The screeching wail of buckling metal and the drone of machinery. Urgent, murmuring voices. And barely audible beneath the cacophony, the metronomic tick-tock of the indicator.
The haze in her head clearing: sheets of rain in a sky prematurely dark, the blinding, distorted glare of headlights, hands tight on the wheel, crossing the intersection, a deafening, blaring horn. Then nothing.
And now, a biting pain in her neck, the belt pulled tight. Suspended in the overturned pile of metal, blood flowing to her head. Through the spiderweb of shattered glass, upside-down boots. Like a tin can, the peeling back of metal as the jaws of life reach in to free her.