“Take it easy,” I said. “We’re going to pull you right side up. We’ll be able to pop you right out of there.” I could see his tight hands clutching the steering wheel. He’d lost any faith he had in our abilities, and I had too. Railer was unwinding the chain and securing the underside of the truck. We looked busy anyway. I could hear the tick of the chain as he threaded it through the drive train.

I backed up my cruiser and surveyed the hillside. I would have to get around to the passenger side. I was looking for a down side. I found a low incline and drove down. I heard the scrape of weeds, the squeal of rocks beneath the floorboards of the car. For a moment I had the idea that our scheme just might work. Railer strapped the chain to my tow bar and then gestured for me to begin the pull. I took a deep breath and held it. I gunned the engine, heard the chain roll, then felt the jolt of the catch. It slammed me in my seat. I had gassed too quick. I could smell the burn of motor oil. I saw the car rock and then it was dragged. I heard the screech of metal on the hard road, a loud screaming of man and car. Sparks of fire flew from the roof of the car. I saw Railer’s tight face, Railer’s referee arms. “Stop,” he was yelling, “stop.” I’d already lifted my foot from the pedal but Railer’s face told me to slam the brakes. I stomped the brakes hard in a split second, making a slip judgment call I would never live down.