Fallout (Crank 3)

slow motion. Turning sideways

ourselves. Floating on snow toward

the Hummer. Toward the shoulder.

“Kyle!” I scream as we go face-first

off the highway. Over the side.

Gigantic bump. My head snaps

forward. Back. Someone praying.

Kyle? Falling. Somersaulting.

Can a truck turn somersaults?

Finally, no motion at all. And silence.

STUNNED

It takes a few minutes to understand

I am okay, despite hanging at an odd

angle by the shoulder harness that

doubtless saved my life. Kyle is beneath

me, against the window. “Kyle? Kyle!”

He doesn’t answer. But I can hear

him breathing. Okay. What now? If

I unfasten my seat belt, I might fall on him.

But I can’t just stay here, dangling.

“Help,” I call uselessly. My voice is thin,

and there’s no one to hear, anyway.

I test my body. Legs, okay. Arms?

Okay, I think. A little pain where

the harness caught hold of my collarbone,

but overall I got lucky. Please, God,

let Kyle be lucky too. I have to try

and help him, so I chance letting

myself out of the seat belt. With my arm

still looped through the shoulder