The Jeep gathers speed, rushing the fence. She’s got her foot hard and flat on the gas and she’s braced against the wheel again, heedless of the pain in that arm, tensing her left hand and arm around the baby in a grip an ape couldn’t pry loose, lowering her head instinctively to protect her eyes if the windshield goes, hearing the thunder of the overstrained engine and the high whine of the gearboxes, feeling the seat pitch around as the tight shoulder and lap belts yank her around with it, aware of the Bronco speeding toward her from behind and everything it means.
She’s not sure whether the screaming is Ellen’s or her own.
Impact. Ellen is nearly torn from her grasp. A great rending racket all around her-compound of tearing metal and crunching glass and screeching friction. She knows only a desperate need to keep her foot jammed down on the throttle. She’s got the fingers of her right hand locked around the wheel and for a moment the pressure of her own weight is so great that she’s sure either the wheel will shatter or her arm must break. The seat is lurching, turning, tipping to the side. She blinks and tries to see through squinted eyes; images flash but she has no clear idea of what’s happening; things jerk back and forth, there’s still the cry of the engine, the right side of the Jeep is up in the air somehow and it’s threatening to turn over and crush her but then it rights itself, slamming down, sliding off something, skidding sidewise before the wheels get purchase and the seat jerks forward violently enough to slam her skull back against the padded headrest.
The wheels are bumping on things now, spinning; the Jeep is bucking around like a wild horse and her foot slips off the gas pedal. Instantly everything calms down.
A tree looms straight ahead. She pulls the wheel to the right and feels around with her foot for the pedal. The Jeep obeys: a slow turn to the right, a grinding climb past the big tree.
“Ellen-Ellen darling-we made it through!”