Free Critical Condition by CJ Lyons

and used it to finish breaking the window. The glass rained down in small pebbles. She cleared as much of it as she could, then pushed the passenger-side air bags out of her way. The car’s interior was filled with smoke and powder—residue from the air bags deploying. Still no sound or movement from the driver.
    Adrenaline urging her on, Gina copied a move she’d seen the medics do—they made it look easy, but as she climbed in feet first, she caught her ankle, banged it good, then almost fell out again before she managed to leverage her weight into the passenger compartment. Her braids caught on the upper seat belt anchor, and she lost some hair yanking herself free.
    Finally she could reach the driver. She shoved an air bag out of her way and got her first look.
    It was her mother.
    “LaRose Freeman, what the hell are you doing here?” Gina asked as she stabilized her mother’s cervical spine. “Can you hear me? It’s Gina, your daughter. Open your eyes!”
    Nothing. Gina checked her airway—clear. Breathing was even. Pulse rapid but strong. A small abrasion marred LaRose’s smooth, Botoxed brow line, but not enough to explain her lack of response. Head injury? Spinal cord damage?
    Gina’s adrenaline revved into panic.
    She turned to call out behind her, “I need some help over here!”
    No one came. The nurses’ station was destroyed. Where the hell was everyone?
    That was when she saw the flames snaking out from under the hood of the car.
     
     
    WHEN JIM SAW THE CAR AIMING FOR THE WAITING room windows, he tackled Nicky and his mother, pushing them under the stretcher—the only shelter the alcove provided. At least that was how Nora chose to see it—although, because Nicky and his mom were between Jim and shelter, Jim’s actions may have been motivated by something less altruistic.
    There was no place for Nora to hide, though, so as the car crashed through the front windows, all she could do was to flatten herself against the wall and pull the alcove’s curtain around her to shield herself from flying glass and debris.
    The crash had been loud yet strangely muffled, like being under water. Then everything became bigger, brighter, as the howl of the storm joined the carnage inside the waiting room. Thuds of furniture being thrown aside mingled with the cracks of wood breaking, the ripping of drywall, and the screech of metal against metal. The sounds collided so that it was impossible to tell which came first as Nora’s brain tried to process them and put them in proper order.
    The sounds were accompanied by the smells of winter, brisk and clean, and the stench of burned rubber, charred plastic, and gasoline. When the last hit Nora’s nostrils, she thrust the curtain aside, clearing her field of vision.
    Dust and broken glass and pink insulation filled the air. Paper was everywhere—magazines, patient charts, lab slips. All now confetti spinning in the wind. It was like being inside a snow globe of destruction. One that also featured a car sitting in the middle of the ER, trapped inside the wall separating the waiting room from the nurses’ station.
    The car had smashed right through the children’s corner of the waiting room. Thank God no kids were playing there when it happened.
    But Mark Cohen had been standing there, looking out the window.
    “Mark?” Nora called. When she inhaled it tasted like wood pulp and sawdust. She coughed and tried again. “Mark?”
    “I’m here,” came his answer from the opposite side of the car. “Gonna need a little help.”
    “I’m coming.”
    Jason, the ER desk clerk, came running in. “Gina’s taking care of the driver,” he gasped, breathless as he took in the carnage. “What can I do?”
    Nora turned back to Jim and their patients, the ER’s disaster protocol ratcheting through her brain. First, evacuate any non-emergent patients from the scene. “Get them and any patients left in the ER down to the auditorium. Then see if there’s anyone hurt in