The flash of steel. A burst of gunfire. The rear tire on the Prius exploded, ahead of them and two lanes over. Someone in the SUV kept firing, and Cal shouted for Gill to stop and let him out, his voice hoarse and his stomach lodged in his throat. The Prius skidded out of control across three lanes of traffic. The SUV kept driving away from the scene, while cars in all directions slammed on their brakes. He heard the squeal of tires, the crunch of metal behind them, but Cal couldn't take his eyes off his wife's car.

The Prius glanced off the side of a Ford Fiesta, gaining momentum in a backward spin. Gill came to a complete stop, their own car miraculously unscathed, past the rumble strip and onto the median on the left side of the highway. Cal was out of the car before he even knew what he was doing—watching, watching, watching while the Prius skidded, hit another car, and rolled. He stood there frozen while other cars squealed to a stop behind. The car containing his wife and daughter—containing his entire life—rolled one more time before it finally came to a stop, upside down, a quarter of a mile away.

Chapter Two

Racing to the site where his wife and daughter were trapped in their obliterated Prius, Cal narrowly missed getting hit twice. There was snow on the ground—he slipped once and went down hard, then scrambled to his feet again, oblivious to the tear in the knee of his trousers or the blood that seeped through. He was dimly aware that Foster was somewhere behind him, maybe shouting to him, but he paid her no mind. He didn't imagine she really expected him to, anyway.

The Prius and the Fiesta it had collided with had landed mere feet from one another, though the Fiesta was right-side up. A man, his face bloodied and eyes dark with shock, stumbled from the driver's seat. Cal ignored him. Five feet from the Prius, he could hear his daughter's screams. Somewhere in the distance came the sound of sirens. When Cal finally reached the wreck, he got down on his belly on the snow-covered ground and peered into the driver's side window. He could smell smoke, and realized vaguely that it was coming from the other car; the acrid stench of burned rubber and fried electrical… whatzits, told him that fire was imminent.

He forgot about all that the moment he focused on the scene inside the car, though.

He forgot about everything—how to move, how to breathe, how to think.

Zoe stared out at him from the other side of the shattered driver's side window, upside down, suspended by her seatbelt. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it registered that the air bags hadn't been triggered despite the violence of the crash, but he pushed that thought aside. Later, he would track down the manufacturer and string them up. Kill them with his bare hands. But now… He swallowed hard, and refocused.

His wife's face was a bloodied mess—some from the accident, but the bulk from what looked like a bullet wound at her right temple. Her eyes were open. Wide. Terrified. Zoe didn't do vulnerable—she wasn't capable of fear. He hadn't even thought it was in her DNA.

"I'm going to get you out, Zo," he said. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. His voice was strangely calm. Zoe shook her head. He could read the pain in her face, even at that slight movement. Tears leaked from those big, expressive eyes of hers.

"You have to get Emily," she said.

On the other side of the car, Emily was crying—on the verge of hyperventilating, her hands clutched 'round the strap of her safety belt as she strained to see past her mum to her father.

"I'm getting both of you, darling. You just need to take it easy. The ambulance will be right along." This time, his voice didn't sound so calm. He realized that he hadn't even thought to call for someone, and hoped silently that Foster had had the presence of mind to do so.

"Dad?" Em screamed it—pain in her voice that shot straight through him. His reaction to that pain was the most primal thing he'd ever felt in his life—he'd never experienced anything so powerful. Zoe looked at him, eyes pleading. Blood trickled from the corner of her lips.

"Cal—please. You can do this," she whispered. "You have to do this. Take care of her… please."

The smoke was thicker now, and he could feel heat somewhere close—flames, or damned close to them, from the car beside them. Someone screaming. It's going to blow, he realized, fighting panic. Sweet Jesus, the whole fucking thing is gonna go up in smoke.

There should have been more time. More time to say what he needed to say; to apologize for all the worthless shit he'd pulled, back when he'd thought they would have decades to get their marriage back on track. He choked back tears and blind panic, and reached inside the mangled car. He took her hand.

"You're my girl, Zo," he whispered. "You…"

The car shifted suddenly with the force of a burst of flames in the other car. Emily screamed. Zoe shut her eyes, tears leaking from the corners now. "Go," she mouthed to him.

He nodded, choking on the pain and the impossibility of the choice he was making. He let go of his wife's hand, stood, and wasted no time taking stock of the scene. Instead, he ran around to the other side of the car. Once again, he got to his stomach and peered inside.

"You're all right, sweetheart," he said to Emily.

She wasn't all right, though—any idiot could see that. A deep gash in her forehead leaked blood so thick that it ran into her hair, gravity working backward since she was upside down. There was a bullet hole in her right shoulder. Most concerning of all, though, was the way the front end of the car had crumpled, pinning her legs inside the vehicle.

"You've gotta get mom," she said. Her breath came in desperate gasps.

"I know, love—I'll get her. I want you to be a brave girl, now—you hear me? I'm going to cut away the seatbelt and we'll get out of here."

"My leg's caught," she sobbed. "I can't—"

"Emily," he said sharply.

The tone worked. She snapped to, looking at him with sudden understanding in those wide, gorgeous eyes.

"Listen carefully to me, love," he said. "I'm getting you out. But we need to move quickly, and I need you to do everything I say. All right?"

She nodded silently, lip quivering.

"There's a good girl."

The sirens were louder now, but he couldn't figure out why the fuck they were still so far away. He assessed the scene, fighting to stay calm.

"What do you need?" someone asked from over his shoulder.

Foster.

"Zoe…" he began. Gillian shook her head—one quick motion, and something rotten lodged itself in his throat. It didn't take an expert to read her face just then: Sorrow. Pain. Pity.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "She's..."

"Right," he said quietly. He struggled to refocus. "I need to get Emily's seatbelt off. Where the fuck are the paramedics?"

"There's another accident farther back—a pile-up, cars trying to avoid this. A school bus…"

Jesus Christ.

He was on his own.

"Cal?" Gill said. Her voice was eerily calm. "What do you need?"

Because you can do this—that's what her eyes said. He nodded, determined now.

"I've got to get the seatbelt off."

Gillian handed him a knife—god only knew where she'd gotten it, but Cal wasn't about to ask questions. Emily wasn't looking at him anymore, her attention focused instead on Zoe. Zoe, bloody and motionless just a foot or two away.

"Mom? Dad—you have to help her—"

"I will, sweetheart," he promised again. "But I need you to help me here for a minute. Look at me, darling."

She did as he told. One pupil was dilated, the other the size of a pin. His stomach turned.

"That's good, Em." He reached through the window, paying no attention to the heat from the other car; no mind to the glass slicing into his flesh.

He cut the seatbelt away carefully. As soon as it was clear, Emily shifted. With the belt no longer holding her in place, she started to fall to the floor of the car. She screamed when the metal pinning her leg caught, digging her nails into his shoulder to steady herself. Cal reached in farther, desperately trying to hang on to her—to take some of the pressure off. He took stock, frantic. He could hear the fire now. Could feel the flames. It didn't matter to him, of course; if he didn't get Emily out of here, there was no way he wanted to live, anyway.

Suddenly, Gillian was on the ground beside him.

"Hey, Em," she said calmly.

Emily sniffled. "Gill," she whispered. "I'm scared."

"I know, honey," she said. She rested her hand on Cal's arm, squeezing gently. "We're going to get you out, but it might hurt a little."

Gillian eased in until her mouth was close to Cal's ear. This close, he could feel her heart pounding; could hear the tremor in her voice.

"The other car's going to blow, Cal—we have to get her out. You have to do whatever it takes."

A split second of panic was all he allowed himself before he nodded. He surveyed the scene, desperate to get a clear fix on what he was facing. They were upside down. Right now, the only thing keeping Emily from falling on her head—or getting out—was the dashboard, which was smashed so far forward that her right leg was pinned. It was bleeding heavily, but it was crushed, not impaled—he could get her out. He just had to maneuver it right.

"All right, sweetheart, I want you to move over," he said. He didn't give her a chance to do any such thing, though, before he slid through the window and into the car, grateful for his lean, wiry build.

"Cal!" Gillian shouted. He paid her no mind. Instead, he crawled over Emily, pushing Zoe aside—trying desperately not to think of her lack of response; the fact that, already, this didn't feel like his wife beside him.

He braced his body against the seat and his feet against the dash, trying to find some kind of leverage in such a topsy turvy world. And then, he pushed with every ounce of strength in his body.

Nothing happened.

He kept at it, thinking of all those cases: Mothers who'd lifted cars, fought off attackers. If he was Zoe, he could do this. She might not be the best mother on the planet, but his wife would save their daughter, in his place.

He gave another mighty push, grunting with effort while Gill pulled and Emily pushed and her leg was suddenly, beautifully, miraculously free.

Gillian held to the girl's arms while Cal carefully pushed until she was out of the car. He scrambled after her, forcing himself not to look back.

Right now, he couldn't afford to look back.

Outside the car, he got to his feet and took Emily from Foster, picking his daughter up easily. She trembled violently in his arms as he hurried away.

"You have to go back and get mom," she said. The terror, the pain, in her voice tore at him. "What are you doing? You can't leave her."

He had no idea what to say. What the hell could he say? Anything would come back to haunt him, he knew. For the rest of her life, Emily would know the truth: That he couldn't save them both.

And so he kept moving.

Emily screamed in his arms. Cried. Fought. Hit him. Cal kept his head down and his arms locked tight around his small daughter as he and Foster ran. They'd made it barely ten feet before another explosion rocked the scene, and both cars were engulfed in flames.

TBC

Clearly, things are dire. Next chapter will be up on Wednesday. Reviews are always appreciated- Thanks for reading!