Instinctively, I yank on the emergency brake.
Nothing happens.
How is that possible?
My dad told me the emergency brake always works.
But it’s not. And I’m flying down the road, now traveling well over sixty, and that curve…
I wrestle with the steering wheel, white-knuckling it, panic rising as I desperately try to stay on the road.
The wheels slip. My headlights bounce off the rippling surface of the river.
A thunderbolt of terror crashes into me.
I’m not going to make it.
Oh, God. I’m not going to make it.
In a panic, I pound my foot against the brake pedal and pull at the emergency brake with all my strength. But it’s futile.
The guardrail looms up ahead, shining dully as my headlights hit it.
My car hurtles towards it.
What do I do?
Oh, God. What do I do?
And then.
I hit the guardrail.
For a second, I think,Maybe it’ll stop me. Maybe the airbag will deploy and I’ll end up with a broken nose, but I’ll still be on the road.
But it doesn’t.
My car crashes right through the metal. It takes flight.
My body feels weightless.
Breathless.
Time seems to stop.
In that frozen moment, it feels like I’m floating.
Then. Time speeds up again.
My car smashes into the river.
The airbag smacks me in the face, stunning me.
All around, there’s darkness.
Do something,my brain silently begs.
But what?
