21
I whipped the wheel to the right and lay on the horn, expecting the other car (small blue sedan, maybe ten years old) to take evasive action as well, but it kept coming.
“s**t!”
There was nothing left to do but ride up on the curb. I slammed the brakes, but the passenger side still hit the concrete rise at about twenty-five miles per hour. The impact was enough to knock my teeth together, but the car continued speeding along, half on the road and half on the bordering properties. We stopped just short of a looming mailbox. Within moments, we were blind to the outside world as the car was enveloped in the cloud of dust we’d kicked up from the patchy yards.
I shut off the car and fought to get free of my seat belt. At least the airbag hadn’t deployed. Finally, I shoved the door open,
