The car that hit Chigurh in the intersection three blocks from the house was a ten year old
Buick that had run a stop-sign. There were no skidmarks at the site and the vehicle had made
no attempt to brake. Chigurh never wore a seatbelt driving in the city because of just such
hazards and although he saw the vehicle coming and threw himself to the other side of the
truck the impact carried the caved-in driver side door to him instantly and broke his arm in
two places and broke some ribs and cut his head and his leg. He crawled out of the passenger
side door and staggered to the sidewalk and sat in the grass of someone's lawn and looked at
his arm. Bone sticking up under the skin. Not good. A woman in a housedress ran out
screaming.
Blood kept running into his eyes and he tried to think. He held the arm and turned it and tried
to see how badly it was bleeding. If the median artery were severed. He thought not. His head
was ringing. No pain. Not yet.
Two teenage boys were standing there looking at him.
Are you all right, mister?
Yeah, he said. I'm all right. Let me just sit here a minute.

Part 9