‘Pretty Lies: Hold On’ by Mel Anastasiou

Jenny saw the car, the same black car that had hit her not half an hour before, turn off the trunk road and through  the line-up for the ten-thirty ferry into the general store parking lot. She had lost sight of young Ketchup and his bag of chips but heard the driver’s wordless shout and the wallop of the Eldorado’s brakes. 

She ran across the road and narrowly missed being hit herself by an orange pickup. Malcolm passed her, breathing hard, followed by Adrian, who apparently did care about kids after all. The driver clambered out, but there was no sign of Ketchup.

Malcolm tore up to the Eldorado’s driver and shoved him in the chest.

“Bastard,” Malcolm said. “I knew you were a bastard.”

“I didn’t do anything. Where’s the kid?”

Jenny ran around the black car. She expected to see the little boy lying smashed and dead under the wheels of the car, but she found him alive, stretched out on the parking lot blacktop. 

“I’m crying because I’m hurt,” Ketchup told her. His eyes moved to Adrian at Jenny’s side. “No eating my chips.”

Ketchup’s leg lay at an odd angle. But was that all? She knew better than many that more than bones could be broken bones on a person who’d been hit by a car. Something damaged deep inside could be harder to find, and the harder to find, the more dangerous it was. Did it follow that imagined injuries could be the most dangerous of all? She grimaced. Idiotic thoughts ran through one’s head at a moment like this. 

A crowd had gathered in the general store parking lot, largely from the line of parked cars waiting for the ferry.

“Call the ambulance.”

“Is there one? On this punk island?”

“There’s a service, there has to be.” 

“Turn him on his side.”

“Don’t turn him! He’s breathing already …”

“Take the chip bag away. He’ll choke on them.”

Adrian’s voice was unmistakable in the crowd. “If you want to take his chips, you’ll have to run him over again first.”

More folks arrived in the parking lot, and Jenny found herself pushed aside by strong arms. A voice sounding accustomed to giving orders called, “Back up and leave a circle. The ambulance is coming.”

Jenny pressed forward and saw that Chief Layton, neck wet with sweat above his white collar, was taking charge of the emergency. 

Chief Layton bent over Ketchup. “You’re the fire maker, aren’t you? I knew you were a brave boy.”

Ketchup’s lower lip quivered. “I’m crying again.”

“You hold onto those chips, son, and you’ll be fine.” Chief Layton got to his feet. “Is anyone else hurt here? What about the driver?”