Free Deer Season by Aaron Stander Page A

to punch through large drifts that had formed in low spots on the narrow lane. She slowed as they approached the end of the long drive that ran up the hill to their ridge-top home. She pulled a few feet into the drive, stopped, and put the car in park in preparation for getting out to gather the mail. She stepped out of the vehicle, leaving the door slightly ajar, and trudged through the deep snow to the mailbox–a handcrafted, carefully painted structure that closely resembled the restored barn that stood on their property. Lynne pulled a stack of envelopes and catalogs from the box and then turned toward the car.
    As she waited, Marie momentarily became lost in the music, a medieval French ballad. She was puzzling over the words, trying to tease the meaning from the five-hundred-year-old phrases composed in an ancient variant of her mother tongue. She could tell it was a song about unrequited love, but she was having difficulty fleshing out the story line, although she had a sense it was about the unfaithfulness of men.
    Marie didn’t hear the shot; it was obscured by the sound of the idling engine and the music. But she did see Lynne at the moment she was struck. She saw Lynne’s knees buckle and her arms drop as she fell backwards into the snow. For a few seconds Marie was paralyzed, trying to comprehend what was happening. Then she was out of the car and at Lynne’s side, the blood starting to stain the heavy tan canvas of Lynne’s barn coat. Marie slid her arms under Lynne’s shoulders and dragged her toward the car. Mustering all her strength, she lifted Lynne into the passenger’s seat, bringing her legs in last and closing the door. Then Marie sprinted to the driver’s side of the truck. Once back in the vehicle, she reversed out of the drive and followed the tracks in the new fallen snow. As she raced toward the village, she pulled Lynne’s phone from the tray between the front seats and dialed 911. Her first sentence was in French, then she switched to English. The girls, still secured in their car seats, were crying hysterically for their mother. Marie was struggling to understand the instructions of the calm, female voice on the other end of the line. Finally she got it. The woman was asking her to pull to the side of the road, emergency vehicles would be sent to her.
    “I am not stopping,” she said emphatically. “I am coming to the village.”
    “Do you know where the fire station is?” came the voice after a brief pause.
    “Yes.”
    “Drive to that location. I will have vehicles waiting. Do you understand?”
    “Yes,” Marie answered.
    Marie traversed the five miles on the ice and snow covered roads in less then six minutes, but later she would remember it as the longest six minutes of her life. She would occasionally get quick glimpses at Lynne, crumpled in the seat next to her. Marie couldn’t tell whether or not Lynne was still breathing. As she came around the final curve into the village she could see an ambulance and a police car idling in front of the public safety building. She pulled to a stop between them, ran around the car, and opened the door. Two women and a man, all in dark blue coveralls, took control of the situation, quickly moving Lynne onto a gurney and into the waiting ambulance. Two more police cars arrived just as the ambulance, escorted by a police car, both with sirens wailing, roared away from the scene.
    Marie felt faint; she wanted to scream and cry and beat her fists on something. Then she remembered the girls.

15
Sheriff Ray Elkins and Detective Sue Lawrence were at Marie’s side as she freed the hysterical little girls from their seats, something that they usually did for themselves. Marie held Amanda, who had leaped into her arms as soon as she was released from her seat. Ray caught Breanne as she slid out of the vehicle. He carried her into the fire hall, followed by Sue and Marie holding Amanda. They settled in a small lounge area of the station on two