Over the Edge

Rain steaked the windshield in jagged lines as Alex gripped the steering wheel tighter, the wipers losing their ability to keep up with the onslaught. It was past midnight, and the mountain road twisted through the dark, like a serpent lying in wait. He shouldn't have been out this late, not knowing everything that had happened, but he had to get out of the city.

The news is still fresh in his mind, causing him to circle around the words, dissecting them, trying to make out their meaning. Another bombing, in Midtown. Dozens dead, even more injured. A bombing killing people. Another. His brother, Marco, was a paramedic on the scene. Alex hadn't heard from him in hours. Not altogether unexpected, but worrisome nonetheless. Everything is worrisome lately.

Then the radio sprang to life with a crackle of sound.

"This is Officer Mendes, EMT Alex Carter, are you monitoring?"

Alex blinked, his heart jumping into his throat. Croaking around the lump, he manages, "Carter, here."

"We've got a report of a car hanging over the guardrail on route 9, half a mile ahead of where you look to be located by GPS. Unknown number of passengers, and unknown condition. Emergency crews are twenty minutes out, you able to check on it?"

Alex didn't hesitate, pressing the gas pedal closer to the floor of his rig. "On it."

The thoughts in his head are finally managed to be pushed aside, Alex focusing on the job at hand. A checklist forms in his mind.

Get to the scene quickly and safely

Assess the situation

Get a number of passengers and assess triage order

Maneuver the passengers from the vehicle without counterbalancing the car

Light the flare so the rigs can see it in the storm

Stay alive.

That's a doable list, something to focus on that isn't a bombing or his brother. His car rounds the last corner and he takes in the damage.

An old silver sedan, nose dipped down the steep drop. The car seeming to rock in the wind of the storm, back and forth, teetering over the ledge. The rain slicked the road, glinting off the crumpled metal. Smoke curled from the hood, another danger in the situation. Lose the car over the cliff, or have the car catch fire. Or both.

Alex threw his truck into park, hazards flashing, and ran into the downpour. He managed to remember the flare from his backseat, and set it off. Leaving it behind on the ground, letting the storm and the fire battle for a winner as he approaches the car.

"Hello," he shouts, his flashlight sending a beam into the darkened windows. "Can you hear me?"

A voice answers back, weak and trembling, "Help...please..."

He slide to the passenger side, protected from the rain by the overhanging trees, and peers into the car. A young woman was in the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline, the whites of her knuckles contrasting the drying blood splatter down her arms and the side of her head.

His path of light moves to the backseat, and his breath catches, a boy, maybe 8 or 9, lays in the backseat, unconscious and not moving.

The woman was shaking, her breath coming in gasps, as her words stutter out, "I...I tried to swerve...He ran into the road. My son, he won't answer me. Please..Is he alive?" Her words cut off, as she takes a deep breath, fighting through pain.

Alex nodded, taking in the situation.

Flare, set.

Assess, done.

Passengers? 2.

Triage..

Moving through his mental checklist, he moves to take in the big picture. One body in the front, one in the back. Moving either will cause the car to teeter. The safest one to move will be the driver, hoping the weight loss will cause the car to settle onto the back tires.

"I've got you." He says, moving towards the back of the car, pushing against the rain as he walks to get to the driver's side. The side of the car was in bad shape, misshapen but he can leverage it open. He braces his hand on the top of the sedan, and grabs the handle to the driver's door.

The handle sticks, warped from the impact. He braces his foot against the frame, yanks harder. The door creaks, then jerks open with a metallic groan that cuts through the storm. The car shifts forward an inch.

Alex freezes.

Another inch, and it’s going over.

"Okay," he murmurs, mostly to himself. "Slow. Controlled."

The woman whimpers, trying to look over her shoulder at her son.

"Stay still," Alex says gently. “You’re doing great. I’m going to get you out.”

He reaches in, careful not to lean his full weight against the vehicle. The woman’s seatbelt is jammed, soaked in blood where it cut across her chest. He pulls his rescue knife from his belt and slices it clean through. She gasps as she falls slightly into his arms.

“Got you,” he says again.

One arm under her shoulders, the other under her knees, he lifts her free from the car. She cries out—her ankle’s likely broken—but she doesn’t struggle.

Behind them, the metal pops. A long, slow creak. The weight shift is real.

Alex moves fast, carrying her away from the edge, not daring to look back. He finds a patch of shoulder protected by trees, lays her down gently.

"My son—"

"I know." He’s already turning back. “I’m going for him.”

He sprints to his rig and grabs the rope and harness. No time for full gear, no backup coming soon enough. Just him and a kid whose breathing he isn’t even sure about.

Alex wraps the rope around his waist, ties off the other end to the steel rail of the guard barrier. Every second counts.

Rain is pouring harder now. Thunder cracks above, so loud it shakes his bones.

Back at the car, the rear end has dipped lower. The tires are barely kissing the asphalt. Smoke’s thicker. He doesn’t have long.

He clambers onto the hood, rain making every inch slippery. One foot through the open driver’s door. Then the other. The roof is caved slightly, but the passenger window is cracked enough for him to squeeze inside.

The boy is still slumped across the seat, blood matting his dark hair. A quick pulse check. Faint, but there. Breathing shallow.

He needs to unbuckle him, pull him free.

But as Alex reaches for the seatbelt—

A sound. A shift.

The back tires lose traction. The wind shifts, everything working against him.

The car tips.

Alex throws himself across the boy, shielding his body with his own.

The rope pulls tight at his waist, keeping them from falling completely. But the rear of the car is off the ledge now, the front crumpled against a jutting rock. The car groans and sways, like a scale trying to decide which way to tip.

They don’t have time.

Alex slides the boy’s belt free, then grips him tight to his chest.

He breathes once.

Now.

He launches himself backward, legs kicking against the car, rope biting into his ribs. The sedan groans again—then the full weight shifts.

The car slides.

Alex screams—whether in effort or fear, he doesn’t know—as he and the boy are jerked hard against the rope, dangling for half a second over the ledge.

Then they’re swinging.

The rope holds.

The car doesn’t.

Below them, metal shears against rock as the sedan plummets. It hits the bottom in a spray of sparks and flame, the explosion turning night into day for one terrifying moment.

Alex’s ears ring.

He clutches the boy tighter and swings his feet toward the embankment. Once. Twice. On the third try, he plants hard against the slope, scrambling up, dragging them both back onto the road.

His legs give out as they hit the wet pavement. He lands hard, back flat, chest heaving.

The boy coughs against him.

Not a word. Not a whimper. Just a ragged, choking cough.

But it's life.

Alex pulls himself upright, adrenaline shaking through his limbs. He strips off his jacket, wraps it around the boy. Cradles him close and runs.

The woman is screaming when she sees them.

“Jacob!” she sobs, arms outstretched.

Alex drops to his knees and places the boy into her lap. She hugs him like she’ll never let go again.

Sirens finally pierce the storm.

Blue and red lights blur through the curtain of rain.

Alex leans back against the guardrail, soaked, shivering, heart still hammering.

Get to the scene quickly and safely

Assess the situation

Get a number of passengers and assess triage order

Maneuver the passengers from the vehicle without counterbalancing the car

Light the flare so the rigs can see it in the storm

Stay alive.

His checklist is gone. No more steps to take. No more orders to follow.

He just saved a life.

Maybe two.

But as the paramedics rush in, voices shouting and hands moving, he reaches into his pocket with trembling fingers.

Pulling out his phone, breathing back under control. He opens the screen and his body freezes. One new voicemail.

From Marco.