The impact is in the lane to our left. I whirl in time to see the car rebound from the impact, bits of glass and metal tinkling to the icy pavement. I look around, realizing that our crash wasn’t just lucky. It was downright miraculous. There are cars flipped onto their sides and lines of cars crunched tightly together. We are the only car I can see that isn’t crumpled beyond driving.

“We have to get out of here,” Harper says, and by her expression I can tell she’s putting together what I have. We’re in serious danger.

“We’re going to get hit,” Josh says.

“Shit,” Kayla says. She’s not looking at the wrecks ahead of us. She’s twisted to look out the back window.

I don’t want to look, but I do and there they are—a volley of cars spinning and sliding their way down the mountainside. This only ends one way. And if we don’t move, we’re going to be part of it.

Brecken swears and throws the SUV into reverse, pulling back from the concrete barrier with a grinding noise that jolts through my teeth like a shock.

Harper starts to cry. I don’t blame her. I’d be crying, too, if I had any breath left in my lungs, but I feel like all the air has been kicked out of me. The first car hits—far to the left—the sound of glass and plastic breaking shatters the quiet. Some of them slip right off the road, landing in the ditch before the bridge.

They’re the lucky ones.

The unlucky ones are coming right at us. Fast.

“Go,” Harper cries. “Just go!”

I don’t want to watch, but I can’t look away. My eyes are glued to a Volvo whirling around end after end, close enough to our side of the road to make me wonder if I’ll live. To make me wish I’d sent one more text to my parents. Maybe to Zari.

It’s just about to hit when I squeeze my eyes shut. Our car lurches forward and I hear a terrible smack. The Volvo hit the concrete, just behind us.

“There’s another one coming,” Josh says, still calm.

“Go!” Kayla says. “Keep going!”

“I’m trying! There’s no room!”

“Hit the wall if you have to,” Harper says. “Push your way through.”

There’s a horrible hissing shriek behind us, a terrible noise that I know from rest areas and truck stops. It’s a semi. Brecken’s eyes widen in the rearview mirror and he punches the gas. We are scraping the barrier again, but he doesn’t stop.