Page 46 of Sparking Sara

I hold a finger out to him as I try to keep myself from throwing up.

“Come on, Denver. We need you.” He nods to the driver. “Heneeds you.”

I look back in the car and try to get the thought of my parents out of my head. Instead, I try to pretend the guy is Sara, which is damn hard, considering he’s an overweight bald man.

“Sir, can you hear me?” I say, trying the door handle, which I know won’t open.

“My wife!” he cries.

“My partner is getting her,” I say. “Sir, I need you to tell me if you can move your arms and legs.”

“I’m trapped,” he says in a panic.

Images of my nightmares flash through my mind. Thoughts of my parents trapped and cold and dying.

I start to back away as my stomach twists in knots.

“Denver!” Bass shouts at me. “Come on, man. You can save this guy. Put a collar on him. Get the jaws. Pull him out. One step at a time.” He’s on his stomach, reaching in to assess the woman as he yells at me through the shattered driver’s side window. “Look at me! You’ve got this. One step at a time.”

“I can do it,” Debbe says, coming up from behind.

“Youcan’tdo it,” Bass says. “The truck could collapse onto the car any second. Denver is trained for this. It’s his job.”

Debbe holds the cervical collar out to me.

“One step at a time,” I say to myself as I step back up to the SUV and put the collar on him. Then I turn to Debbe. “Can you have someone bring the jaws over here? And I’ll need a blanket to cover him.”

“Sure thing,” she says, running in the other direction.

“Sir, can you move your arms and legs?”

“Yes. My wife, is she okay? I can’t see anything.”

I see he has a pretty bad gash on his head and his face is bloody. Hopefully it’s just the blood from the gash that is obscuring his vision and not a brain injury.

I see Bass pulling the woman through the front window. “We’re helping her, but I need you to hold tight. I need to force the door open.”

Brett comes over with the jaws. “We’ve got the truck secured. We’ll turn it upright as soon as he’s out.” He nods to the door. “You want me to do it?”

I shake my head. “I need to do this.”

He pats me on the back. “I’m right here.”

I set up the jaws and the door pops off; the whole time I feel like I’m going to puke all over this poor guy. “Debbe, he’s coming out, get the backboard,” I shout over my shoulder.

“Got one right here.”

I reach into the car and cut through the guy’s seatbelt, then gently maneuver him onto the ground where we strap him onto a backboard and carry him through the wreckage to a gurney.

I hear the loud noise behind me of the truck being pulled off the SUV.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—wait!” someone yells. “It’s not holding!”

I turn around to see the large delivery truck crashing down onto the SUV, collapsing the entire front seat and everything in it.

“Oh, shit.”

I stare at the wreckage. I was standing next to that car sixty seconds ago when Bass and the others were still inside. I run to the side of the building on the corner and brace myself against the wall as I lose my lunch all over the pavement.

---