He didn't care. He sat in the freezing waiting room for four hours, dripping water onto the linoleum, clutching the leather vest. Finally, a doctor emerged. He looked at Walter with a mixture of awe and respect.
"She’s going to make it, Mr. Briggs," the doctor said quietly. "Her name is Maya. Her core temp was dropping fast. If you had driven past her... she’d be dead. You saved her life tonight."
Exhausted, aching down to the marrow of his bones, Walter simply nodded. He left the leather vest with the nurses, walked out to his truck, and drove home into the breaking dawn. He fell into bed and immediately blacked out.
At 4:47 AM the following morning, Walter was jolted awake by a sound he had never heard before.
It started as a low, physical tremor that rattled the teacups in his cupboards and vibrated through the floorboards. It grew louder, swelling into a deafening, thunderous roar that sounded like a squadron of bombers landing in his front yard.
Walter’s heart seized. He threw on his bathrobe, his hands shaking so violently he could barely tie the belt. He patted his chest to ensure Eleanor’s photo was there, grabbed his walking cane, and limped out to the front porch.
He froze.