Free Runaway “Their Moment in Time” by Kathleen Cook Huebbe

first and was trying to open the car door. Grant and I had finally arrived, but in his over-protective survival mode, he simply pulled her through the open window instead of waiting for Stephen, who was still fumbling with the door handle. Grant could have simply unlocked the door through the open window, but  Stephen tried again to open the car door to get the keys that still dangled in the ignition—but she had the door locked from the inside. Panic ensued and no one thought clearly, but Stephen was finally able to yank the door handle open and struggled for the keys—once he grabbed them, he threw them back to Grant, who was already by the trunk.
     
    Grant caught the toss from Stephen and opened the trunk. He pulled out a fire extinguisher that Runaway’s father had recently put there, “just in case,” he had said.
     
    I found myself trying to get the hood up, but it was too hot to touch, as the flames licked up the sides of the car, and around my face.
     
    “Get it up!” Brandon yelled.
     
    “I can’t! Damn it! It’s too hot!” I yelled back.
     
    I took off my jacket and wrapped it around my hand, but the jacket made it too bulky—I couldn’t reach through the grill to the hood latch.
     
    “Hurry! It’s going to get the whole car!” he screamed at me.
     
    I tried again, but still nothing—the jacket was just too thick and clumsy—there was nothing I could do. With sweat pouring down my face from the heat, I looked over at Runaway, who was about ten feet behind us—she just stood there, staring at her car.
     
    I paused to look at her face—it was unreadable. I could say stoic, but that would not have sufficed. She glared, stared, and was completely immobile.
     
    What is wrong with you? Do something! I screamed in my head. Move! Scream! Lash out!
     
    But her response was stillness. Her eyes flitted to mine momentarily and what I saw was devastating fear. But fear of what? I couldn’t read whether it was for me or her car.
     
    I looked again. It was the same unreadable expression—she had to be afraid, didn’t she?
     
    I knew that at that moment I had to do something—whatever had passed between us told me I had to try to save her car.
     
    Screw it , I thought as I ripped off the jacket and grabbed the release lever. I tried not to scream from what I knew was my burning flesh, but I couldn’t help it and I let out a sickening, gritted scream.
     
    Much to my amazement, I had managed to get the hood up. The flames leapt out at me, as if happy that they were finally free. As soon as the hood was up, Grant was there with the extinguisher, but the heat from the engine had thrown me back onto the ground.
     
    Flames were everywhere—they soared out of the engine compartment—they leapt at Grant, who desperately tried to put them out.
     
    “Oh, God… her car,” I whispered to no one but myself.
     
    After a few minutes, Grant managed to put the flames out successfully and we all stood around the burned engine compartment. There was smoke all around it and us, making it nearly impossible to breathe. Finally, after the smoke had cleared, it was much easier to survey the damage.
     
    “Holy crap,” Brandon said first.
     
    “You can say that again,” I mused.
     
    “Holy crap.”
     
    I glared at him.
     
    “It’s completely ruined—total meltdown,” Grant observed.
     
    “That is the understatement of the year,” Stephen added. “The carburetors apparently had an influx of fuel and that is what sparked the electrical fire… the car’s got one… two… three…” he counted for the first time. “Four carburetors?”
     
    He looked up, astonished. “I wasn’t aware that that was an option.” He not only looked impressed, he looked envious. “… Nevertheless, who knows which one malfunctioned—see? Look at all the wiring,” he pointed. “Totally gone.”
     
    “What about the supercharger?” I asked. “Is that gone, too?”
     
    “Apparently not—it’s not even