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never forget it.
    So I knew it wasn't that these people hit a deer and hiked away from their accident—I knew I wasn't going to like what I saw.
    No bars on the phone.
    I reached out for the end of the gate. I was about to swing it closed when something cut through the light behind me. I turned to it—her, I guess, because I could see the shape of a skirt in the silhouette. Her steps were soggy. She must have been in the ditch.
    I asked if she was okay. A high, thrilled kind of whine squeezed out of her throat. It sounded relieved. It kind of sounded like someone with emphysema airily delighting in a surprise.
    I asked again.
    Then something grabbed my foot. I instinctively yanked it and it came free. I looked down just in time to see a small hand recoil under the open station wagon gate.
    I gave the door a shove to close it.
    There was a child there—no more than 9. I'm guessing he was naturally that skinny. But he seemed too tiny to me. Like a board. With a head.
    He reached out again. I stepped around him so I was at his side. That's when I noticed the blood. He was hurt really bad. His side looked like he'd slid on a giant kitchen grater. He couldn't talk.
    By my left foot was a brown paisley printed faux leather purse. All its contents were scattered around my feet. I was sorry for stepping on, what I assumed, were her things. I lay my left hand between the small boy’s shoulders to calm him. I dialed 9-1-1 again.
    I asked if this was her son. She'd come within arm's reach and covered me in her shadow. The boy was struggling weakly.
    I was about to tell him he should lay still, when she lunged at me.
    I stumbled back, only because she was in my personal space. The boy was making sounds like a pissed off cat. Roww Roww Roww. There were other garbled sounds involved, but these were the strongest.
    I said "hey" or something, when she reached for me again.
    Her arms didn't drop. They just kept reaching.
    I backed up enough on ground level so I could stand without being right in her face.
    "I said, are you okay?" I said. I heard alarm in my voice. I needed to get back to the kid.
    So I went around the other side of the car and she started to come over it.
    In the headlights I saw blood in her hair and on her flailing legs. And on the scrambling hands that looked like big bloody spiders tap dancing on the car hood. She'd got most of the way on top before she started to slide back.
    "Watch out for the kid!" I yelled. "Sweet Jesus!"
    I thought I'd hear her feet land softly—land softly on the kid. I was relieved when I heard them touch the pavement.
    I got around to the back of the station wagon again. With the gate closed I could easily see the boy. But he'd pulled himself under the car and was starting under it very slowly. The woman just stood there—like when I first saw her. I dialed 9-1-1 again. I heard the computer.
    "Are you okay?" I said firmly. I asked what happened. She kept wheezing and started out into the light. Her eyes were wrong. Really wrong. The boy was emerging from under the rear license plate. His eyes were wrong too.
    I can't describe it. I probably don't have to, unless this was found well after this is over. If it's ever over. But I can't describe it anyway so it doesn't matter.
    I'm not happy about what I did next, but I'm going to tell you.
    I got back in my car and locked the doors. I dropped the remote in the cup holder behind my soft serve cup. I pressed on the brake and put the car in reverse when she slammed her face into the window beside me. She broke several of her front teeth out and kept chomping against the glass. Her tongue was free to flop where the teeth had been and in the chomping, she was licking and her bloody spider hands slapped the body between the driver's side window and the windshield. I heard her pull on the door handle.
    I looked over my shoulder and stepped on the gas. I remember my neck felt so vulnerable--I imagined her breaking through the glass with her face. I