This is Part 2 in the series. Here is Part 1.
When we last left our heroine, she was in the midst of a heart-breaking car accident involving her new arch nemesis, the multi-point buck. We now continue with this chilling saga...
SLAM! The car behind me rams me hard and pushes me into the deer. The deer is knocked off of his feet and leans over onto the hood of my car just a bit before righting himself. I see him appear to take a deep breath before he runs off into the woods that surround both sides of the road.
My first thought was, 'I just got this car! Why couldn't this have happened with my old car!' I was quite distraught over the car. My car hadn't even lost it's new-car smell yet. My thoughts were interrupted by the driver of the car behind me knocking on my window. I opened my car door to hear her say “I need a cell phone.” Thinking that someone in the car with her was injured, I handed here my phone. She dials 911 and reports the wreck, giving our location. She then calls another number and tells the person that she's been in a wreck and needs someone to pick her up. She gives my phone back to me and starts looking at the damage to her car. My car is slightly crumpled in the back, but her car is definitely totaled. She was driving a late '80's model of car, low to the ground, that pretty much slid beautifully under the back of my car. I ask her if she's okay and she says that she's fine, just shaken up. I reply that I know how she feels and that I've just gotten this car, can't believe this happened, etc. She gives me a look, says “we shouldn't be talking,” and gets into her car. I think this is strange, but I haven't been in a situation like this before, so what do I know?
We wait. We wait some more. A good-ol' boy truck roars by, the driver leaning out the window to yell at us, “get off the road!” A late-model sedan drives by, blaring it's horn as it passes. I think dark thoughts about the myth of Southern hospitality. If I drove by a wreck at night and no emergency vehicles were nearby, I'd stop and make sure that the people were okay. Georgia does have a “if you can steer it, clear it” law regarding accidents, but her car can't go anywhere, and part of her car's front is under my car. By this time, the other driver has climbed back into her car and it smoking a cigarette. I go over to the other car and knock on the window to ask the driver if 911 said when they'd be here. She rolls her eyes, sighs as says “I TOLD them it was an emergency, so they're going to be here.” Well. That wasn't much help, so I walk back over to my car. A jacked-up pickup truck approaches and slows down. Thinking that Southern hospitality perhaps wasn't dead, I walk over to the truck that has pulled over on the shoulder. The driver gets out of the truck, clad in full hunting camo gear. The overhead light of his truck illuminates a hunting rifle on a rack across his back windshield. The hunter spits and asks me, “are ya'll the ones that called in the wreck? I'm a deputy from the sheriff's office and I heard it over my radio.” I tell him yes, and explain that I had stopped to avoid hitting a deer, only to have the car behind me slam me into the said deer. Hunter/deputy perks up at this and asks me how big was the deer. I attempt to describe the deer to him as he walks back to his truck, retrieves his rifle, and bounds into the woods where I tell him I last saw the deer. What happens next? Will our darling heroine be the victim of small-town justice? Will the hunter/deputy kill the offending deer? Tune in next time for the continuation of a story that can only happen in the South!