Then nothing but heavy breathing.
Dead silence.
When I open my eyes, I blink and breathe trying to decide what hurts more, my head or my chest from my heart beating so fast.
Shit. We were in an accident. I look up to see Madison against the back of Alexa’s seat, shattered glass sprayed all over her back. Swallowing, my chest constricting as I try to breathe, I look around. My lap is covered in shards of glass from the back windows. I dust a few pieces off only to see blood in the wake where I’ve ripped open the skin on my hands.
I reach over the seat and touch the back of Macy’s head. She moans and it’s a relief. She’s fine.
Madison isn’t.
Please baby, move.
I’m afraid to speak. My voice hasn’t been found. Clearing my throat, I try. “Mad…”
She says nothing. She doesn’t move.
I shake her. “Madison?”
She starts crying as her body jolts. “Cash?” and then she moves, her arms bracing herself as she moves from the floorboards.
Thank God.
I breathe a slight sigh of relief when she can move and sits up straighter, wincing but she is mobile. Landon’s door opening brings my attention to him. It creaks, glass crunching under his feet as he moves around. He picks Macy up out of her seat and carries her to the side of the road. She’s sobbing and holding her hand gingerly to her chest. It’s clear it’s broken by the way it’s twisted and her nose hasn’t escaped damage either. She’ll have two black eyes with the way her nose has been broken as well. Her face must have hit the back of Madison’s head.
When he has Macy on the ground, Landon takes his shirt off and wads it up handing it to her. She immediately places it over her face.
I rub Madison’s back. “Baby, can you get out?”
Madison moves, nodding, and then gets out of the open door. I do the same climbing over the second row seat through more glass, we get out and see that Steven can’t move. He’s trapped, his head is rested against the steering wheel, the airbag flattened out.
“Fuck!” I curse shaking my head because the sight of him is almost too much, my shoes sliding in some liquid dripping out from under the engine as I slowly step around the vehicles.
It’s a punch to the fucking gut knowing he can’t get out.
If that’s not enough, the man on the hood of Steven’s SUV, the one who was inside the truck we hit, is clearly dead. His head is smashed against the windshield, blood seeping down the damaged hood and all I can think about as I stare is how slow the blood is moving and it reminds me of that saying “moving as slow as molasses in winter” and it’s with this realization that I know I must be in shock.
Alexa screams when Landon gets her out, she’s fighting him and runs around to the driver’s side of the car to where Steven is. Her arms flail, resisting, fighting and begging.
I look at Madison, blood is pouring from a gash along her scalp, she’s vomiting in the ditch as Macy holds her up on the side of the road near a tree.
Stumbling, I sit down on the pavement, trying to catch my breath. There’s blood everywhere, coming from everyone, my hands and face too but I can’t move for a moment.
And another.
The world stops.
Do something.
Move.
Landon moves away from Macy, blood pouring from his arms and mouth where he has an obvious gash on his lips. He leans over, his hands on his knees as he vomits, the cell phone in his hand falls to the ground at his feet. Macy reaches for it and calls 911.
Alexa’s screams draw my attention, crying hysterically, screaming at me and Landon. “Save him! Do something! Save him!”
I stand and approach them but there’s nothing we can do. He’s dying. When I look closer, I see an open wound on his side where the door indented and punctured his ribs and who knows what else. His legs are trapped, blood pouring from them. It’s spilling from the edge of the doorframe and onto the road.
I try though. I take my hoodie off, then my t-shirt and try to get them both against his side. When I lift his shirt I know there’s not a chance in hell this is going to work. The metal from the door has punctured his side, his kidneys, his spleen and more than likely his lungs too. It’s deep. I take my shirt and press it against the side, he winces in pain. “I’m sorry man, I’m so fucking sorry.”
He says nothing, I don’t think he can actually speak. With a little effort, I get my sweatshirt in there too hanging inside the car trying to compress the wound. The skin on my arms and chest tears when the glass from the driver’s side window scratches against it. I feel nothing.
Macy starts yelling out orders the 911 dispatcher is telling her, but I’m already doing everything they’re telling her to do.