I looked over at Daisy, who was looking back at me. “Are you okay!” she shouted.
I realized I was groaning with each exhalation. My ears were ringing.
“Yeah,” I said. “You?” The pain made me feel dizzy. Darkness encroached at the edge of my vision.
“I think so,” she said. The world narrowed into a tunnel as I struggled for breath.
“Stay in the car, Holmesy. You’re hurt. Do you have your phone? We gotta call 911.”
The phone. I unbuckled my seat belt and pushed my door open.
I tried to stand, but the pain brought me back into Harold’s seat. Fuck. Harold.
A woman wearing a business suit knelt down to my eye level. She told me not to move, but I had to.
I lifted myself up, and the pain blinded me for a minute, but then the black dots scattered so I could see the damage.
Harold’s trunk was as crumpled as his hood—he looked like a seismograph reading, except for the passenger compartment,
which was perfectly intact. He never failed me, not even when I failed him.
I leaned on Harold’s side as I staggered back to the trunk. I tried to lift the trunk gate, but it was crushed.
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