CHAPTER 11

Blood and sweat stung Santiago’s eyes as he blinked. His hands searched in front of him and found shards of broken glass.

“María Dolores? Alegría?” His voice came out in a croak. Indistinguishable moans and cries responded instead of words.

He wiped his eyes and tried to figure out why the ground was so close to his pounding head. The seat belt had done its job, holding him fast and secure, but upside down.

It took some maneuvering to squeeze out through the open window and into the fresh air. Only the slightest speck on the horizon reminded him of the white SUV that had shot them off the road. Most of the station wagon’s roof had collapsed as it lay belly up with its wheels spinning slowly. Smoke came from the hood, and some part of the motor still made noise. Any minute, the car could explode.

On his hands and knees, Santiago crawled over to the back-seat window. He could just make out the ball that was Alegría. Glass fragments still remained along the edges of the frame from the window that only rolled down halfway. He removed them quickly before lying flat on his belly to reach into the narrow opening.

“Alegría, it’s me, Santi. I’ll help you out.” He kept his voice calm despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “I got you, mamita. I got you.”

He couldn’t tell if she even heard him over her cries. At least she was crying. Silence would have been worse. He eased her out, her fingers digging into his arms. He looked her over quickly, relieved to see nothing more than a few scratches and bruises, while she cried into his ear with her thin arms almost strangling him.

“Mamita, I have to help your mamá and the others,” he said soothingly, stroking her hair, not knowing whether her heart or the pain in his head pounded louder than her cries.

But she refused to let go, wrapping her legs around his waist and locking her feet against his back. Like a possum, she held tight even as he peered into the overturned car.

“María Dolores, are you okay?” A tangle of legs and arms made it unclear what belonged to whom, and whether they were still intact.

“I’m not sure,” María Dolores mumbled. Some of the body parts shifted. Bleached hair stood out against the dark interior to finally reveal her face, also scratched and dirty. “Yes, I think so. But I won’t fit through that window. The frame is too smashed up.”

He tried the door; it wouldn’t budge. With Alegría still clinging to him, Santiago rushed to the other side of the car. Luis crawled out from a slightly larger window opening while the mechanical noise from the engine continued to click.

“My arm!” the cowboy wailed from inside the car. “I think it’s broken. I can’t move. The seat belt won’t come undone. It’s so hot, I’m dying!”

“Cállate ya. No one who’s really dying has that kind of lung capacity,” María Dolores scolded.

“Here.” Santiago crouched down to the warped window and pulled out his dull pocketknife.

The cowboy took it and tried to saw the seat belt. “I can’t do this left-handed. It’s useless,” he whined.

“Oh, give it here.” María Dolores grabbed the knife from his hands. “I swear, my five-year-old is more resourceful.”

The belt took forever to snap free, and still the cowboy couldn’t get out. His broken arm apparently gave his whole body the limpness of a banana peel. Between María Dolores pushing from inside, Luis pulling the good arm, and Santiago grasping a handful of the no-longer-white shirt, they finally hauled the yowling cowboy out of the car.

Bangs and muffled sounds came from the back of the station wagon, where the couple was trapped—the rear glass remained intact. With a few pulls and kicks, Luis opened the hatchback and set them free. But the collapsed roof prevented María Dolores from climbing over (though now under) the seat to escape.

“¡Santi, fuego!” Alegría cried in his ear. Santiago jerked around. Smoke engulfed the entire hood of the car, but no flames had formed. Yet.

María Dolores thrust her arms through the window. Her shoulders got through fine, but then she got stuck.

“Leave her,” the cowboy said, cradling his arm. “We’re all going to die anyway.”

No, Santiago refused to let that be the case. Refused to give up and let her die halfway through a window.

“Please help me.” He motioned to Luis.

The two of them slid their fingers between María Dolores’s side and the window frame. With Luis’s help, Santiago pulled back part of the warped frame with all the strength he had. He had to free her. Still wrapped around his body, Alegría pressed her weight against his chest. The gap widened a bit, then a bit more. Slowly, and carefully, María Dolores eased herself out.

She inhaled deeply before crawling over to kiss Alegría, kiss Santiago, and kiss them both several times more for good measure.

Until she stopped short. “Domínguez?”

They turned to look at the driver, and it became clear why they hadn’t heard a sound from him.