like a geyser, hot and wet. The light trickled through windows that had shattered white. Dust hung thick in the air, motes spinning.
Jo coughed. She was breathing.
The hissing continued. The radiator. Behind it she heard the sound of rushing water. She blinked. Her fingers and toes and skin were tingling, sending adrenaline distress signals: Hell was this?
The roof of the Hummer was beneath her back. She was lying on pellets of shattered safety glass. She turned her head and heard the glass crunch, like broken bottles in a Dumpster. Other sounds infiltrated her pounding head. A low drone, like a moaning animal.
Hot fear jumped through her. “Gabe?”
Oh God, the roof of the Hummer was hard beneath her back but the floor was close above her head. Too close. The Hummer had been smashed on its plunge down the side of the gorge, like a gargantuan jaw squeezing down. Her chest caught.
She put her hands up and pressed against the floor of the limo. It was crushing her. She stifled a cry. She had to get out. Where was Gabe?
“Quintana.”
Across the vehicle, behind the dust, someone moved. “Jo.”
“Gabe . . .” The rest of her words disappeared in relief and overwhelming fear.
They had to get out. The car would crush them. “Move.”
The wire of panic heated her voice. She coughed back tears. Where were the others? Were they okay?
She was bruised and cut in a dozen places, her head was thundering, her muscles tighter than if she had tried to deadlift half a ton, cold. She had gripped the shoulder harness so hard that she had nearly sent her whole body into spasm. She fumbled for the buckle, punched it, got it to release.
She tried to turn over and banged her head on the roof—the floor—of the Hummer. Dust stung her eyes.
Behind her, the moan turned to hacking. Autumn was hanging from her seat belt, like a skydiver tangled in her harness. With the Hummer smashed, her knees scraped the roof below her. She was conscious, eyes wide. She hit the buckle release.
“Get out. Come on.” Jo could barely keep from screaming.
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