Mitch watched in horror as Emily’s compact car spun out of control. He had to save her. He wrenched his steering wheel and maneuvered his vehicle between her and the guardrail, pumping his brakes. Her vehicle shoved into his driver’s side door. With a curse, he turned into the spin, until finally his four-wheel drive caught traction. Tires squealed, and he gauged the distance to the edge. It was going to be close. “Come on, baby. Stop.” He yanked on the emergency brake, spun the steering wheel hard to the left and prayed. Brakes sparked and metal ground against metal as they skidded toward the drop-off. The spin slowed the momentum, but the mountain’s edge came barreling at them. Mitch’s arms shook under the strain of turning the fused metal coffins, but it was working. They were slowing. Three feet away. Two feet away. Inches away, and finally, the front ends of both vehicles shuddered to a stop. A waterfall of rocks plunged hundreds of feet down. He forced open his smashed door and headed toward Emily.
