The third speeding car must have slammed into the pileup and exploded, because the flickering firelight blossomed and cast the dunes and the smoldering cacti outside into a relief as bright as late afternoon. Two bright spears of light jutted off the edge of the road, where a fourth car must have stopped. Maybe someone sane, here to help… She tried to speak and reach out for Big Keith, but her mouth was full of blood and tooth fragments. Her arm was broken in three places and splinted against the shotgun, which was hot against her breasts. It must have gone off at least once in her arms when the truck rolled. She tried to make her other hand find the seat belt release, but it wouldn’t unlock, and if it did, she would tumble onto her head and probably break her neck. Keith would help her. Keith— Her good hand strained out for Big Keith until she found his wet headrest. Big Keith was still there, but his face was gone. His flannel-clad barrel of a torso still hung in its seat like a tapped keg, but the mess below (above) it looked like roadkill with sad, denim-colored eyes.
