat.

"Get Tanner," Tim groaned.

Jennifer turned her head to look at her husband. His face was covered with rivulets of blood, his hair plastered to one side of his forehead in a crimson paste. His breaths were short and labored. At first his eyes were closed, but then he opened them, and Jennifer uttered a strangled mewling sound as she registered the awful fear and pain she saw reflected there.

With a final, desperate surge of will she attacked the door one last time, heaving herself against it so hard she thought she would break. She screamed in pain and frustration, her face red and bulging from her efforts. As the last of her energy and will drained away, the door finally gave way with a mighty groan, opening a mere foot before the twisted metal of the front fender stopped it.

That small measure of success gave her a new burst of energy, and she closed her mind to the numerous pains that tore through her body as she squeezed out through the opening. Once outside, she stood leaning over the hood a moment, letting the icy rain snake down the back of her neck until she was convinced her shaking legs would hold her. Then she stumbled to the back door, muttering a prayer of thanks when it opened without difficulty. She reached in, released the restraint around Tanner's infant seat, and pulled him out.

Frightened by his terrible stillness, she gave him a cursory check, relieved to find no obvious injuries. She held him close to her shoulder and hurried around the back end of the car to Tim's door, stopping short when she saw that the mangled cab of the oil tanker was embedded in the side of the Volvo. Ethereal, gray smoke oozed from beneath the truck's hood, and she saw the driver slumped over the wheel, apparently either unconscious or dead. A large chunk of smoldering rubber from one of the truck's tires lay curled in the road, its edges torn and ragged so that the thing looked like the dead carapace of some giant beetle.

Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home. Your house is on fire...

A loud pop from somewhere inside the mangled metal shook her out of her reverie and she retraced her steps back to the other side of the car. Shifting Tanner to her hip, she stuck her head and one shoulder through the back door.

Tim's breathing was now little more than a whistling moan, his bloodied face frozen in a grimace, deathly pale in the few spots where his skin showed through. At the corner of his mouth, a small bubble of bloody spittle grew and shrank with each breath.

"Tim!" she yelled, her voice shrill. When he didn't respond, panic rose in her throat like bitter bile, making her next words come out in a stertorous sob. "Ti-im! Ple-please! Oh, God! Tim!"

Tim's moans stopped and he rolled his head to the side, his eyes straining to see her. "Take...Tanner," he whispered. A long string of bloody drool rolled from his mouth and fell onto the seat beside him.

"I have Tanner," she said with anguished impatience. "I need you now, Tim. Please!" She reached her free hand in and touched his shoulder. Even through the thick flannel of his shirt, he felt frighteningly cold. Fear clamped over her heart like an icy fist.

"Take...Tanner," he said again. His eyes closed tight, as if the effort of speaking took every ounce of concentration he had left.

Jennifer shook her head wildly. "No! Not until I help you out. Please Tim! Try! You have to get out! You have to!" she wailed.

Tim took a deep shuddering breath, his face wrinkling in agony. His eyes opened so wide they bulged. "Take...Tanner. Run! NOW! Going...to blow!" With that, his eyes rolled back and his head fell forward, a long string of bloody spittle hanging from his lip. A slow, wheezing leak of air escaped from his mouth with a sound of terrifying finality and his body suddenly went slack, as if he were a marionette whose puppeteer had just dropped all the strings.

Jennifer stared at him in utter disbelief. Then both her mind and her eyes slammed shut. She reared back out of the car and threw her head back. Her mouth opened in a quivering, anguished "O" and a keening wail echoed through the cold, damp air.

"No-o-o-o-o!"

Tanner started to cry and the sound snatched Jennifer back from the precipice. She held her son close, nuzzling her nose in his hair, taking in the gentle, baby smell of him and cooing soft words in his ear. For a moment she allowed herself to be lost, her only awareness the soft warmth of her son's body against her chest.

Slowly, reality crept its way back in.

Tanner's sweet smell was overwhelmed by the stench of gasoline. Jennifer opened her eyes, and everything snapped into sharp focus. Gas spewing everywhere. Sparks and smoke coming from the truck. Her clothes and her son's reeking of gasoline.

Instinct kicked in and Jennifer started to run.

The road was as slick as ice where the cold rain and the gasoline had mixed. Jennifer held Tanner tight to her chest, one hand wrapped protectively around his lower head, the other beneath his buttocks. Her legs struggled against the steep incline, while her back screamed with pain as her grip on Tanner made her body sway awkwardly from side to side. With single-minded purpose, she kept her eyes focused on the crest of the hill, feeling that getting around that curve was her only hope.

Her goal was mere yards away when the whole world exploded. The percussion from the blast lifted her off the ground, spun her in the air like some crazy top, then flung her toward the ditch near the road's edge. Her arms tightened instinctively as she struggled to hold Tanner to her chest against the terrible force that pushed her. Seconds before she hit the ground her mind went blank, and the world disappeared behind a veil of velvet blackness, leaving her mercifully unaware of the fact that she landed on her back with a resounding blow, fracturing two of the vertebrae. She never knew it when one of her legs snapped like a dry twig, a jagged edge of bone rupturing through her calf. She had no way of knowing that her body cushioned the blow for Tanner, or that she still held him in a death grip. Nor was she aware of the gravel and rock and bits of metal that rained down around them, one of them a tiny, red-hot sliver of metal, as fine as a needle, that was propelled by the blast through Tanner's scalp, through the soft spot on the back of his head. It drove its way through his brain, the heat searing and cauterizing its way through his cerebellum, until it finally came to rest near the rear portion of his midbrain. Though conscious, Tanner felt nothing, his senses dulled by the force of the blast and the brain tissue itself lacking any nerve endings for pain.

Moments after the blast, a red Volkswagen Beetle rounded the curve and came to a halt. A lone man, dressed in a faded, red flannel shirt and blue jeans so worn the knees and seat were almost white, climbed out and stared at the conflagration. Despite his casual dress, there was an air of sophistication about him: the poised set of his shoulders, the neat trim of his carefully coifed blonde hair, the manicured cut of his fingernails. He strode over to the ditch where Jennifer's crumpled and unconscious body lay with Tanner still held tight against her chest.

Tanner's eyes focused on the man briefly. Then his tiny fists balled up, his scratched and bleeding face scrunched into a frightened grimace, and he began to squall, his cries echoing off the rock wall beside the road.

The man bent down and felt along Jennifer's neck with two fingers. After a moment he stood, walked back to the Volkswagen, and reached in to grab a car phone. He dialed a number and stood waiting a moment, staring at the cloud of oily, black smoke boiling up from the mangled heap of metal that was the remains of the Volvo and the fuel tanker. He spoke into the phone, nodded, and pushed the button that disconnected his call. Then he dialed again, his fingers punching the digits 9-1-1.

# # #

The next thing Jennifer's mind registered was the feel of warm hands and cool sheets. Gradually she became aware of voices, seemingly dozens of voices coming at her from all directions. She struggled to open her eyes, only to clamp them shut again when they were assaulted by blinding white light. Then her mind registered the pain—a white-hot knife slicing through her back and legs. She tried to cry out, but all she heard was a weakened and pitiful moan. The pain was excruciating, like a living thing, an alien with tendrils that snaked through her body, obliterating everything else so that she never felt the needle that was thrust into her arm.

Slowly, the tendrils began to withdraw, retracting into the alien body, leaving behind a wonderfully numbing sensation. Jennifer felt herself floating, drifting away, carried by the soft comfort of that sweet cloud, leaving the awful pain behind.

And then she was with Tim, back on the first day they had met in the college library. She stood patiently at the copy machine, watching the light from it dance across his face, waiting as he flipped through page after page of a thick book, dropping in one coin after another. When he turned to look at her, his face wearing an apologetic grin, she was instantly smitten by his crooked smile, the incredibly dark depths of his eyes, and the shock of dark hair that kept falling stubbornly onto his forehead despite his attempts to push it back.

"I'm almost done," he said, and his voice caressed her ears.

She smiled back at him, wanting to tell him she would gladly stand there waiting forever if she could just keep watching him. Aware of the intensity of her stare, his nervous fingers missed the coin slot and a dime rolled across the floor toward her feet. She watched him bend over to pick it up, saw his eyes fix on her long legs and follow their slender, tanned length all the way up to the bottom of her shorts. Her smile widened.

Realizing he'd been caught, Tim straightened and flashed her an uneasy smile, the corners of his mouth twitching. Their eyes locked for an eternal moment before he turned back to the copier and continued. After another five pages, with his eyes still focused on what he was doing, he said, "Would you have dinner with me tonight?"

"I'd love to."

He looked at her then, his hand frozen over the coin slot, ready to drop another dime in.

"How about now?" he said.

"Okay."

Tim held his hand out to her.

She reached with her own, but just as she was about to touch him he began to fade away, his body growing transparent, his face frozen in astonishment. She tried desperately to reach him, but there was no substance to him anymore, just a filmy apparition that eventually faded into nothingness. Her mind screamed in agony as reality crashed down on her. She cried out for Tim, then for Tanner, her arms flailing about in empty space.

"It's okay, miss," a soothing, female voice said near her right shoulder. "Your little boy is okay."

Jennifer turned and tried to bring the face that went with the voice into focus. It was blonde, pretty, and surrounded by white light. An angel then.

"Where is Tanner?" Jennifer asked, her throat feeling as if it were lined with sandpaper.

"In the room right next to you," the angel answered. "Would you like to see him?"

Jennifer nodded, not wanting to try and use her throat again. The angel disappeared, and Jennifer closed her eyes, feeling the soothing cloud try to envelop her. Then she remembered Tanner and forced her eyes open, trying to resist the temptation of that wonderful cloud. The nurse returned, carrying Tanner in her arms and Jennifer struggled to lift her head, running her eyes over him anxiously. She saw some small scrapes and scratches, but he looked otherwise unharmed.

"Just a few scrapes and scratches," the angel said, echoing Jennifer's thoughts. "You will both be fine."

Jennifer dropped her head with relief. The angel smiled, Tanner cooed, and Jennifer—with one last aching thought for Tim—closed her eyes and let the cloud carry her away.