Page 30

For a second, there’s nothing.

Not silence. Just a high, sharp ringing, like the whole world has narrowed down to one endless note.

I can’t breathe.

I try, and it comes out in a broken, tearing gasp. The airbag is deflating in front of me, smelling like chemicals and burnt powder. My hands are still locked around the wheel, even though the wheel is crooked now. The windshield is fractured into a glittering spiderweb. Somewhere nearby, horns are still blaring.

“Max?”

My voice sounds thin and far away.

There’s a groan beside me.

I turn too fast, and pain lances up my neck. Max is slumped against the seat belt, dazed, blood trickling from somewhere near his eyebrow. His eyes are open, unfocused at first, then land on me.

“You swerved,” he says, like he can’t quite believe it.

There’s glass everywhere. Tiny sparkling pieces across his lap, in my hair, on the dashboard. Smoke or steam curls up from the crumpled hood. Somewhere outside, people are shouting.

“I saw—” My voice breaks. I swallow hard. “I saw something.”

Max lets out one short, disbelieving laugh that sounds more pained than amused. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “I know.”

My whole body starts shaking then, all at once, hard enough my teeth chatter. The rabbits are gone. Of course, they’re gone. There’s nothing outside now except wrecked cars, smeared headlights, and people running toward us.

“Oh my God,” I whisper.

My chest hurts. My arms hurt. Everything hurts. I can taste blood, metallic and hot, where I must’ve bitten the inside of my mouth.

Max fumbles for the door handle and then stops, wincing. “Don’t move too fast.”

“I crashed the car.”

“Yes.”

“I crashed the car.”

His face tightens, but his voice comes out steadier this time. “I know. Just stay with me for a second, okay?”

I stare at him. Then at the ruined windshield. Then, in my hands, still trembling on the bent steering wheel.

In the distance, sirens start to wail.

And all I can think, over and over, is that I never should’ve been behind the wheel in the first place.

I try to move my body, but I’m stuck. The car is flipped over, metal groaning around me, the whole thing creaking like it might crush me completely if I breathe too hard. The air smells like gasoline, smoke, and blood, so thick it burns the back of my throat. My ears ring, sharp and constant, but underneath it, I can hear the faint hiss of something leaking and the weak crackle of the engine dying around us.

I glance over at Max. Blood drips from his head, dark and slow, sliding down his temple, over his cheek, and onto the ruined seat beneath him. His eyes flutter once, and then suddenly close.

Fuck.

“Max, open your eyes, please, open them,” I sob, my voice breaking so badly I barely recognize it.

He doesn’t answer. Not even a flinch. Not a single muscle moves. He’s still. Tears stream down my face, hot and endless, mixing with the blood and dirt on my skin. Everything hurts. My ribs ache every time I drag in a breath, my head throbs, and pain rips through my leg so hard it makes my vision blur.

“Fuck, please, Max, I’m sorry.”

“Wake up,” I say over and over, sobbing relentlessly, my words turning into broken gasps. “Wake up. Wake up. Please.”