"What's your name?"

"Brandy."

"Brandy?"

"Yes."

She knew her name. That was good. Brandy was a big girl. Wedding ring. Maybe 24 years old. Pupils constricted but her eyes weren't fixing on me or anything else. Brandy was laying up on the far side of a ditch behind the red Toyota that rested on its roof in the middle of the mountain road.

We first saw a guy waving at us to slow down. By the time we reached him we could see what lay ahead. He was shaking hard but his voice told me the tremors were unrelated.

"There's a woman hurt bad. I called 911 from my house." 30 miles from the nearest town of size, I told Steve to pull over.

"Keep pressure on it." was the first thing I heard. "Do you have more big bandages? We need more bandages."

The guy with the first aid kit was fiddling with an ice pack. "I can't get it cold. That woman there was hurt in the head." It was the woman applying pressure to the right wrist. She had been driving. I looked at the knot on her forehead. It was still small. I took the pack from him, put my fist into it and handed it to another woman who informed me that she was an EMT and Vet's assistant.

"Brandy."

Pulse 90, strong and regular; respiration, 24, steady and deep. Brandy bellered. Compound fractures of the right arm for sure. Internally, who knows? Someone said she had her seat belt on. Her window must have been open. Yeah, it was. She started to shake all over. Shock was taking hold and I said so.

Someone asked, "Should her feet be elevated?" Brandy's feet were in the ditch, along with her breakfast.

Someone else asked, "Should we move her?"

I about bit a head off with my answer. "No! Keep her covered up. Continue with the pressure. Keep talking to her."

And we left. Timing is everything for the anonymous good Samaritan, five miles onward pulling over for the Rescue, the Deputy, two ambulances and the Trooper.