see it, a little spirit floating before my face, ghostly white in the frozen air.
Somewhere nearby, a chirp, over and over, ceaselessly—a single tone, like the call of a demented bird.
Then it stopped.
My vision swam in a low tide of red. My head throbbed. My ribs ached. My back felt broken. My throat felt seared.
The airbag was crumpled against the side of my face. The dashboard glowed crimson. The windshield sagged toward me, cracked and slack.
I frowned. Some process behind my eyes kept rebooting itself, some system glitch, a buzz in the machine.
I breathed, choked. Heard myself croak with pain. Swiveled my head, felt the top of my skull twist on the ceiling. That was unusual, wasn’t it? And I could taste saliva welling in the roof of my mouth. How was—
The buzz ceased.
We were upside down.
I choked again. My hands flew down, buried themselves in the fabric around my head, as though they could upend the car, push me upright. I heard myself whine, splutter.
Turned my head farther. And saw Ed, facing away from me, still. Blood seeped from his ear.
I said his name, or tried to, one breathy syllable in the chill, a little cloud of smoke. My windpipe was sore. The seat belt had drawn tight around my throat.
I licked my lips. My tongue dipped into a hollow in the upper gum. I’d lost a tooth.
The seat belt was slicing against my waist, wire-taut. With my right hand I pressed the buckle, pressed harder, gasped as it clicked. The belt slithered from my body and I slumped toward the roof.
That chirp. The seat-belt alert, stuttering. Then silent.
Breath fountained from my mouth, red in the dashboard light, as I splayed my hands on the ceiling. Braced them. Pivoted my head.
Olivia was strapped into the backseat, suspended there, her ponytail dangling. I crooked my neck, squared my shoulder against the ceiling, reached for her cheek. My fingers rattled.
Her skin was ice.
My elbow folded; my legs dropped to one side, landed hard on the spider-webbed glass of the sunroof. It crunched beneath me. I scrambled to right myself, knees scuffling, and crawled toward her as my heart knocked against my chest. Seized her shoulders in my hands. Shook.
Screamed.
I thrashed. She thrashed with me, her hair swinging.
“Livvy,” I shouted, my throat flaming, and tasted blood in my mouth, on my lips.
“Livvy,” I called, and tears shot down my cheeks.
“Livvy,” I breathed, and her eyes opened.
My heart failed for an instant.
She looked at me, inside me, mouthed a single word:
“Mommy.”
I jammed my thumb into her seat-belt buckle. The belt released with a hiss, and I cradled her head as she descended, caught her body in my arms, her limbs spilling, jangling against each other like wind chimes. One of her arms felt loose within its sleeve.
I unrolled her along the sunroof. “Shh,” I told her, even though she hadn’t made a sound, even though her eyes were shut again. She looked like a princess.
“Hey.” I shook her shoulder. She looked at me once more. “Hey,” I repeated. I tried to smile. My face felt numb.
I scuttled toward the door, grasped the handle, yanked. Yanked again. Heard the snap of the latch. I pushed against the window, strained my fingers upon the glass. The door swung wide without a sound, gliding into the dark.
I stretched forward and pressed my hands to the ground outside, felt the burning snow against my palms. Dug my elbows in, steadied my knees, and pulled. Dragged my torso out of the car, flopping onto the frost. It squeaked beneath me. I kept dragging. My hips. My thighs. Knees. Shins. Feet. The cuff around my ankle snagged on a coat hook; I hitched it loose, slid free of the car.
And rolled onto my back. My spine went electric with pain. I sucked in air. Winced. My head rolled, as though my neck had quit.
No time. No time. I gathered myself, collected my legs, reassembled them into working order, and knelt by the car. Looked around.
Looked up. My vision wheeled, reeled.
The sky was a bowl of stars and space. The moon loomed planet-huge, solar-bright, and the canyon below blazed with shadow and light, crisp as a woodcut. The snowfall had nearly ceased, just a spray of stray flakes floating through the air. It looked like a new world.
And the sound . . .
Quiet. Utter, final quiet. Not a breath of wind, not a shift of branches. A silent film, a still photograph. I turned on my knees, heard snow crumpling