Submerged

Fighting panic, she attempted to turn in her seat, but a searing pain in her chest and ribs made her cry out. The steering wheel was lodged against her ribcage, pinning her in the driver’s seat. She reached down for the side lever, hoping to tilt the seat back and give her room to breathe.

The lever was broken.

She stretched out her left hand, trying to reach beneath the seat for the other lever that would slide the seat backward, but there was no way she could reach it.

Rebecca was trapped.

She looked down and saw blood on her shirt. She had no idea where it had come from. She tentatively touched her chest with her left hand. She nudged her ribs and sucked in a hard breath. Broken. Or at the very least sprained.

She touched her forehead and her fingers came away bloody. Possible concussion? She tried to recall what all the television shows said about that, but all she could remember was not to fall asleep. She smacked her cheek with her left hand. Stay awake!

The dashboard lights faded, and the engine made a knocking sound, so she turned off the ignition.

“Ella? Colton? It’s Mommy. Are you all right?” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “I need you to say something.”

Again, no answer.

A wave of nausea swept over her.

“Do not get sick,” she whispered repeatedly.

Throwing up would weaken her further. She needed every bit of strength to get her children out of the car and back to safety.

Oh Jesus… the truck.

Was it still behind her, waiting? Was some maniac going to stroll over to the car, rip open the door and haul her outside? Why was he doing this to them?

She saw no sign of the truck in the rearview mirror, and she couldn’t make anything out beyond the windshield. The rain was too heavy. Surely if he was still out there, she’d see the lights from his truck.

He’s gone. He hit us and then left us to die.

Her feet were numb. The steering wheel was probably cutting off her circulation. That couldn’t be a good thing.

The interior light flickered. Please don’t go out.

She peered through the side window. She couldn’t even make out the moon or stars in the sky. They must be in the middle of some dense brush and trees.

She jiggled the handle, but the door wouldn’t open. “Shit.”

A low moan sounded behind her.

“Colton? Ella? Are you okay?”

She angled the rearview mirror so she could see more of the back seat. In the dim light, she could make out two shadowed lumps on the back seat, but she couldn’t tell who was who.

She started to cry.

Something rustled behind her.

“Mom?”

It was the barest of whispers, but she heard it. “Colton?”

“What happened?”

“We were in an accident.” She hoped she sounded brave and calm. “Can you see your sister?”

“No, but I feel her. She’s―” Colton gasped.

Oh God… Ella’s hurt. “What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s wet back here, Mom. On the seat.” He sounded dazed, scared.

“Maybe your drink spilled.”

She had to get her children out of the car. Now!

“Mom, you need to call 911.”

“I know, Colton.” She closed her eyes, trying to remember whether she’d put the cell phone in her purse or if it had been in the cup holder. Had she used it while they’d been on the road? No, she was sure she hadn’t.

Her gaze swept across the front seat and down to the passenger seat floor, where her purse lay, some of the contents scattered about like pieces of shrapnel. “I think my phone’s in my purse, on the floor.”

“Can you get it?”

She reached out, ignoring the shooting pain in her fingers. After a few tries, she gave up.

Ella let out a whimper.

“Ella? Are you awake, sweetie?”

No answer.

“Colton, check your sister again.”

A few seconds later Colton said, “I think she’s bleeding.”

“Where?”

“Her face.”

Rebecca muffled a cry with her good hand. “Wake her up. Right now.”

“Ella,” Colton said, his voice breaking. “Ella, wake up.”

“Ella, honey,” Rebecca called. “Wake up, please.”

“She won’t wake up, Mom.”

“Okay, as long as she’s breathing, she’s fine. Do you know where Puff is?”

Colton rummaged around in the back seat for a few minutes, long enough for Rebecca to start panicking again. If Ella woke up and realized what was going on, she’d have a major asthma attack. They needed that inhaler.

“Found it, Mom.”

She blew out a pent-up breath. “Keep it in your pocket.”

“Now what do we do?”

“Can you climb into the front seat?”

“I’ll try.”

She could hear her son moving, the seat belt releasing, then a sharp yelp.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“My leg’s stuck. I can’t get it out from under my hockey bag because the seat in front is pushing on it.”

She surveyed the front passenger seat. It had shifted, slid back toward Colton. At some point during the rough ride, his hockey bag had slid toward the back door, lodging between the front passenger seat and his legs, trapping his right foot beneath it. There was no way she’d be able to reach the lever to move it forward and release Colton.