Page 2 of Pack Fever

My heart’s on fire, terror swallowing me. Time rushes past while my mind’s in slow motion, barely making sense of what’s going on. I’m thrown forward harshly against the seat belt that holds me in place, and the world suddenly tilts sickeningly.

We’re skewing sideways, metal groaning against cement, and for a horrifying moment, we’re half in the air, defying gravity.

I have the strangest thought of why Dad couldn’t have installed the airbags, knowing this old rust bucket had none when he bought it from a second-hand dealer. That thought vanishes as I stare over at the traffic at a flash of a moment, at the storm that booms as if it’s opening up the earth to swallow us.

We’re both screaming at this point out of fear, my dad’s arm across my stomach as he tries to protect me, which even I know in that second is too late. It’s a stretched-out moment where life hangs suspended, and everything else falls away.

I’m reminded of how wrong I’ve been about the storm being a harbinger of new beginnings. It’s not a new path, but a damn destroyer.

This is how my story is going to end.

Not with a song.

But with the screech of bending metal and the brutal violence of a storm.

The sedan slams to the ground sideways… on my side, the window smashing. I’m thrown against the broken glass from the impact. My arm is pinned, crushed against the cold, rain-covered road coated in shards of glass.

Then I hear the snap of bone that rings right through my body, and a sharp, white-hot pain sears through me. I cry out from the heavy pain that feels like my arm is being torn right off.

I scream in agony.

Burning pain zaps up my arm, and I’m shoved against my seatbelt as chunks of glass shove into the soft flesh all the way up my arm. Blood mingles with rainwater, and the pain is blinding.

At that same horrifying heartbeat, the car is flung onto its roof in a sickening, gut-wrenching flip. We’re upside down, then another car crashes into us, smashing Dad’s side. The nauseating crunch of metal, shattering glass, and Dad’s sharp grunt of pain cut through the chaos slice right through me.

I bellow loudly, shaken. My head smacks sideways into my passenger door frame, and the world blurs in and out, the pain zigzagging across my skull.

Blood trickles down over my brow. The seat belts hold us by some miracle, but we’re spinning, and I cry out. My dad’s arms swing wildly over his head, and something warm splashes across my cheek from his side.

I have no time to do anything but try not to throw up from the spinning.

That same ragged, panicked scream scrapes past my throat. Yet it doesn’t feel like it’s coming from me. My good hand grips the ceiling, knuckles white, and I close my eyes against the whirl of dark and light, and only the flash of lightning paints surreal shadows on the inside of my eyelids.

Shivers snake up my spine, waiting for us to hit something, and it’s killing me to keep hanging there.

The stench of burning tires tinges the air, and I’m praying to anyone in the universe listening to help us. This is not the day we die. Not today… please, not today.

We finally shudder to a stop.

I can’t stop the whirling of my head, the world twisting wildly in my vision. My arm’s throbbing with pain, my head is screaming, and I feel more blood dripping across my forehead.

“Dad?” I groan as I twist my head in his direction, trembling, crying, terrified.

He’s suspended in his seat belt, almost like a puppet with its strings cut. His arms hang lifelessly, swaying slightly with the rocking of the car.

But his eyes steal my breath.

They’re wide open.

Staring at nothing. Empty.

My heart splinters, and a silent scream echoes in my heart and in my head. It rips past my lips as I desperately reach over to him with my good hand, but he never responds. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink.

Tears stream down my cheeks, and I reach for the hair half covering his face and push it aside, but it just falls back over his brow. I’m shaking viciously now, and all I can think is that it’s going to destroy my mother and sister. That we never should have gone to this stupid audition. Mom had been right. We should have stayed home during the storm.

My stomach turns, and I’m going to be sick.

“Dad, please,” I sob, my voice breaking.

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