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I blinked fast as if it could help me see or even hear.
“You’re okay, Zachary. You’re fine.” His lips shaped the words, his face less than an inch from mine.
His whole body shook.
His eyesswung down between us, and he closed them, taking a ragged breath. “Wo cao.”
My eyes flared.
He cursed.
Dadnevercursed.
Something sticky and dark dropped onto my right leg, coming from Dad. I shook it off.
Blood.
It was blood.
Dad’s blood.
And then I saw it.
A landscape rake pierced through his gut. Spearing him into the door.
The jagged edge poked my stomach, grazing it. I sucked my belly in, struggling to breathe at the same time.
I blinked fast, hoping this nightmare would wash away. Dad came into focus, his entire face bloodied, shards of glass sticking to his skin like hedgehog spikes.
Blood everywhere. Sliding down his temple from the forehead scar to his chin. His blood—warm, metallic, stinky,sticky—soaked into my clothes, my skin, my hair.
I wanted him off.
I wanted to scream.
His lips moved again, but this time, I couldn’t make anything out past the ringing in my ears.
I can’t hear you, I mouthed.Say it again.
I tried to move, to touch his forehead, stop the bleeding, but he was too heavy, and I had to keep sucking my stomach in to make sure the rake didn’t cut me open.
The red pouch.
I reached for it, stretching my hand as far as it would go. The rake sliced a tiny hole into my skin, but I managed to grab the satchel, dumping it upside down.
A knife.
I wrapped my hand around its handle and tried to cut off my seatbelt. It tore at the side, making no difference.
I still couldn’t move.
Henry, I tried to scream our driver’s name.
No response.
I glanced over my right shoulder, finding Henry’s forehead pressed against a deflated air bag, creating a constant piercing ring with the horn.
I knew he was dead, even without seeing any blood. He looked like a lifeless puppet, his pupils black and flat.
