It was so icy we almost cancelled the trip. We got to where Kentucky gives over to Tennessee, then the brakes went out on the way down Jellico Mountain. Sam tried to keep it on the road, but we gained momentum and lifted off on a curve he couldn’t negotiate. The car spun. It banged into limestone outcroppings, shot through evergreen trees. Sam’s ride landed roof-side down, dangling part way off a precipice. Balanced on a boulder as fulcrum, wavering.
I flickered unconscious, but before long heard the siren of an approaching ambulance. The car held still. I thought maybe we would not die after all.
A man and a woman in uniform ran up to the side window. They had clipboards and briefcases and stacks of file folders in hand.
My buddy Curtis moaned in the back seat, not forming words exactly. Sam was bleeding all over himself. I couldn’t think of the name of the President of the United States.
“Oh, thank God! You’re here! I thought we were going to bite it before help arrived.”
The woman said, “Be calm, sir. You’ve been in an accident. Relax, because we’re paralegals.”
Every time my head bounces off hard surfaces I’m capable of hearing what people are saying wrong. I said, “You mean you’re paramedics?”
“No sir. The millage failed last year so the county cut the emergency paramedics from the budget.”
“You’re shitting me.”
Not at all, sir. We’re paralegals. The county lets us drive the ambulance since they already paid it off. We aren’t qualified to treat injured people though. No can do.”
“Against regulations,” the man chimed in. “Ix-nay.”
“Insane,” I said, because, well, it is. “At least undo our belts and help us out of here.”
“Sir, we would be subject to liability if we touched you.”
“Or the vehicle,” the man added, keeping in the conversation.
“Right, she said, “Or the vehicle. Which, by the by, from this vantage point looks prrrretty likely to fall allllll the way down into Jellico there.”
“Well then do something!”
“Absolutely,” she said. We’ll take your deposition, your description of events preceding the accident. Any mitigating issues you’d like documented. We have forms to fill out.”
“Legal forms,” the man leans in and adds.
The woman picks it back up. “We’ll help determine if your accident reflects negligence on the part of the Tennessee Highway Department. We’re well versed in that kind of thing.”
“Bad tires are a biggie,” the man said, “But yours look good. You know, considering. So…”
The woman retook the lead, “Do you have a personal property rider on your auto policy? Because half of what you had in that car is scattered on the rocks down there. We could help you file a claim.”
Curtis in the back seat jerked and shook and he doesn’t have epilepsy. Sam dripped the white roof-liner dark rose. I felt a powerful urge to nap first and solve the problem later. I was nearly too lightheaded to hang in there. The seat belt cut deep.
The car shifted and yeah, I soiled myself. I’m not going to lie about that.
The paralegals jumped back to safer ground. The man called out, “Good luck, guys!”
It popped into my head: what kind of ass-hat county won’t pay for paramedics?
The woman called from the other side of the guard rail, “Let’s skip most of our questionnaire. Time is precious. What do you think caused the accident?”
“The break lines failed. Sam had nothing when we passed the peak. He tried to slow down.”
“That’s fantastic!”
“I’m sorry? What?” I said.
She said, “Which model year is this vehicle?”
I said, “It’s the bleeding-out guy’s car, not mine. But I think it’s a 2005.”
“Perfect,” The man interjected.
The woman said, “That vehicle is part of a huge recall. The manufacturer installed faulty braking systems. If you live through this, they may be responsible for a portion of your medical bills.”
“Plus this,” said the man, “Should the car not be totaled out but be deemed repairable, the car company would cover the brake system portion of your repair bill.”
The woman qualified that, “Provided you first obtain three reasonable written estimates from certified mechanics.”
The car tilted more, toward the valley below. Sam slipped part way from his seat belt, still unconscious. A big bubble of darker blood, the un-oxygenated, shot from his mouth, out the window. It fell and fell.
“Please, please do something!” I implored them again. “Help a human being.”
“If you die,” the man said, “We will talk to your next of kin about a civil suit against the carmaker. It should be a slam dunk for a decent attorney. I’m not supposed to do it, but I could suggest a few names.”
And that’s the deus ex machine type moment when a van-load of stoned and/or drunk hipsters stopped for us from outside the bounds of the existing story. It was an unearned convenience to say the least, but we were in a bad way otherwise.
They tied ropes to the guard rail so the car didn’t fall. They saved our lives. They definitely saved Sam’s at the last minute, at the risk of losing their own. Even though they were hipsters. They cut off our belts and hauled us out of there to safety.
I’m voting Yes on the next millage. Count on that. Affirmative.
TODD MERCER won the Dyer-Ives Kent County Prize for Poetry (2016), the National Writers Series Poetry Prize (2016) and the Grand Rapids Festival Flash Fiction Award (2015). His digital chapbook, Life-wish Maintenance, appeared at Right Hand Pointing. Mercer’s recent poetry and fiction appear in 100 Word Story, Bartleby Snopes, Flash Fiction Magazine, Fried Chicken and Coffee, The Lake, Liars’ League NYC, Literary Orphans, The Magnolia Review, Postcard Shorts, Softblow Journal, Split Lip Magazineand Star 82 Review.
–Art by Ashley Holloway