The blast took out the front right bumper and much of the engine compartment. It was the sound more than the force that caused Angela to stumble backward into the person behind her. Her head connected with the hard bone of a shoulder or chin. Tiny bits of glass pricked her face, and there was a vague sensation of heat. As she regained her balance, she caught a fleeting glimpse of Lila through the car window, pale profile wreathed in smoke.
Stunned, her legs turned to rubber. Run, run, run, her brain screamed. Her memory filled with the sound of rockets shrieking through the sky and the smell of burning diesel. A cry knifed the air. Was it her own? Lila’s? A memory from the war?
Electricity surged through her limbs, overriding the fear.
The hood of the car was crawling with orange flames. The stink of burning plastic clogged her throat. Lila was still in the driver’s seat, eyes closed, knocked unconscious by the explosion. Angela sprang forward but found herself caught. Dan Blackwater, gray eyes sparking, gripped her wrist.
“Stay back,” he growled.
She yanked, almost ripping free of his grasp, but he was nearly six-four and strong. “She’s got to get out.”
He held her easily, moving her back several feet in spite of her resistance. “You can’t help her right now.” His tone was arrogant, reassuring, infuriating.
Can’t help her? Unacceptable. She forced out a breath and stopped wriggling for a moment, just long enough for him to loosen his hold, and then broke away, running to the car and pulling on the door handle, which was hot to the touch. Locked. A crackle of flames burst from the engine compartment.
“Lila, wake up. Open the door,” Angela screamed, trying the back door handle with no success. She pounded her palm against the glass as hard as she could.
Then Dan was on her again, grabbing her around the waist.
“Let me go,” she shrieked. Was he just going to stay safely back and watch Lila burn to death or die of smoke inhalation?
Twisting from his grip she started hitting the glass again when he braced an arm around her and moved her back, lifting her off the ground.
“You’re a coward,” she yelled, flailing.
“That’s enough,” he roared.
She found herself tossed over his shoulder and carted away like a bag of laundry in spite of her screams. Blood rushed to her face as he hurried her away. A minute later, when he let her down, her head was spinning, cheeks hot.
He pushed her into the restraining hands of two twentysomething festivalgoers who had run to witness the aftermath of the explosion. “Hold on to her,” he commanded. “Tightly.” Each one grabbed an arm, and she was imprisoned.
“He’s right, lady,” said the one with the goatee. “There’s nothing you can do.”
Nothing? Should she stand by and watch while someone died right in front of her? Again? Her gaze traveled in horror to the car.
Free of her, Dan ran to the car, grabbing up a folding card chair the parking attendant had been using. Several people were already on their cell phones calling for help. Dan raised the chair and smashed it into the back window. The first blow did nothing. He raised the chair again, his muscled arms rigid with the effort, and slammed it into the glass. This time the glass gave, and the chair punched through.
“Man,” said one of her captors. “That dude is strong.”
Leaping onto the trunk, Dan kicked the rest of the glass in.
Another man, younger, wearing a Giants baseball cap, ran up waving a fire extinguisher. Without another word, he began spraying the powder against the flames coming from the front end of the vehicle.
She wasn’t sure if Dan registered the second rescuer. Angela watched, pulse racing in terror, as he crawled through the back window.
“He’s gonna be toast,” said her captor. “Dude’s gonna fry.”
The fire extinguisher did little against the rising flames and the oily black smoke. She could hardly see the man in the cap, but the encouraging shouts of the onlookers meant he was still doing his best.
“Fire department’s on its way,” a lady shouted.
A minute ticked by, and she could see nothing through the smoke-shrouded windows. Had Dan decided to administer first aid right there in a burning car? Was he unable to get her seat belt unfastened? She swallowed. Had he been overcome by the smoke?
The driver’s-side door was flung open with a groan of metal.
“He’s unlocked it,” she breathed.
A young couple raced up, took hold of Lila’s shoulders and dragged her away from the flames. They laid her down gently on the pavement. Angela finally succeeded in breaking loose from her captors. She ran to Lila, dropping to her knees. To be sure she was still breathing, she held her cheek next to Lila’s lips and felt the faint puff of air. Lila’s pulse at her wrist was steady though faint. Alive. Angela stripped off her jacket and draped it over Lila’s torso.
“We’re going to get you to a hospital. Just hang on, Lila.”
There was no response. Had she suffered a head trauma? Would she still be alive when they delivered her to the emergency room? There was such a minuscule distance between living and dead. Julio’s crooked smile flashed through her mind. He’d smiled just before he’d died, smiled at her, the reason he had been cut down at the tender age of twenty. That smile would never leave her heart until her dying moment.
Angela wanted to pray aloud, but she found her mind whirling, a sickening cold enveloping her body. She clutched Lila’s hand, squeezing, willing herself not to run away.
Shouts erupted all around her.
“Get out of there, man,” someone yelled. “You’re gonna burn alive.”
It was several moments before she realized they were talking about Dan. The car was now enveloped in flames, black smoke filling the air. The driver’s door stood open like a gaping mouth. No Dan. Several people tried to get closer, but the intensity of the heat drove them back.
Her face warmed at the nearness of the fire, but inside she remained cold. She wanted to help, but her legs would not move. Then pray, her heart begged. Pray to God that the rescuer in the car will be delivered.
But the prayer could not penetrate the surreal numbness. All she could do was watch.
* * *
Dan realized after Lila was pulled through the door to safety that he wasn’t going to get out that way. The upholstered seats had begun to melt, and the flames licked up the steering column. He retreated the way he had come, over the front seat and into the back, just as the side window shattered. He dropped to the seat, covering his head from the cubes of safety glass that rocketed the width of the vehicle. His mind took him right back to Afghanistan, the moment when he had driven in the armored vehicle they affectionately nicknamed Nellie to assist a badly wounded soldier who could not be extracted from his Humvee quickly enough.
He remembered the rocket-propelled grenade that struck the road twenty feet from their transport, shaking the ground worse than any earthquake the California boy had ever experienced. A haze of dust, shouts of confusion, the intensity of the gunny who took charge and got his men to safety before they returned fire. Running boots, the punch of bullets into the ground, the groan of a shell-shocked man he finally realized was himself. The incredible courage he’d been honored to witness in the men and women he served, the realization that life was as delicate as a spring flower and as tenacious as a bulldog.
He’d learned not to try and shut out the memories, but to let them come, experience the pain again and extract himself from it. He did so now, as the glass settled all around him.