It was a dark, windy night… Tara Wilson sighed as she glanced out the service station’s large window at the pouring rain.
A streak of lightning shot across the sky, and thunder echoed throughout the night.
Night shift at a gas station wasn’t the thrilling job Tara had hoped for when she went to journalism school, but she’d had to quit college to assist her ailing mother. Tara had no idea that the drab night would soon turn much more entertaining.
Even as Tara reflected on her life, a fragile figure stumbled towards her in the darkness, nearly bent double against the power of the wind and the driving train. Tara was almost asleep when a wheezing voice broke the silence. “Please, oh please…”
Tara, who was sitting behind the service station counter, leaped to her feet. An older woman stood in front of her, pouring rain and mud in equal measure. Her clothes were covered in oil, grime, and mud, and heavy streaks of makeup ran over her face.
“Ma’am?” Tara gave a gasp. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in!”
The woman took another unsteady step forward and clutched the counter with desperate palms. “Please,” she exclaimed again, “I need your help…”
“Oh I’ll just bet you do!” a harsh masculine voice interrupted. It was Tara’s boss, Mr. Anderson, the service station’s night manager who must have heard the woman enter from the back office where he spent his nights online on dubious sites.
“I’ve had enough of you derelicts walking in cadging hot food and coffee every time it rains.” Mr. Anderson hissed. “Get out!”
“Please,” the woman responded calmly, and Tara realized she had a pleasant voice and an educated accent. “I need help, my phone is smashed…”
Mr. Anderson snarled, “Help?” “Did you drive here?” Do you need gas? Or motor oil? Do you have cash or a credit card?
“No,” the woman replied. “You don’t understand…”
The manager growled, “I understand you just fine.” “Get out!” “You get nothing if you don’t have a car or money!”
The woman pressed her shaky fists together. “My husband and I had a car accident, and he is unconscious on the road…I only ask that you make a phone call!”
Tara made up her mind and stepped forwards. “Ma’am, I’ll call 911 for you,” she explained. She picked up the landline receiver at the service station and phoned. She grimaced and took up her cell phone before shaking her head.
“I’m sorry,” she told the woman. “But the storm probably took down the phone lines and the cell tower. Where did you crash?”
The woman’s lips were trembling. “My poor John, oh my poor John…”
Tara came around the counter and put her arm around the woman’s sopping-wet shoulders. “Come on, Ma’am, I’ll drive you to him. We’ll take him to the hospital.”
The manager became outraged. “You most certainly will not!” he yelled. “You walk out that door and you’re fired!”
Tara looked at Mr. Anderson and spoke quietly. “Go ahead and fire me.” But I will not abandon a 𝕕𝕖𝕒 𝕕 man on the highway.”
“Thank you, my dear,” the woman exclaimed. “My husband is an influential man, you won’t regret this.”
“No matter who your husband is, Ma’am, I won’t regret it,” Tara remarked as she seated the woman in her car and fastened her seat belt. “My mother always taught us to help whenever we could, no matter who it is.”
With the woman’s guidance, Tara found the scene of the accident. The car was completely destroyed, and by the side of the road and covered with a blanket was an older man.
“John,” the woman exclaimed, kneeling at his side, “I’m here, darling, I found help!” The man opened his eyes and attempted to speak, but he was clearly too weak. Tara and the woman managed to get him into the backseat of her car and drove him to the hospital in the pouring rain.
Tara urged the hospital staff to look at the woman as well, who was shivering from surprise and tiredness, and then she allowed herself to slump into one of the waiting room chairs.
A while later, a tall young doctor came over and asked if she had been the one who’d brought the older couple over. “Yes,” Tara said. “Are they alright?”
The doctor smiled and said, “Thanks to you!” “Mrs. Smythe told me about what you did. Her husband was bleeding internally, so another half hour would have been too late. “We are also treating Mrs. Smythe for surprise and hypothermia.”
“Mrs. Smythe, that’s the lady’s name?” asked Tara. “And they are going to be alright?”
“Yes, you saved their lives,” said the doctor, casting Tara an admiring look. “You’re a hero!”
“No,” said Tara. “Mrs. Smythe is the hero. She walked five miles in the rain to get help for her husband, and she never gave up!”
Mr. Smythe was the owner of the local TV station, and his news team covered the story of Tara losing her job to save two lives. Mr. Anderson was identified by name, and his manager fired him for portraying the company negatively.
When Mr. Smythe found Tara was a semester away from finishing her journalism major, he employed her as a junior reporter. She was earning far more than she was at the service station while doing what she loved.
