At first Wendell hid along the side of the road at the sight of the monstrous truck with its roaring engine. He had never seen a vehicle so large and powerful in all his life. As the truck came closer, Wendell told himself it was like Mr. Pryde's truck, only much larger. He thought of Samantha as he ran out into the road, waving his arms in the hope the vehicle would stop. The truck made a terrible screeching and creaking sound as it slowed; Wendell didn't think it would stop in time before hitting him. The truck came to a stop two feet ahead of him, its silver grill looking like the teeth of some giant monster. A head leaned out the driver's side door and shouted, "What are you doing, kid?"
"I need a ride," Wendell said. "It's an emergency."
"All right, climb up the side there. Watch your step."
Wendell went around to the passenger's side of the truck. He grabbed a bar to haul himself onto a step and then opened a door. He took hold of another bar to swing into the seat. "I'm sorry if I scared you," Wendell said.
The driver, a man as heavy as Prudence, shrugged. "It's fine. What's this emergency?"
"My cousin is in the hospital. I'm not sure how much longer she has. I need to see her," Wendell said.
"What's wrong with her?" the driver asked as he started the truck moving again.
"She has a bad heart," Wendell said. Not entirely a lie, he thought. Somehow, thanks to Mr. Pryde's son, Samantha's kind heart had turned dark. "It's giving out on her."
"Are they going to do a transplant?"
"A transplant? Oh, sure, of course."
"I had a cousin who needed a liver on account of his drinking. He waited around for almost two years before they found a donor for him. Unless you got a family member with a part to spare or you're a celebrity you end up waiting," the driver said. Wendell had no idea what he was talking about, but nodded anyway. They can transplant organs from one person to another? he thought. Amazing. Any other time he would have asked dozens of questions, but not now. He had more important things to worry about at the moment.
The driver continued talking first about his cousin and then his brother, a driver in somewhere called Iraq that sounded worse than Hell itself. "The truck ahead of him blew up two weeks ago. Damned terrorists. A bunch of cowards," the driver said. He stopped the truck in front of the Seabrooke Community Hospital, a one-story building that didn't seem much bigger than the boy's dormitory in Eternity. "Here's the hospital. I hope your cousin pulls through."