Buried Alive


Text ©2002 Roger E. Moore (roger70129@aol.com)
Daria and associated characters are ©2002 MTV Networks

Feedback (good, bad, indifferent, just want to bother me, whatever) is appreciated. Please 
write to: roger70129@aol.com

Synopsis: A teenage girl is trapped in her car following a disastrous highway accident. 
Freeing her, however, will not be easy.


I

	The muffled opening notes to Bach's "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" trilled 
through the blue Lexus as Quinn Morgendorffer accelerated up the ramp to Interstate 77, 
heading for home. Without taking her eyes off the highway traffic, she reached over, 
found her purse on the passenger seat, flipped the purse flap back, and fished for the 
phone among the vast assortment of objects in the endless depths of her handbag. She 
found the phone by the time Bach's first stanza was completed, and she snapped it open.
	"Quinn here!" she said cheerily, dropping into the rush-hour traffic stream 
between a maroon minivan and a rusted-out pickup truck. The highway gleamed black 
from the brief thundershower a few minutes earlier.
	"Hi, Quinn? Am I interrupting anything? I can call back later if I am!"
	"I just got onto Seventy-seven from Middleton, Stacy. Daria--"
	"Are you driving? Oh, Quinn, you shouldn't do that, use a cell phone while 
you're driving! You get be--you might have an--I'll hang up!"
	"Stacy, it's okay! I'm fine!" Quinn slowed after noticing the minivan ahead of her 
was weaving. "I was saying, Daria got her Prius at the Middleton dealership. She's 
somewhere behind me in traffic."
	"Is that the car that runs on batteries and gas both, or something? What did you 
think of it?"
	"Yeah, it's sorta cute, just a little thing. I liked the computer-map thingie. She 
didn't get the kind that talks to you, though."
	"It really talks to you? Wow!"
	"She said it was bad enough everyone else talks to her, and having her car talk 
was just too much. I said, hey, you need all the friends you can get, and she--" Quinn 
laughed "--I can't say what she told me. It was rude, but funny. Anyway, Daria gave me 
this big lecture about how ecologically sound it was--oh, she went on and on. So, I've got 
the hand-me-down Lexus now, and Dad's getting a new car next week."
	"Which car does your Mom have now, the SUV?"
	"Yeah, she likes it because she can stuff all her legal boxes in it."
	"What color car did Daria get?"
	"She wanted black--ugh, don't ask me why--but she saw this forest green one and 
flipped, so she got that. Amazing that she picked something that matches her seasonal 
coloring, isn't it? Uh-oh." The maroon minivan was weaving again. "Idiots."
	"Quinn, you be careful!"
	"I'm fine, all right? Listen, I should be there in about twenty minutes. Traffic's 
fine now that it's stopped raining. You can wander around the mall before I get there. I'll 
look for you at the north entrance in twenty, okay?"
	"Sure! I'll be there! Oh, Quinn--how did your job interview go this morning at 
Able Baker's?"
	"Uh, let's talk about that when I see up. I have to go, Stacy. Traffic's picking up."
	"Oh, right! Bye!"
	Quinn sighed and snapped the phone shut, dropping it into the cup holder in the 
center console. She wished with all her heart that Stacy hadn't mentioned the office-
helper interview. Quinn checked behind her, accelerated to 80 (everyone else was doing 
75), and moved into the leftmost of the three westbound lanes going back to Lawndale. 
Not far ahead, the highway narrowed to two lanes at a road cut that ran directly through a 
broad hill. Given the large number of trucks out this evening, Quinn hoped to get ahead 
of as many of them as possible before the road cut appeared. Why the Interstate designers 
felt the need to go directly through a hill instead of around it was beyond her. Probably a 
macho-guy thing, she decided.
	Her attention drifted. Mom will want to know how the interview went, she 
thought. Damn it. Should I tell her what happened? The interviewer was the worst jerk 
imaginable. If Mom hears how he propositioned me, she'll flip out and sue the company 
for sex discrimination. What good would that do? It's just a he-said-she-said thing--no 
one videotaped it. And who'd hire me if they thought I'd sue them if they looked at me 
wrong? Finding a summer job is such a pain. I should've started looking earlier. Wish we 
were rich like Brittany's parents, living in a mansion out in Crewe Neck, never having to 
work hard to get anywhere.
	She saw a sign warning that the third lane ended a half-mile ahead. Gotta get back 
into traffic. She eyed the number of semis in the center and left lanes and frowned. Crap! 
She hated being boxed in. She looked in the rear-view mirror. A tanker was in the left 
lane a short ways behind her. Idiot. Everyone's in such a hurry to get home. Wonder 
where Daria's Prius is. Probably back at the entrance ramp, waiting for a mile-long space 
to show up so she can pull out. She is such a paranoid driver.
	Quinn sighed. Good thing the Lexus was still running smoothly, even with 
160,000 on it. Fat chance she'd ever get a new car like Daria's, now that she had the 
Leftover-Mobile. Quinn noticed a package-delivery semi pulling tandem trailers had 
turned its blinkers on, about to move from the center lane to the far right. Quinn happily 
hit her turn signal and prepared to move in, checking to the right.
	Movement in the highway ahead of her caught her attention. She looked up.
	The maroon minivan, not far ahead of her in the left lane, was weaving again. 
You moron! Quinn fumed. Did you smoke your lunch or drink it? As she stared, the van 
moved to the right and slammed sideways into a large panel truck. Both vehicles hit their 
brakes and began to skid on the wet pavement.
	Quinn gasped. Behind the center-lane car, the tandem tractor-trailer immediately 
hit its brakes, too. Everyone was tailgating, so there was no room to stop. The tandem 
tractor-trailer jackknifed between the two trailers, the rear trailer swinging out into 
Quinn's lane only two hundred feet ahead, sliding on the wet asphalt. Quinn's right foot 
slammed into the brake pedal. Everything in the Lexus was thrown forward; something 
banged inside the trunk.
	It was then that Quinn's gaze shot up to the rear view mirror--
	and she saw the silver tanker truck behind her begin to slide, the tanker's rear 
swinging out like a giant baseball bat to cover all three lanes of the Interstate behind her, 
the whole sideways-moving wall of steel lifting up on its left wheels with a gigantic 
metallic groan, tires screaming along the slick highway, still coming in her direction.
	Her right foot came off the brake and hit the gas to escape the tanker--
	but she looked ahead and saw the rear trailer of the tandem at a ninety-degree 
angle to the highway, dust clouds and debris flying from howling tires--
	BOOM!
	The rear trailer hit something big on its other side and snapped free of front trailer 
and semi-tractor as it came to a screaming halt right on the highway ahead of her.
	Her right foot jammed down on the brake so hard her body became a straight line 
from toe to head, teeth clenched, standing on the pedal with her full weight against the 
claws of deceleration.
	The tires shrieked--but went silent when the Lexus spun counterclockwise, 
hydroplaning. Quinn whipped the steering wheel right to control the spin, and the Lexus 
skidded clockwise again--
	facing into the stopped trailer.
	The entire top of her hydroplaning car would be guillotined when it hit the middle 
of the sideways trailer, only two seconds away. It was so obvious.
	And Quinn knew she would be guillotined as well.
	In the last second left to her life, Quinn let go of the steering wheel with her left 
hand and reached down and grabbed the driver's seat-back release lever and pulled up on 
it as hard as she could. She fell flat on her back, facing the car's gray-felt ceiling, and 
pulled her legs up and shut her eyes with her teeth ground together and head pulled into 
her shoulders, pushed into the headrest--
	BAM!
	Everything STOPPED and an inertial force greater than Godzilla tried to pull her 
out of her seat and into the engine block of her car. Something hit her chin and snapped 
her head back and banged it hard into the seat--
	and time stopped.


II

	Things were spinning, spinning in a sick gray thunderstorm, and it gave way to 
darkness and eye blinking and an awareness of pain. Quinn tried to take a deep breath but 
couldn't. It was very hard to breathe. She tried to turn over on her side but couldn't. She 
couldn't move at all.
	She licked her lips and groaned. All was darkness. Far away, people were 
shouting. The air was hot and smelled bad, like the engine block of a car. Something was 
sitting on her chest, a big heavy thing like a box, and it was crushing her. She had to get 
out from under the quilt and push away the box before it killed her. Daria must have put 
it there. Quinn struggled but could not get out from under the box. She lifted her head to 
look down, and her forehead bumped into something hard and it HURT. Startled, she 
dropped her head back and felt her senses return. The air smelled like burnt metal and 
dust and urine. She wrinkled her nose. Where did that come from?
	Quinn turned her head and felt bits and pieces of something fall off her cheeks 
and forehead. She could taste blood in her mouth now. I'm hurt, she thought. Her face 
felt like it was covered with a layer of dust or sand. What the hell happened?
	It was hard to breathe. Something unmoving lay across her chest, mashing down 
on her breasts and ribs. Quinn began to struggle, to move every part of her body--but 
found she could not. She could barely move at all. She began to panic--Trapped! 
screamed a wild voice in her head. I'm in a coffin! I'm buried alive!
	--but she stopped the scream, seized control of herself at the last second, held 
herself in a state of maximum tension for two seconds, then
	--she forced herself to relax, eased out her breath, stopped struggling, felt herself 
become calm. She would do what her mother would do. She would examine what was 
wrong and think about this rationally.
	Quinn took slow, deep breaths, fighting the panic. She would not pull a Stacy and 
hyperventilate. She was in total control of herself. Total control. When she was ready, she 
moved to the next step.
	Slowly, carefully, Quinn began to assess her situation. She could move her fingers 
and toes. She was still in the driver's seat, though her shoulder blades were where her 
butt used to be, having slid forward on the seat with the impact. Her underwear was wet--
she had peed herself during or after impact. Gross, she tried to say, but her mouth didn't 
work very well.
	Every part of her body ached, and she could not tell if she had any drastic injuries. 
She remembered that she was in her car and had probably hit the trailer, or else gone 
under it. She decided she was stuck under the trailer

[bruised chin, bit tip of tongue, very mild concussion, headache, knees against brake/gas, 
arms held by lap seat belt]

Her right arm was mashed between her side and the center console, her hand pressed to 
her thigh. The same object mashing her chest kept her arm from escaping. Her legs could 
move sideways a few inches, but the gas and brake pedals got in their way, and 
something was pressed down between her thighs, keeping her legs apart. Her head could 
turn from side to side, pushed back into the headrest of her seat, but she couldn't raise her 
head without bumping into a hot metal ceiling of some kind.
	Her left arm had the most freedom, having dropped between the left side of the 
driver's seat and the car door.

[finds cell phone on car floor]

	Her thumb felt gently for the "SEND" button, found it, and pushed. There was a 
pause, then the trilling of a number being processed.
	"Carter County Nine One One," came a woman's voice, all business. "Please state 
the nature of your emergency."
	"Hello!" Quinn strained to bring the phone closer to her mouth, but could get it 
only to two feet from her mouth. "I need help! I'm stuck in a car wreck!"
	"You're in a wreck?" The voice was alert and sympathetic. "Are you injured?"
	"Uh--yeah, sort of. I'm . . . I think I'm stuck under a truck. I can't . . ."
	"You're under a truck?"
	"Yeah." Quinn felt her nerves calm down. It helped to talk. Her angel was still 
with her. She'd get out of this soon enough. "Can you hear me?"
	"I can hear you. Are--"
	"I can't get the phone to my mouth, sorry! I can't move my arm much."
	"I can hear you fine, ma'am! Are you still in your car?"
	"Yeah, what's left of it. I'm--oh, I'm on Interstate Seventy-seven, stuck under a 
tractor trailer. It tore the top of my car off. I can't see anything much. It's really dark in 
here. I can't get up because something's lying across me, and I can't get out from under 
it. God, it stinks around here. Smells like gasoline. God, I hope I don't puke or 
something."
	"Okay, ma'am, listen to me. Do you know if you're in the pileup in the 
westbound lanes of Interstate Seventy-seven, west of [xxxx], where the highway cuts 
through that big hill?"
	"Yeah! Yeah, that's it, that's where I was when everybody started sliding arou--" 
Quinn broke off, coughing hard. Her chest hurt abominably with each contraction, and 
she couldn't keep from yelling "Ow!" after each cough.
	"Hello?" cried the woman's voice on the cell phone. "Are you still there?"
	"Ouch, damn it! Oh, I'm sorry, I was coughing and it hurt! Ouch! I can't breathe 
too well because it stinks like gasoline all over here, and this thing on my chest hurts. 
I've got something on my legs, too. I can't move much in here. That thing on my legs, it 
might be the steering wheel, but I can't tell. It's so damn dark in here. I can barely even 
see anything. God, it stinks. I hate gasoline."
	"We've got police, fire, and rescue units on the way to you. Can you tell me 
where you think you're injured?"
	"Well . . . I don't know. My head hurts, I think I banged it on something, and this 
thing on my chest makes it hard to breath and talk, and my, um, my right leg hurts, but I 
think it's okay, and my right arm's sort of stuck under this thing on my chest . . . wait, I 
can't . . . breathe."
	Quinn struggled to get air into her tired lungs, the stench of gasoline almost 
overwhelming now. Worse, her chest was beginning to hurt from the pressure of the 
weight across it. She almost panicked and began struggling, fighting to breathe, but again 
she caught herself--stopped and forced every part of her body to relax, to wait, to calm 
down so this whole problem would be solved sensibly and reasonably.
	"Ma'am? Are you still there? Hello?"
	"Wait," Quinn gasped. After a few moments, she swallowed and tried again. "I'm 
sorry, I think that talking a lot hurts my lungs or something. It's hard to breathe with this 
thing on me. I can almost taste that damn gasoline."
	"We've got people coming to you right now. They've been notified that you're 
under a tractor trailer, and they should get to you any minute now."
	"That would be great. I wish I could look a little better for them, but I can't reach 
up to get my hair combed. I bet I look like a goddamn mess." Why did I say that? Oh, 
well.
	"We'll get you out of there and get you fixed up in no time," said the lady. "Can 
you move around, maybe move sideways and get out from under--"
	"No, no, I can't move at all. This thing has got me down good. I'm stuck down on 
my seat. I saw that I was going to hit the trailer, and I dropped my seat back and went 
right under it. It didn't get me after all. I thought for sure it would."
	"Well, then, you're a lot smarter and faster than I am."
	Quinn forced a smile. "I don't know about that. I'm in here, and you're out there, 
so I think you might be smarter than me."
	The lady laughed. "Oh, I don't know about that. Listen, can you tell me your 
name?"
	"Oh, sorry. Quinn. Quinn Morgendorffer."
	"Gwen?"
	"No, Quinn, Q-U-I-N-N, Morgendorffer. I live with my mom and dad at One 
Hundred Eleven Glen Oaks, in Lawndale. Oh, hey, can you call them for me? I can give 
you the phone number, okay? Can you call them for me, my parents?"
	"I'll have someone get to them right away. Just give me your number."
	Quinn rattled the phone number off, then added her mother's cell phone and 
office phone, and her father's consulting-business work phone. "Listen," she added, 
"don't get them upset or anything, okay? I'm okay in here, sort of, and my dad's had 
heart problems and I don't want him to get upset, all right? He had a heart attack once 
and we sort of keep him calmed down as much as we can, okay? Just tell him, um, tell 
him I might be late getting home or something. Tell my dad that, anyway, but tell my 
mom to come out here and get me the hell out of here!"
	"We'll take care of it, Quinn. Listen, can you tell me how old you--"
	"Wait," said Quinn. She strained, listening. She had thought she heard a strange 
sound, and now she was sure of it. "I hear water! That's weird. I hear water running from 
somewhere."
	"Water? Where?"
	"Yeah, a lot of it. It was raining a while ago, so maybe it's raining again or 
something. I heard it just a few moments ago and . . . wait, it's . . . I think it's running 
under my car."
	"What is?"
	"I don't know. It . . . wow. Wow, you know, this is crazy, but it smells kind of 
like . . . it smells like tequila. Huh. Well, it's better than gasoline. Smells a lot better."


III

	The doorbell rang in the middle of Daria's third-favorite "Sick, Sad World" 
episode of all time, about the serial killer who worked at a Burger Baron fast-food 
restaurant and served his victims to unsuspecting customers as hamburgers. She grimaced 
when she heard the bell, but there was always the chance it was Jane (who was supposed 
to be working on a "special art project" in her bedroom), so Daria grumbled and got off 
her bed, thumping downstairs in her high boots.
	She started speaking as she twisted the doorknob and pulled on the door. "It's 
about time you gave up on . . . that . . ." Her voice trailed off as she looked at the two 
grim-faced patrolmen standing before her. Her gaze darted to their uniform insignia: 
Carter County Sheriff's Department.
	"Uh-oh," Daria said, deadpan. "Look, I swear I thought that everyone in that 
Internet chat room was over the age of--"
	"Are you Helen Morgendorffer?" interrupted the older officer, looking at a scrap 
of paper in his hand.
	"No, I'm her daughter. Oldest daughter," Daria corrected. She hesitated, all ideas 
of further jokes completely evaporated. Maybe her father had freaked out in the 
supermarket once too often. "Is this about my dad? Jake Morgendorffer?"
	"No, ma'am," said the officer in an even, sad tone. "No, it's not."
	He paused, unsure of what to say next.
	A dreadful thing was born inside Daria's mind. She stepped back from the door. It 
was hard to make her mouth work properly to say the next word. "Kuh-Quinn? Is it--"
	"It's about Quinn Morgendorffer, yes," said the older officer gently. "We need to 
speak to Helen or Jake Morgendorffer immediately. We don't have much time."
	The dreadful thing grew a thousand times in size. "I'm Quinn's sister, Daria." Her 
mouth was dry as dust in a desert tomb. "Can I help? What happened?"
	"Ma'am," said the officer, looking briefly into the house behind Daria before 
continuing, "there's been an accident. Quinn is involved. We need for Helen or Jake 
Morgendorffer to come with us immediately. May we see them, please?"
	The dreadful thing gained infinite height, depth, and breadth, filling the universe. 
"They're at work still," said Daria, her voice steady but emotionless, robotic. "Mom's an 
attorney, and she's downtown at the courthouse, trying a case. My dad's gone to 
Oakwood on business until later tonight. I'm the only one here. I'm--I'm Daria 
Morgendorffer." After a moment, she added, "Quinn's my sister."
	"You're the only one in her immediate family here right now?"
	"Yes."
	"Okay, we need for you to come with us right away, then," said the officer. "We 
don't have much time."
	"Where are we going?" 
	"To see your sister," said the officer. "She's been in an accident."
	She's been in an accident. We don't have much time. "Okay," said Daria softly. 
She looked once behind her, then stepped outside and shut the door. She immediately 
turned around, opened the door, reached around and twisted the lock in the doorknob, 
then pulled the door shut again, locking it. "Stop making mistakes," she whispered to 
herself. "Pay attention. Do what needs to be done, whatever it is. Do it for Quinn."
	"Pardon?" said the officer.
	"Nothing," said Daria. I must be dreaming, she thought, feeling very light headed 
and not at all like Daria Morgendorffer. This isn't happening. They're going to take me to 
Quinn, who's been in an accident, and there's not much time left. "What happened?"
	The officers escorted her to their patrol car in the Morgendorffers' driveway, its 
red and blue lights flashing from rooftop and grillwork. "Your sister's been in an accident 
on Interstate Seventy-seven," said the younger officer. "She trapped in her car. We need 
someone to talk to her while we find a way to get her out." The younger officer raised a 
radio handset to his mouth. "This is Unit Sixteen, leaving the Morgendorffer residence, 
heading for Sky Two. Over."
	"Unit Sixteen, copy," said the radio after a burst of static.
	"Trapped in her car," repeated Daria, getting into the back seat of the patrol car. 
"She's alive?" This seat isn't very clean, she thought, knowing the thought was absurd. It 
smells like vomit back here.
	"Yes, she is. Her car's pinned under a tractor trailer," said the older officer, 
starting the car and turning around to back out of the driveway. "There was a pileup on 
Seventy-seven, maybe thirty cars and trucks, and she's in the middle of it. She's talking 
to us, but we can't get her out yet. We're working on it."
	"Is she--what's her condition?" Daria couldn't make the seatbelt buckle work. Her 
hands were shaking too much. "Is she hurt?"
	"We don't know," said the officer. "We can't get too close to her." The patrol car 
was on the street, and he floored it, throwing Daria back into the stinking seat. Her 
fingers jammed the buckle together. It clicked and locked. The siren blared out at full 
volume, wailing into the afternoon. Daria looked to the right, out of the side window, in 
time to see Jane Lane's shocked gaze looking back at her from the sidewalk. Jane had 
been on her way over to visit after all. A moment later, Jane was gone, far behind.
	"Can--can you stop to pick up a friend of mine?" Daria asked, her voice rising.
	"Sorry, miss, but we don't have time," said the driver.
	"Why not?"
	"Well," said the younger officer, who was maybe in his late thirties, "the 
conditions at the accident site are difficult, and your sister needs someone to talk to as 
soon as we can get you there. Cutting her out of there is going to be hard."
	"Cutting her out of there," said Daria.
	"Yes, ma'am," said the driver, turning a corner at high speed. The engine roared 
like a tornado as the car accelerated down the street. "There's a gasoline tanker involved, 
and the fire department can't use saws that might spark."
	"And ignite the gasoline," said Daria after a pause.
	"Yes, ma'am, among other things. There are some other problems out there, too."
	"Is there a lot of gasoline? Spilled, I mean."
	"No, the tanker's mostly together at the moment. There was another truck 
involved, carrying alcohol, bourbon I think, and it's smashed up and leaking all over. The 
fire department's trying to wash it off right now."
	Daria nodded, trying to grasp it all. "Is she in pain?"
	"Uh," said the younger officer, but the older officer cut him off. "She's got 
control of herself. Damned if she isn't the bravest human being I've ever met. God bless 
her. She's hanging in there."
	"When did this happen?"
	"'Bout twenty, thirty minutes ago. She used her cell phone to call nine-one-one. 
She can't move around much down under there. The trailer cut off the top of her car, but 
she dropped her seat back before she hit, so it missed her. She's still pinned in pretty 
good, though."
	Cut off the top of her car. Pinned in pretty good. "We don't have much time, you 
said. What's happening there now, at the accident? Why don't we have time?"
	The patrol car swung onto the highway leading out of the city toward the junction 
with Interstate 77, a few miles into the country. The driver finally spoke. "Several things. 
Gasoline's all over the place, and the fire department's having trouble getting to it. We 
got maybe thirty cars involved, and the wreck's at a road cut on the Interstate. It's that 
big hill about twenty minute out from the Mall of the Millennium. You know that hill?"
	Daria thought and nodded. "I know it." She paused. "It's near Whitewater River."
	"That's it. We have to drag all the wrecked cars out of the pileup to get more fire 
trucks in, but the sides of the cut don't let anyone drive around the wreckage. You have 
to go through it from both sides, and your sister's in the middle."
	"Okay," said Daria. My, how calmly I'm taking all this. I should be congratulated. 
"What else is happening?"
	The driver sighed. "The tractor trailer's losing tire pressure and sinking down on 
her car, plus her car's starting to collapse under all that weight. The trailer's got her 
pinned across the chest, so it's hard for her to breathe, but most of the trailer's weight is 
on the car itself, and it isn't holding up. We thought about letting the air out of her car's 
tires, but the tires are almost flat now, so that won't help much. The steering wheel's 
flattened out and holding her legs down, too. She's wedged in there pretty bad. Only 
thing she can move is her head, a little bit, and her left arm. She called nine-one-one with 
her left hand. Couldn't even see the phone. She asked that someone from her family 
come out to her. That's you, miss."
	"Daria. I'm Daria."
[get to copter]


IV

	Quinn finished describing her physical condition to the fireman next to her car. 
He was the third fireman she'd talked to, and it was the fifth time she'd told someone in 
detail about her various pains and cramps and numb areas. It was getting old, but Frankie 
was pretty nice. He was an older guy. He sounded like a dad. She could tell by his voice 
he probably had a lot of kids.
	"Frank?" someone called from far away.
	"What?" the fireman shouted back.
	"The police are bringing someone up. Be here in a moment."
	"Is this her mother?" Frank shouted back.
	"Wait, lemme see." Quinn heard a muffled conversation between the distant man 
and a radio.
	"Is my mom here?" she asked.
	"Think so," said Frank. "I think we can squeeze her under here for a few minutes. 
Mind some extra company?"
	"Sure, that would be great." Thank God, she thought. She felt her eyes tearing up 
and struggled for self-control. I will not cry because of this, she told herself fiercely. My 
angel will get my out of here.
	Quinn could hear a lot of movement far away, then someone called, "She's 
coming in now. Watch your head, miss. Hands and knees, watch that flange there."
	Scraping sounds, gravel scrunching, someone moving on hands and knees. Quinn 
heard someone breathing heavily, getting closer. Finally the scrunching sounds stopped, 
right next to the driver's door.
	"Mommy?" called Quinn. Her voice cracked.
	"Quinn?"
	Quinn gasped. "Daria?"
	"It's me."
	"Daria, what the hell are you doing here?"
	"I was going to ask you that."
	"Where's mom?"
	"They're trying to get in touch with her. She was in court downtown, at that trial 
about the guy whose pet monkey was stealing his ex-girlfriend's underwear. I think they 
went off to cut a deal with the prosecution and didn't leave a forwarding number."
	"Is she coming, too?"
	"You're not Quinn's mother?" Frank asked in surprise.
	"Well, our family has a lot of weird secrets," Daria began.
	"Daria's my sister, not my mother!" Quinn called, cutting her off. She heard 
someone moving around next to her car.
	"So," said Daria, her voice closer now, "are you in pain?"
	"A little," said Quinn. "This thing is pushing on my chest a little more than it was 
before. It's hard to breathe. My head hurts, and my right arm is stuck between me and 
that center island thing, whatever it's called, and it's all pins and needles now when it 
isn't numb. I can move my legs a little, but I've got the steering wheel bent over or 
something, holding them down. My ankles hurt a lot earlier, but they just ache now. I was 
trying to brake right before I hit this stupid thing, and when I hit I must have hurt my feet 
or something. That's about all. I've told everyone this six times now."
	"Given the condition of the car, you're in good shape."
	"Yeah, I sort of thought so, too. It's so dark in here. Can you see anything out 
there?"
	"Not much. It's like being in a cave. You've got that tanker right behind you, and 
I don't know how many cars ahead and behind. This trailer hit another tractor trailer 
hauling bourbon--"
	"Believe me, I know all about that. I can still smell it. Did it break everything in 
that truck?"
	"Everything. The bourbon truck is rolled over, lying across the road like your 
trailer and the tanker behind you. It's sort of like a sandwich, with you in the middle and 
all these other cars like olives or raisins jammed up against the sandwich, with bourbon 
all over the place."
	"Oh." This was a lot more information than any of the firemen had given her. 
"Daria?"
	"Still here."
	"How bad is it? The whole wreck?"
	"Uh, Daria," began Frank. "Let's not talk about--"
	"It's pretty bad, Quinn. There are so many cars thrown around, it's impossible to 
get here except on foot."
	"Daria--" said Frank.
	"She's my sister," said Daria. "I'm going to tell her the truth."
	"Let her talk, please!" called Quinn. "I can handle it!" I think I can handle it. I'd 
better be able to handle it. I really have to know what's going on. "Daria?"
	"Still here."
	"Why haven't they tried to jack up the trailer and drag me out from the side?"
	Quinn heard her sister sigh. "Partly because you've got cars on both sides of you. 
Also because of the bourbon and the gasoline tanker. The tanker's jammed up next to 
your trailer. If they move the tanker or your trailer around too much, it will make sparks. 
Cutting you out with saws will make sparks, too, so they can't do that, either. They're 
afraid of what it will do to the bourbon."
	"Because of the bourbon? Why?"
	"Because it's flammable."
	"What? Bourbon? You're kidding!" Flammable.
	"No. Speaking of which, I've got it all over me now, sort of a bourbon mud with 
little rocks in it."
	"They're afraid the bourbon might catch fire?"
	Another sigh. "Yeah, but they're going to hose down the wreck from both ends 
and get it washed off the road. They're short of pumper trucks right now because of two 
other fires and another wreck back in Lawndale. I don't know anything else about that. I 
think they've got one pumper starting to work on the wrecks ahead of you."
	"I never thought bourbon could burn."
	"It's the alcohol. Like when cooks burn off the alcohol before serving a dish."
	"Oh, right. I forgot about that. Baked Alaska."
	More sounds of movement just outside of the car. Quinn imagined what would 
happen if the bourbon caught fire. Her imagination worked too well. Baked Alaska.
	"Daria?"
	"What?"
	A short pause. "Daria, I love you."
	"Quinn, don't say anything you're going to regret when we get home tonight."
	"Daria, listen to me. I love you. I really do. I'm sorry I've been such a lousy 
sister."
	"Quinn, you're going to make it. You're getting out of this damn mess, and I'm 
going to see you do it."
	"Don't leave me, Daria."
	"I won't."
	"Uh, ma'am," came Frank's voice, "you will have to leave in a little while, you 
know."
	"We'll talk about it later," said Daria calmly.
	"Okay, just so you know," said Frank.
	"Whatever. Hey, Quinn?"
	"What?"
	"You know what we need?"
	"What?"
	"Some Coke to go with all of this bourbon."
	Quinn snickered, then laughed aloud, ignoring the pain in her chest and lungs. 
"Thank you, Daria," she gasped.
	"No problem. God, it stinks like a frat party under here."
	"I bet it doesn't stink as bad as I do."
	"I'll send for some perfume. What kind do you prefer?"
	"It won't help. This is gross, but--" Quinn started to giggle "--I peed on myself a 
while ago, before I woke up. It smells awful in here."
	"Oh. I thought I sm--um, okay, I won't tell anyone. None of your boyfriends, 
anyway."
	"God, I hope they get me out before . . . before, you know."
	"Before what?"
	"Before I have to . . . you know, really go."
	"Go? Oh. Thanks, I hadn't thought about that. Let's not think about it anymore, if 
we could."
	"Okay." A pause. "I'm so glad you're here."
	"Well, I saw on TV that that's what sisters were for, so I came out."
	Quinn sniffed. "I'm really sorry I was so mean to you all those years. I feel like 
such a rotten--"
	"Quinn, we need a new topic." Another pause. "I wonder what Jane thought."
	"Jane's here, too?"
	"No. The police came and got me at the house, just as Jane was walking up. I 
couldn't tell her where I was going, the police were in such a rush to get us to the 
helicopter. I'll call her when we get home tonight."
	When we get home tonight. Quinn felt a new rush of hope. "You rode on a 
helicopter? Really?"
	"Really. It was pretty cool. The Interstate's totally blocked up in all directions, so 
they flew me in and landed on the road ahead of here. The other side of the wreck is solid 
with cars back to the [xxx interchange xxx]."
	"Was anybody hurt?"
	"Here, in the wreck?"
	"Yeah."
	Sigh. "Yeah, some people got hurt. They've all been taken out by now. No one 
was killed as far as I know. I saw about ten ambulances around here when we were 
coming in for the landing. I think you're the only one they haven't gotten out yet."
	"Ladies, if you'll excuse me," said Frank, "I'm going to get out for some fresh air. 
Someone else will come back in my place in a minute."
	"Take your time," said Daria. "We're just hanging around." 
	"Yeah," said Quinn. "Can you bring me a diet soda?"
	Frank laughed, and Quinn listened to the sounds of someone crawling away.
	"I think we're alone now," said Daria.
	"You, me, and my guardian angel." Quinn laughed without humor. "I'm not sure 
if my guardian angel's really with me or not, though."
	Daria let out her breath. Quinn realized Daria was sitting with her back pressed 
against the smashed Lexus, just on the other side of the car from Quinn's head. "Finding 
you still here and in good shape almost convinced me there were angels. Almost."
	"You know, it wouldn't hurt if you were a believer in angels, Daria."
	"Oh. We're not going to go through all that . . . that . . . oh, forget I said anything. 
If you do have a guardian angel, she's obviously making up for her initial slip."
	"What do you mean?"
	"Letting you get stuck under here."
	"Oh, maybe he couldn't help that. Maybe he got here as fast as he could, and--"
	"He?"
	"Well, he's not a she, I'm sure of that."
	"What? Quinn, we're talking about angels here, it doesn't matter what sex they 
are. They don't really have sex. Have a sex, I meant. Oh, listen to me. I can't even 
believe I'm debating this with you."
	"My guardian angel is a he, Daria. I know it."
	"Fine. As long as his name doesn't begin with a J, I guess I can deal with it."
	"So, you don't think angels have sex?"
	"Quinn, I think the bourbon fumes are getting to you."
	A pause. "You know what, Daria?"
	"Your angel's name is Jamie?" 
	"No. Um . . . I'm . . ."
	"You're what?"
	Quinn made herself say it, but in a loud whisper. "I'm not a virgin."
	Quinn heard dead silence for a moment. "Whaaat?"
	"I'm not a virgin. I mean, technically, I think I am, but in a way, I'm--"
	"Quinn, wait. Stop. Remember what I said about not saying anything you'll regret 
after we get home tonight?"
	"I want to talk to you about it, Daria. This is important."
	"Oh . . . okay. Talk to me. I promise not to scream. Much."
	"Okay." Quinn swallowed and tried not to think about the weight across her chest. 
"There was this guy, from--"
	"What's his name?"
	"Um . . . I don't want to tell you his name. Why do you want his name?"
	"So I can find him later and, if necessary, kill him."
	"Daria! You will not! He was very sweet."
	"I know I am so going to regret hearing this."
	"I went out with him a year ago, and--"
	"A year ago? You had sex with this guy a year ago?"
	"Daria, let me talk! If you don't want to listen to me, then . . ."
	"Okay, Quinn. I'm sorry. Go ahead."
	"Now I don't want to."
	"Quinn, really, I won't interrupt again. I know you want to talk, and I want to hear 
you. Please talk."
	"Oh, okay. There was this really sweet guy I met a year ago at a bar in Oakwood, 
and he--"
	"A bar in--!" Quinn heard Daria inhaling through her teeth. "Okay, okay, go on."
	"And he was dancing with me, and we started talking, and he was from one of 
those Central American countries, I can't think of their names, and we started going 
together. I broke my rule for him, the one where I don't go slow dancing until the fifth 
date? He was so sweet, and we were talking Spanish a little to each other, and a slow 
song came on and we were slow dancing, you know? And it was really dark in the bar 
and crowded, and we were dancing really close to each other and then we were dancing 
like that for a while, we, um, we got kind of interested in each other, you know? Like, he 
was right behind me, pressed against me while we were dancing, and he was doing this 
circular thing with his hips, and I was, too, and--I don't know why I did this--I reached 
down and--"
	Quinn heard noises from far away. "Hello back there!" a man called. Another 
fireman, she knew, probably Anthony.
	"Hello, yourself," called Daria. "We're fine. You can go away now."
	"'Fraid I can't," called Anthony, and Quinn heard someone crawling in their 
direction.
	"You'll never tell me the rest of this story," said Daria softly.
	"Sure, I will," Quinn replied. "Tonight, at home."
	"Bet you fifty you chicken out."
	"You're on. You can toss that fifty in here right now."
	"You girls doing okay back here?" said Anthony, now almost as close as Daria 
was.
	Quinn smiled. "I'm fifty dollars richer! I'm doing great!"
	"My sister's hallucinating on all the bourbon fumes. Are the pumpers here yet? I 
could use a shower."
	"Nah, not yet. East Mannheim's got three on the way, but they're about forty-five 
minutes away, even without the traffic jam. Christ, you wouldn't believe all the news 
helicopters up there. Seems like you're famous, kid." 
	"Me? I'm famous? They know who I am?" 
	"Nah, they don't know your name, just that someone's stuck in here, and it's all 
over the news."
	"Huh. Maybe that will get me some new dates. I could use some new faces."
	"That's my Quinn," said Daria. "Using every advantage to improve her social 
life."
	"Well, at least I have a social life."
	"Touché."
	"I wonder if Mom and Dad are seeing this on TV somewhere."
	"Let's hope not. Maybe we can just pretend we were out skinny-dipping."
	"I hope Dad doesn't see this. He gets so upset. I don't want him to freak out and 
have a heart attack or something."
	"Quinn, I promise you I'll break it to him gently in about twenty years."
	"Okay. You know what I'd really like--"
	The ground suddenly vibrated. In the distance, a loud WHOOMP! echoed around 
them. Someone yelled, cursing.
	Quinn tried to look behind her. "What was that? That noise?"
	"Um . . ." said Anthony. "Dunno. If it's important, I'm--"
	Footsteps running, men shouting. Quinn felt her optimism vanish in seconds. It 
sounded like they were shouting about--
	--a fire.
	"Tony!" someone shouted. "We got problems!"
	There was a low roaring sound.
	A fire.
	A fire.
	Quinn struggled in her seat. There had to be a way to get out from under that 
damn weight on her chest, there had to be some way, but the truck was above her--
	"Quinn? Quinn, what's wrong?"
	"Daria, get me out of here!"
	"Quinn, we're okay here. I'm staying here--"
	"Daria, please help me get out of here!"
	"Quinn, stop it! You'll hurt yourself! We're safe here! The fire's not around 
here!"
	"How do you know?"
	"Because we're still talking! It's far away from us, so stop worrying about it. It 
doesn't matter what it is. Stop struggling, you'll get jammed in even worse or hurt 
yourself."
	Panting, Quinn slowed in her struggles. Suddenly, it was impossible not to cry. 
Quinn could hear more shouting now in the distance. It was a fire. Something was on fire.
	"Quinn?"
	Quinn couldn't answer. It was too much. There was no guardian angel.


[AUTHOR'S NOTES: Note that at least three revisions are included in the above tale,
which explains why Daria is in two places at once. Daria was to be flown in by copter
in the original draft, but the last revision would have had her coming to Quinn's rescue
within minutes after the accident, which was more logical. Rescue workers would not
likely have let Daria get near Quinn under the terrible circumstances outlined above.
Despite the dreadful nature of the disaster (and the incomplete state of the story), Quinn 
is saved, and Daria is the one who saves her--but details on how this was done hadn't 
been fully worked out. As the fire expands, Daria finds a crowbar and frees Quinn, but 
they are still trapped by the fire and must find a new way to escape.]

FINIS