Let It Be

Chapter 8

Before either of us came up with anything to say after that, the car in front of us started swerving back and forth between the two lanes. Sam sat forward, scowling as he watched.

"What are they doing?" I asked, all nervous. "Are they drunk?"

"I think he's doing it on purpose, playing."

"But that's--"

Before I could comment on how stupid that was, the car in front of us lost control, swerving far the right, then over correcting until it crashed into the cement median as we sped past. The sound of the metal being crushed was deafening, an unearthly sound that I felt not just in my ears, but my veins as well.

"Oh my gosh!" I screamed in fear, grabbing onto my seat.

While I screamed, Sam swerved us over to the median, screeched on the brakes, and backed up the two hundred yards we'd pass them by. He rammed the car in park, ripped out of his seat belt, and tossed me his phone. "Call 9-1-1," he said in a strangely stern voice, "and stay in the car."
"Where are you going?" I cried as he wrenched the door open.

"Do what I say!" he commanded, then jumped out of the truck.

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I fumbled with the cell phone in my shaking hands, trying to dial 9-1-1 and watch what was going on through the back window.

"Hello, yes," I said when a woman answered. "There's a car accident on Church Highway, five minutes out of Hartford..."

I answered the questions as best as I could in my shock, trying to watch what was going on. Sam had wrenched the passenger door open and was helping a young girl out of the seat when flames shot up through the engine.

"It's on fire!" I screamed into the phone.

The lady on the phone told me that they were sending help while I jumped out of the car, dropping the phone in the dirt; the lady had all the information that she needed. I needed to help.

As I was sprinting over to the car, Sam saw me. "ABIGAIL!" he roared in outrage. "I SAID STAY IN THE CAR!"

I ignored him and continued towards the scene until something inside the car exploded. I screamed and ducked with my hands over my head as the vehicle spat out tiny shards of safety glass, then continued running when I thought it was safe.

I slid in the dirt until I was huddled by the little girl on the ground. She was probably eight, all cut up from the broken windshield, bleeding heavily from a cut on her arm, looking terrified.

"Are you alright?" I asked as I caught hold of her hand, checking her arms and collar for cuts or breaks.

"My d-dad," she stammered.

"Your dad's going to be okay," I said as calm as I could. "My friend's going to help him. Now, are you okay? Does anything hurt?"

"My foot," she said, pointing down.

"Okay," I said, quickly looking down at her feet. They were bare, her shoes lost in the car somewhere. It was easy to see that her foot was broken.

There was another burst from the car and the little girl shrieked. I had to get her away from the car, it was too dangerous to be so close. "Okay, if your back isn't hurting, I'm going to carry you, okay? We're just going to back up a bit, is that okay?"