The sharp stink of coolant and burned rubber hits the second we step off the truck.
Beck steps off first, already scanning the scene. A guy in his twenties stands a few metres away, phone still in his hand and face pale. He lifts both hands the second he sees us.
“I called it in,” he says in a shaky voice. “She just—she swerved.”
“You’re good,” Beck tells him. “Stay back by the sidewalk.”
“Are you hurt?” Ghost calls over my shoulder.
“No.” The guy shakes his head too quickly, his eyes darting to the other vehicle. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
Fletch guides him further off the roadway, while Beck reports back calmly.
“Engine One on scene. One trapped, one ambulatory.” He looks over at us. “Stabilize before we touch anything.”
Colt and I grab wheel chocks and cribbing from the truck’s compartment while Fletch kills the battery on the sedan, and Ghost moves straight to the driver’s-side window.
“Female driver. Conscious and alert. Possible lower extremity entrapment,” Ghost says calmly.
Glass crunches under my boots as I move to the driver’s door, and I hear the paramedics arriving on scene. The engine ticks loudly beneath the hiss of steam rolling from under the hood, and somewhere underneath it all, the woman’s breathing comes fast and ragged.
She’s conscious, but barely holding it together. Blood matts one side of her hairline, and her hands are locked so tightly around the steering wheel, her knuckles have gone white.
“Ma’am,” Ghost says, his voice calm. “My name’s Luke. We’re gonna take care of you.”
Colt wedges the chocks under the rear tires while I slide cribbing under the frame to keep the vehicle from shifting. Only when the car’s secure do we move in to get her out.
“Door’s jammed,” I say.
“Take it,” Beck replies.
Fletch brings the hydraulic line over, and I set the spreaders at the seam near the hinges. The spreaders bite into it, and the metal groans under pressure before the door finally tears loose with a violent shriek that makes the woman scream too, her head tipping back against the seat.
Ghost leans in and anchors a hand on her shoulder.
“Look at me,” he says firmly. “You’re okay. We’re gonna get you out.” His eyes dart downward, and then flick to Colt. “Leg’s pinned under the dash.”
The woman sucks in a sharp breath when Colt braces against the frame to look lower, the movement jarring the crushed footwell.
“Okay—okay, no, please—” Her voice breaks into a cry.
“I know,” Ghost says immediately. “I know it’s scary, but we’re going to keep this as smooth as we can, okay?”
Colt and I reposition, then spread the lower dash enough to create space without jerking the structure. Even moving carefully, the crushed metal shifts around her trapped leg.
Her whimpers are breathless, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“On three,” I say.
We shift the metal just enough, and Ghost guides her leg free carefully, one hand supporting her knee as paramedics move in behind him with the board. The woman cries out sharply, but the sound breaks into a shaky sob a second later when her leg finally comes clear.
“That’s it,” Ghost murmurs. “You’re doin’ great. We’ve got you.”
Within seconds, the paramedics take over, securing straps and checking vitals while Ghost stays crouched beside her until they’re ready to move. Her fingers catch briefly around his sleeve before the gurney rolls back toward the ambulance.
“Thank you,” she whispers to him, and he holds her hand for a brief moment, nodding back to her.
Then she’s gone, loaded into the back of the ambulance, beneath flashing lights and slamming doors, and the tension bleeds out of the scene all at once.
