Page 116 of Until Joy

“Motherfucker!”

Ninety miles per hour.

The curve was rushing toward me like a wall. I could see the guardrail, the steep drop beyond it into a ravine thick with trees.

I downshifted hard, jamming the transmission into second gear. The engine screamed in protest, RPMs redlining as I tried to use engine braking. The truck slowed slightly, but not nearly enough.

Ninety-five.

The curve was there. I had maybe three seconds to decide my next move.

Take the turn at that speed and inevitably roll the truck?

Aim for the guardrail and hope it held?

Aim for the trees and pray the thick oak trunks would stop me before the ravine without killing me on impact?

Trees.

The best bad option.

I cranked the wheel hard right, feeling the truck start to slide. The rear end broke loose, and suddenly I was sideways, skidding toward the tree line at probably a hundred miles per hour. Time slowed down. I could see individual leaves on the oak branches rushing toward my driver's side window.

The impact when it came was like being hit by a freight train.

The first tree caught the truck's rear quarter panel, spinning it like a top. Metal screamed against bark. Glass exploded inward as the side windows imploded. The second tree hit the driver's door with a sound like thunder, crushing steel and sending a shock wave through my entire body.

My ribs snapped. I felt them go, sharp pops like breaking kindling. Pain exploded through my chest, white-hot and consuming. My head whipped sideways, cracking against something hard. Stars exploded behind my eyes.

The truck flipped.

Up became down. The world spun in a kaleidoscope of green leaves, blue sky, and brown earth. I was weightless for a heartbeat, suspended in space wondering when the rollercoaster from hell was going to end. Then I was slammed back into the seat as the truck completed its barrel roll.

The truck hit roof-first. The cab collapsed with a shriek of twisted metal. My seatbelt cut into my chest, and I hollered at the pain in my ribs. The steering wheel jammed into my sternum. Another grunt at the pain. Something warm and metallic filled my mouth.

Blood.

Another flip. The truck bounced off a massive oak trunk and went airborne again. This time it landed upright with a bone-jarring crash that rattled my teeth. The engine coughed once and died. Steam hissed.

Steam?

Oh yeah.

The radiator.

Finally silence, except for me panting like a thirsty dog.

I hung in my seatbelt, breathing in short, sharp gasps that sent fire through my chest. Every breath felt like I was being stabbed. When I tried to move, the world tilted sickeningly.

Concussion. Definitely a concussion.

I tried to clear my head. I needed to think.

“Think, Wallace!”

Joy!

My phone. I needed my phone.