Chapter 2 - Metal, Electricity, Broken Glass, and Gravity
The woman’s fingers trembled.
“I can’t move my leg.”
“Okay. Don’t force it. Look at me.”
The woman looked.
Grace’s voice stayed calm.
“My name is Grace. I work on live lines for a living. I need you to breathe slow and keep your hands away from the glass.”
The woman nodded once.
The limousine shifted again.
The lead bodyguard cursed.
Police lights flashed in the distance, still several blocks away.
The second bodyguard grabbed Grace’s shoulder.
“You don’t understand. That’s Mrs. Bellavita.”
Grace looked at him only long enough to say, “Then help me keep Mrs. Bellavita alive.”
His mouth shut.
Good.
Fear was useless unless it could be turned into obedience.
Grace looked at the lead bodyguard.
“You. Keep pressure on the rear quarter panel. If the car rocks forward, yell before it moves.”
He nodded.
“You,” she said to the second bodyguard. “Take off your jacket. Wrap it over the broken edge.”
He obeyed instantly.
The crowd behind them kept filming.
Grace hated that.
People loved proof when they did not have to risk their hands to make it.
Still, the cameras would matter later.
They would show she killed the power first.
They would show the bodyguards tried to block her.
They would show the limousine rocking over the broken rail.
They would show that the woman inside was conscious, trapped, and running out of time.
Grace slid one arm through the jacket-wrapped opening.
Mrs. Bellavita clutched her wrist.
Her grip was fragile but desperate.
“My grandson,” the old woman whispered. “Call my grandson.”
Grace almost laughed.
Every grandmother in danger wanted family.
“My phone is soaked,” Grace said. “We get you out first.”
The woman shook her head.
“You don’t understand.”
“Everybody keeps saying that.”
Grace leaned closer.
“Ma’am, I understand metal, electricity, broken glass, and gravity. Right now, that’s enough.”
The woman stared at her.
Then, despite everything, smiled faintly.
“You sound like my husband.”
“Was he smart?”
“He was stubborn.”
“Same thing in emergencies.”
The woman laughed once, then winced.
Grace looked down.
Her right ankle was pinned beneath a collapsed panel. Not crushed, but trapped tight enough that pulling her straight through could hurt her badly.
Grace needed firefighters.
She needed hydraulic tools.
She needed the car stabilized.
She had a pry bar, two terrified bodyguards, and an old woman who might slip into shock before sirens reached them.
So she did what line workers do when the official rescue is not there yet.
She improvised carefully.
“Listen to me,” she said. “I’m going to make the window opening safer, then I’m going to keep you supported until rescue gets here. Nobody drags you. Nobody yanks you. We do this right.”
The lead bodyguard said, “The car’s moving.”
Grace looked down.
Water ran beneath the tires.
The front bumper creaked against the guardrail.
The overpass wind pushed rain sideways.
Grace pressed her boots harder into the pavement.
“Everyone back except him,” she shouted to the crowd. “Stop crowding the rail!”
Nobody moved.
Then a new voice cut through the rain.
“Back up!”
A police officer had arrived on foot ahead of the cruiser, running from the blocked intersection.
May you like
The crowd obeyed him faster than they had obeyed Grace.
She did not have time to be offended.
