And what about the Hawks? They’d definitely expect me home (I couldn’t even think about the fact that I was calling the house where the Hawks livedhome) by bedtime. Would they try to figure out what had happened to me? Or would they consider me an old toy gone astray?
Bram would tear the town apart looking for me, but how long would it take the Hawks to let him know I was missing? I had no food, no water, and I couldn’t see.
I had three days.
Max.
The possibilities swirled in the darkness behind my eyelids and I fought against a wave of mind-numbing panic.
Get it together, Cassie. Think.
I lifted my right arm, which seemed uninjured, and felt around the car, trying to get my bearings. I was still secured to the seat with my seat belt, a mass of fabric that must have been the deflated airbag pooling over the steering wheel in front of me.
My seat belt prevented me from reaching the windshield, but I thought it must be broken because a cool breeze touched my face, and when I moved I heard the clink of shattered glass around my body.
I contemplated unfastening my seat belt — or trying to — but I couldn’t be sure I wasn’t upside down in the car, couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t fall on my head without the seat belt securing me to the driver’s seat.
Still, I couldn’t count on someone else finding me, not for a while, and I obviously had a head injury, and who knew what else.
I needed to get out of here.
I felt for the roof of the car and found it right where I would expect it. I didn’t feel suspended in my seat belt: there was no feeling of gravity pulling at my head, no tension around my hips that made me think I was upside down.
I was pretty sure the car hadn’t landed upside down, although I did feel smashed against the driver’s side door. Beyond that, I had no idea where the car had come to rest.
What if I was hanging over another cliff? What if my descent had been slowed by a bunch of trees or something?
The possibilities meant moving at all was perilous, but staying still wasn’t an option either. Plus I hadn’t heard the cargroan or shift when I’d reached for the windshield. I’d just have to hope I was secure enough to try for the door.
My left arm — wedged between my body and the door — throbbed, but I forced myself to try and wriggle it out. I gasped against the pain, stopping several times to catch my breath, then let out a cry of both pain and surprise when it finally came free.
My head swam and I held on to the steering wheel with my right hand, trying to catch my breath, willing myself not to pass out.
I’d done it. My arm was free.
Badly injured, but free.
I didn’t know how long it took the buzzing in my head to subside, but when it finally did, I fumbled for the door, feeling for the handle. The pain in my arm was breathtaking, but I refused to just sit there, waiting to die.
Waiting for Bram to come to my rescue. Again.
It took a minute to find the door handle — it was disorienting not being able to see, and nothing was exactly where I expected it to be — but my fingers finally brushed against the smooth metal handle.
Elated, I grasped it and pulled.
Nothing happened. The door didn’t open.
I tried again, then used my body weight — tricky with my injured arm holding the door handle — to try and press harder against it.
It didn’t budge.
Adrenaline flooded my body as I registered the danger I was in. My brain was in fight-or-flight mode, compelling me to run or do battle for my life.
Except I couldn’t run and there was no opponent on the battlefield, just my battered body trapped in the car at the edge of nowhere.
A sob — frustration and pain and fear — broke free from my throat. I let myself cry, taking big gulping breaths as tears ran down my face.
But no, they weren’t running down my face. They were running across my face: over the bridge of my nose, across my left cheek and temple, into the hair on the left side of my head.
