"Any kid knows better, any two year old kid," the farmer said; he stared, unbelieving, at his arm. He sat down and was sick.
It was growing lighter. Mist lay over the valley. The air was damp with fading night.
Julia's feet made harsh clicks on the road.
At Walt's car she stopped. The farmer watched her with mute pain behind his eyes.
Reaction set in. She thought she was going to be sick, herself. She leaned against the wrecked car.
"We better get him out," the farmer said dully.
Julia nodded.
Between the two of them, they forced the door open and lifted Walt out to the pavement.
"Easy," the farmer said.
Julia stood over Walt's limp body. His jaw was broken and twisted to one side. His chest was bloody; blood trickled from his nose; his hair was matted with blood.