Hidden In Amish Country. Dana R. Lynn

in the house her family had owned for the past fifteen years. Her brother would be home shortly.

      Pulling out of the parking lot, she sighed, allowing the tension that had built up inside her to drain away. She had half-expected someone to follow her, but no one did. Maybe she was being paranoid.

      Suddenly her confidence that she had recognized the man dwindled. He probably just had one of those faces that looked vaguely like someone she had known. Even with the doubt, she couldn’t completely shake the sensation that she had escaped from some nebulous danger.

      She was being ridiculous.

      She neared the intersection. Wow. She needed to pay attention to where she was going. She hadn’t realized that she had driven so far already. She tapped the brake to slow as she neared the stop sign.

      Her car didn’t slow. Her insides quivered.

      She pushed harder on the brake. In horror, she glanced down to see that her foot was all the way to the floorboard.

      Her brakes weren’t working.

      The car stopped to the left started into the intersection. She was going to wreck! Slamming the heel of her hand against the horn, she let out three sharp blasts. The driver jerked to a halt, yelling angrily as Sadie vroomed past.

      She held the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip and leaned forward, her eyes frantically searching the passing roads.

      In less than a mile, she’d be at another busy intersection. How far could she travel before she collided with someone? Making a split decision, she wrenched the wheel to the side and peeled off onto a dirt road. The road was at a slight incline. Her stomach began to settle as the vehicle started to slow as it continued uphill.

      The relief vanished when she realized that on the other side of the incline was a steep drop. Her mouth was dry. The moment she crested that hill, her car would begin to accelerate again.

      Frantically, she stomped on the brake, hoping against all logic that the brake would suddenly begin to work again.

      It didn’t. As she neared the top, she knew with utter clarity that if she didn’t figure out a way to stop the car, she was going to crash and possibly kill herself and anyone in her path.

      “Dat, they’re going to crash!”

      Ben Mast heard his son’s shout a mere moment before he heard the roar of a vehicle approaching way too fast. Throwing his hammer down on his work bench, he rushed out of the brown log-sided structure and raced down the gravel driveway to his seven-year-old son Nathaniel’s side.

      The red compact car swerved wildly down the hill, tires spinning on the slick surface.

      Ben grabbed Nathaniel and dragged him back from the road, despite the boy’s protests. If the driver left the road, he didn’t want his son to become a victim of some Englischer’s recklessness. His lips tightened in anger. Didn’t these people care that others might be out on these roads? He knew for a fact there was a sign posted saying that children lived on this street.

      The car zoomed past, the high-pitched whine of the engine searing the silent afternoon. He caught a glimpse of the driver’s face and saw sheer panic. Why didn’t she try to slow down?

      A familiar clopping noise gained his attention. He whipped his head around, mouth so dry he couldn’t have swallowed if he’d wanted to. A horse was coming up the hill. It was pulling a buggy with an Amish couple and several children. The man pulled on the reins, but the car was still coming. Where could the family go? Ben felt the inevitability of the collision clenching his stomach painfully.

      “Gott, help them!” he shouted out.

      The car swerved to the side, careening off the side of the road and plowing into an ancient maple tree with a horrendous crash. The tree shuddered, and the hood of the small car crunched in like it was made of cardboard. Steam burst from the engine, with a long, loud hiss.

      There was no movement inside the car. Fearing the worst, Ben turned urgently to his son. “Go to Caleb and Lovina’s,” he said, pointing to the house across the street. “Caleb has a phone in his business office. Ask him to call for help.”

      Most of the houses on the road belonged to Amish families. Although there were a few Englischer homes, as well. Lovina and Caleb were their closest neighbors.

      Nathaniel’s head bobbed in a hurried nod, then he shot off across the street. Ben waited until he saw his son was with Lovina before he dashed down the street to the car. He knew that Caleb was probably already calling but giving Nathaniel a purpose would keep him out of harm’s way. Ben reached the car and saw that the front windows had shattered upon impact. Glass crunched under his feet as he approached the driver’s door.

      “Miss?” The woman inside the car was hunched over the steering wheel, but he could see part of her face through the curtain of light brown hair. Blood was running down her cheek. Taking care not to cut his arm, he reached in through the broken window and placed his fingers on the side of her neck, feeling for a pulse. He found one. It was strong and steady. Ben sighed and closed his eyes, murmuring a soft prayer of thanksgiving.

      The driver of the buggy stepped down to see if he could help. Ben heard the cries of children in the buggy. Looking up, he also saw that the woman sitting in the front looked very pregnant and quite ill.

      “Nee, denke. Why don’t you take your family home? My son went to Caleb’s to call the ambulance.”

      The man nodded. “Once I get my wife and children home, I will come back to see if you need me.”

      Ben agreed, but his attention was back on the vehicle.

      He looked at the front of the car and frowned. There was so much damage. He didn’t see how she could have escaped injury; possibly she had internal bleeding. She’d have to go to the hospital. He flinched. He had lost his wife to a cancer that no one had been aware of until it was too late. Their unborn daughter had also perished. The hospital where they had died would forever be stamped in his memory. He never wanted to step inside one of those places again.

      He looked again at the woman. It would be easier to decide what to do if the door weren’t in the way. If it even opened. He looked doubtfully at how the frame had been bent on impact. He had to try it, though. To his surprise, he was able to wrench the door open. It swung wide and hung at an odd angle, but he was already focused on the occupant of the car. She was so still. He wished he could see her legs better. He wondered if he should try and pull her from the vehicle but decided against it. He didn’t want to risk hurting her any more than she already was.

      “Is she alive?” Caleb’s deep voice startled him. He’d been so wrapped up in his inspection that he hadn’t heard his neighbor approaching.

      “Jah. I can’t tell how bad she’s hurt, but she’s alive.”

      Caleb wrinkled up his nose. “What’s that smell?”

      Ben froze. The distinct sharp odor of gasoline rose to his nostrils. Bending down, he saw the gas was dripping from her car. She must have punctured the line during the crash. He reversed his earlier decision. She might have internal injuries, but if the car exploded, she’d be dead.

      “Let’s move her from the car,” Ben said.

      The other man grunted in response. Between the two of them, they slowly maneuvered the woman from the vehicle. Ben surveyed her for any other signs of damage as he helped Caleb carry her across the street to his porch. There was blood on her left arm, but other than that and the cut on her cheek, she appeared to be whole.

      He looked around. Some of the neighbors had emerged from their houses to see what was happening. “Stay back,” he yelled a warning. “There might be a gas leak.”

      Some of them stayed where they were, although several went back into their homes, shooing their children ahead