The Kiwi Target

more seconds in the streaming rain making sure that nothing had been left on the roadway, then he got behind the wheel. It was a long way back to Franz Josef, and he had seen few facilities there. Greymouth, somewhere ahead, was a city and certainly should have a hospital. His decision made, he put the car into gear and started up carefully on the slippery pavement.
    Knowing that time might be essential, he drove as fast as he dared, keeping himself superalert. His full attention was focused on his driving, but he gave an occasional quick glance at his motionless passenger. He kept hoping that the man would stir, that he would lift his head or show any sign at all of vitality.
    Time lost its meaning for him as he drove, knowing that the road would eventually take him to his destination. Finally, at the outskirt of a town, he spotted a small corner store marked DAIRY. Without hesitation he pulled up against the right-hand curb and got out as quickly as he could, running the few steps to the store.
    A substantial woman behind the counter was sacking some Potatoes for a customer. When she looked up in startled surprise, Peter spoke as rapidly as he could with clarity. “I have a man in my car who was badly hurt on the road. He’s unconscious. Where can I get help?”
    The woman stopped work immediately and came to him. She supplied quick directions to the hospital and then repeated them.
    We’re a small town, so it isn’t far,” she said.
    Peter hesitated for just a moment. “Should I call there first?”
    “I'll do it for you.”
    Grateful for that, he ran back the few steps to the car and took off as quickly as he could. To his relief the hospital’s emergency entrance was clearly marked; he drove up to it with his mind still fixed on the single idea of getting his passenger into the medical facility.
    He had barely set the brake when a white-coated man and a well-built woman appeared pushing a gurney. Clearly he was expected. Behind them was the tall, helmeted figure of a policeman.
    Peter got out quickly as the attendants came alongside his car. “This man was on the highway,” he said. “I brought him here as fast as I could.”
    He didn’t hear what they said in reply, if anything at all, but he was impressed with the efficiency with which they unloaded the injured man and wheeled him inside. As soon as they were gone, he drew a long deep breath and held it a moment, calming himself. Then he was confronted by the policeman. “May I have a word with you, sir?”
    “Of course.” He had subconsciously been aware that he would have to explain matters to the police, and the sooner it was done, the better. The rain no longer mattered to him.
    The policeman was impassive as he stood in his slicker. “Is the accident victim a relative or friend of yours?”
    “No, I never saw him before.”
    “You just found him on the roadway?”
    He was seized by the temptation to answer yes and assume the believable role of the Good Samaritan, but he knew it would never work. It was likely there were marks on his car, and the very limited traffic would point strong suspicion toward him in any event.
    He drew a careful breath and said what he had to. “No, officer, I hit him.”
    The policeman, who was also ignoring the rain, held a notebook shielded in his hand. “I see, sir. Very good of you to bring him here so promptly, if I may say so. Since the weather’s a bit nasty, would you care to come to the station and give us a statement there?”
    That was clearly an order, but it had been nicely put.
    “Will you show me the way?“
    “Right, sir. I’ll have the car around directly, and you can just follow me.”
    As he got into his own vehicle, Peter felt a rush of relief that his late passenger was no longer shoulder to shoulder with him in the opposite seat. When the police car appeared, he followed it to a small parking lot beside a squat gray building that was conspicuously marked POLICE.
    As he parked, he remembered that there had been no witnesses to report on his speed or the fact that he had been on the wrong side of the road. The victim, if he recovered, might testify to it later, but hopefully the matter would be closed before then.
    He got out in the still-heavy rain and followed his guide into the police station. When the officer at the desk looked up, Peter noted that he was a sergeant. “Good morning, sir,” he said. “I understand you just brought an accident victim into hospital.”
    “Yes,”