Still nothing.
I started questioning myself.
Had the truck regained control?
Had I just cost a critically ill kid precious time because I'd misread what I'd seen?
Then we heard it.
A horn.
Long.
Deep.
Continuous.
I yelled:
"EVERYBODY BACK!"
Seconds later, the logging truck appeared around the curve.
The trailer had jackknifed.
It crossed both lanes.
The driver was fighting desperately to control it.
The ambulance crew stared.
The father stopped moving.
The truck slid across the exact stretch of pavement the ambulance would've been entering.
Then it came to rest diagonally across Route 12.
Silence.
Nobody screamed at me anymore.
The father looked at the truck.
Then at the ambulance.
Then at me.
His face changed as he understood.
If I'd moved my motorcycle when he'd demanded it, the ambulance would've entered that curve.
His son would've been inside.
So would he.
So would the medical crew.
The ambulance driver immediately got on the radio.
The road ahead was completely blocked.
Waiting wasn't an option.
They needed another route.
One of my riding brothers knew those back roads better than anyone.
"There is one."
The driver looked at him.
"How long?"