7

Taking a deep breath, Isabel nodded to Jesse and tried to calm herself. The odds were astronomical of her father actually seeing the documents generated by the state police or other law enforcement bodies.

Jesse started talking to the 911-dispatch person at the other end of the cell-phone connection, giving the person the location and the details of the wreck.

Staying focused on the van, Isabel started moving forward again, walking along the top of the vehicle rather than the undercarriage. Her imagination filled her mind with the possible bloody carnage that might be waiting.

The van's windshield had shattered with the series of impacts. Small, cube-shaped pieces of safety glass glittered like diamonds in a spray across the paved parking area and the sandy picnic area. The pieces glistened among the shattered remains of the demolished picnic table, too.

Before Isabel reached the front of the van, Jesse caught her by the elbow and stopped her. She turned to face him.

"What are you doing?" Jesse asked.

"Checking on the driver," Isabel replied.

"Don't you smell the gasoline?" Jesse asked, pulling at her and trying to guide her away from the wrecked vehicle. "This van could explode."

"If this were a movie or a TV show, maybe," Isabel responded.

A tender look filled Jesse's face. "I'm serious, Isabel. I want you to back off. I don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm going to check on the driver," Isabel insisted.

"I can do that."

"You're suddenly invulnerable?"

Jesse stared to argue.

"We'll do this," Isabel said. "I've had first-aid courses."

Jesse looked like he wanted to offer a rebuttal to her decision, but before he got the chance, a woman's voice lifted in a terrified wail.

"My baby!" she screamed. "Someone help my baby!"

Isabel spun then, heading for the front of the van. A chill ran through her as she thought about a baby being aboard the wrecked van.

The gasoline smell became stronger. Heat baked into the ground, reminding Isabel that the danger of a fire was real, not something inspired by special effects in a show.

She reached the front of the van, dropped to her hands and knees, and peered inside the vehicle. After being out in the bright sun, adjusting to the darkness inside the van took a moment.

The driver fought against the seat belt restraints, trying desperately to reach into the backseat. She was in her middle or late twenties, with blond hair and pale features. Blood streaked her face, but more fright showed than pain. The air bag stood out from the steering wheel compartment.

Isabel couldn't see how bad the woman's head wound was, and she knew from first-aid classes that those kinds of wounds bled profusely. "Hey," she said as calmly as she could.

The woman still kept reaching into the rear of the van, but she looked at Isabel. "Help me!" she croaked.

"I will," Isabel said, then moved aside so Jesse could join her. "We will."

"My baby!" the woman said.

"We'll get your baby," Isabel promised. She peered into the back of the van.

Two more rows of seats were behind the captains' chairs. Boxes and bags from the cargo area littered the inside of the van. As she looked at all the destruction in the van, Isabel wondered how a small child could have survived the wreck. Don't think like that, she told herself. Everything is going to be fine. She's still alive. The child has got to be alive too. Just the same, Isabel wished Max were there.

Jesse reached into the van and pulled on the seat restraints holding the woman locked into position behind the collapsed steering wheel. "It's no use. The locking mechanism is jammed." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small Swiss Army knife. "I'm going to have to cut her loose."

"Not me!" the woman yelled. Tears filled her eyes. "Please! Check on my baby! They told me she was gone! They told me she was gone, but there she is!" She pointed. "I can see her! Please! She needs help!"

"I'll get her baby." Isabel slithered into the van.

"Don't," Jesse said, grabbing Isabel by the shoulder.

"I've got to," Isabel said. She stared into his eyes. "We need to get the mother out, Jesse. We're miles from Roswell. It'll be a long time before help arrives."

Indecision showed in Jesse's eyes.

"I'm not giving you a choice," Isabel said.

"Let me get the baby."

"You won't fit." Before Jesse could say another word, Isabel pulled herself into the van. With the vehicle overturned and lying on the driver's side, navigating through the interior was difficult.

"Isabel," Jesse called.

His body blocked most of the light coming through the shattered windshield. If the van had been a passenger model instead of designed for cargo transport there would have been windows all the way around. There would have been more light, and Isabel would have been able to peer in through the windows.

"The gasoline smell is getting stronger," Jesse warned.

Isabel knew that was true. She could smell the change herself. The van was quickly turning into a bomb, and the racing engine might be enough to detonate those destructive forces.

Placing her hand on the van's metal body, knowing Jesse couldn't see what she was doing from his position behind her, Isabel unleashed her power. Part of her alien heritage, part of all of their heritages, was the ability to affect electronic things. The van had electronic parts that controlled the engine and ignition.

Whatever special part of her brain or her senses that controlled her alien powers reached out for the pulse of

the van. She felt the electrical force, then created a surge of energy that raced throughout the van.

"Isabel," Jesse called. "I just felt an electrical surge. We can't stay…"

Then the van's engine hiccuped and died.

"Get her out, Jesse," Isabel said.

"My baby!" the woman moaned. "Give me my baby!"

"I'll get her," Isabel promised, but her heart sank when she saw the jumble of boxes and bags strewn across the backseats. She looked for a child seat but couldn't find one. Desperately, she moved boxes, not knowing if she was uncovering the child or burying her farther.

"There she is! There she is!"

Surprised by the woman's voice, Isabel glanced forward.

The woman's face was a mask of blood, and tears streaked her cheeks. But she was smiling. Jesse had almost succeeded in cutting the woman free, and she was able to turn in the seat.

"There's my little angel!" the woman cooed excitedly. "There's my little Abbie! Come on to Mother, Abbie! Come on!"

Confusion dawned on Jesse's face as he peered past the woman. He looked at Isabel and shook his head.

Isabel's heart nearly stopped. Her immediate thought was that something awful had happened to the baby. Overcoming a preternatural fear of seeing what was there, she turned and looked into the seat.

A child, surely no more than a year and a half old, sat curled up like a fetal ball at the bottom of the seat. Boxes framed her. She had blond wisps of hair and chubby cheeks. A pink bow sat atop her head, matching the frilly dress and

matching underpants. Pink tennis shoes with white laces covered her feet, looking impossibly wide and blunt.

"See?" the woman said. "That's my baby. That's my little Abbie." She smiled, then groaned as Jesse continued cutting her free of the seat restraints. "The doctors said she didn't make it, but 1 knew they were wrong. A mother always knows."

The oddity of the woman's words barely touched Isabel as she pushed her way into the backseat. "Hey," she said to the little girl. "Are you all right?"

The child glared at Isabel, folding her pudgy arms across her body.

Jesse helped the mother from the van, having to fight against her efforts to help Isabel get her little girl.