In slow motion, the car slams into us, throwing meforward and snapping me back. The seatbelt is holding me, cutting into me.
Lyndall screams as the screech of tires and metal shrieks together, and she slams her head into the window.
It's like being trapped in a dream as my fingers turn useless and cold, and my head starts to slam.
In the odd quiet of the car, where there's a hiss of steam and shouts outside, I manage to get the door open.
I stumble out, falling to the ground.
I can smell gas, like it's burning, and panic hits me hard, sending my blood pressure spiking.
I scream for Jack and Lyndall.
The other car hit the driver's side. Thank goodness I was in the back.
Jack looks pinned. His eyes are closed, he's pale, and blood trickles from a cut on his head.
The airbags are in the way of me seeing how bad he is.
I try the door, but it's too crushed.
I scream his name, and Lyndall's, too, as I make my way over to her side.
"Jack? Is Jack...?" she says, slurring as she opens her eyes and looks at me.
"He's unconscious," I say, yanking on her door as other people try to open Jack's door to reach him.
Sirens rip open the air, and FDNY trucks appear.
"Get out of the way," someone shouts at me.
I ignore them and keep trying her door.
The crowd moves back, and the firefighters work on Jack's side.
"Are you okay?" I ask Lyndall.
"M-my arm's hurt, I think. I'm okay."
"Here." A man moves me out of the way, and I'm bundled into an ambulance that's just arrived.
I'm alone in the back of the ambulance, and I start to tryand get out when suddenly the man—not a paramedic or a firefighter—gets Lyndall free and pushes her into the back with me.
"I need to get you to the hospital. I'll let the paramedics know."
"Where are they?" I cry, alarm bells going off.
The man closes one door. "Helping the driver."
"Jack?"
"He's dead. Helping the driver and passengers in the other car." And he slams shut the door.
"Lyndall?"
Tears stream down her face, and she's mouthing the word "no."
She's in complete shock.
