“People die, Damon. It’s unfortunate but it happens every fucking day. What are you going to do? Spend the rest of your life hiding? Worried that the next person you look at or touch will somehow magically drop dead?”
My vision swims.
The next person you look at.
The next person.
Dead.
Drop dead.
Sage winces beside me. “Yikes, looks like a bad one.”
Without thinking, I unbuckle my seatbelt.
Sage frowns, reaching out to grab my arm. “Umm, what do you think you’re doing?”
Smoke rises from the minivan, thick and black. I can’t tear my eyes away from it. It’s my fault. Quin was being facetious, he was making it sound like a ridiculous notion, but it’s true. It’s me. I’m the problem. The disease.
Why did the little kid look at me? Why did I look back? Why didn’t I look away?
Guilt coils my chest like a spiteful serpent, squeezing tighter and tighter.
Look what happened. Look what I did.
Ignoring Sage’s pleas, I yank my arm free and tumble out of the car.
My legs move on their own accord as I float toward the accident. The minivan is destroyed, chunks of metal hanging off the bumper by a fucking thread. The smell of burning rubber and gasoline is overwhelming. Deadly. Holding my breath, I circle the car and drop to my knees, peering inside.
The mother is unconscious, slumped over in her seat. The father is barely able to keep his eyes open, barely able to speak, his face bruised and bloodied.
“Help…my boys…”
A spark of electricity zaps from somewhere inside the car. Shit. There’s no time to think. There’s no time to wait. I scramble to the back seats, my arms and legsbleeding from the shards broken glass. The burning smell fills my nostrils, acrid and choking. I spot the three boys in the back, their faces banged up and pale.
“It’s okay,” I whisper to the three brothers. “You’re going to be okay. I’m going to get you out of here.”
“Mommy,” one of the boy cries. “I want my mommy.”
Autopilot kicks in, and I unbuckle the first boy from his car seat. My hands shake with anxiety, but I manage to free him and carry him to safety.
The second boy screams as I contort my body to reach him, tears mixing with the grime on his cheeks. I unclip his car seat with trembling fingers, wincing as the jagged metal scratches my forearms.
The third boy doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Barely breathes as I pull him out.
Please be okay. Please live. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.
The smell of smoke grows stronger, fire trucks and ambulances wailing in the distance.
“Stay here,” I tell the boys. A group of pedestrians are gathered around the curb, half on their phones recording, the other half frozen. I make eye contact with an older woman. “Watch them. Do you hear me? You watch them.”
She nods slowly, and I rush back to the vehicle, my heart pounding. The parents. They need to live. They need to live for their kids. They can’t die. The kids won’t recover. The kids won’t heal. They’ll never heal.
Please. Don’t die.
I reach the mother first, struggling to pull her fromthe wreck. The smoke thickens and flames ignite at the edges of the car. No. She’ll be fine. They’ll both be fine. They need to live. They can’t die.
Please don’t die.
