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unconscious. From what I can tell, she’s the only passenger. I was afraid to move her or the car,” I ramble over the roar of the rain, still falling in buckets from the sky.
    “You did good,” he yells back.
    I step back out of the way and let them go to work. My phone vibrates in my pocket.
    Stephanie.
    She’s just going to have to wait.
    I stay rooted to the spot on the hillside just in case they need another hand. I watch as the firemen join us and survey the car, assessing the risk while they nod and use hand signals. They must say that all is safe, because they immediately get to work on trying to pry the door open. The paramedics are close by, waiting to get to their patient.
    I don’t move a muscle; I stand in my spot, soaking wet and wait to see if she’s okay. I wish I could have done more. I make a vow to at least get my CPR certification. What could I have really done if she were awake, or if I had to try and drag her out of the car if there was more imminent danger?
    My phone vibrates again, and I continue to ignore it.
    My eyes are glued to the scene in front of me. I watch as the door—which will only open a fraction—is cut away from the car. The firemen are working carefully yet diligently. As soon as the door is removed, one of the men picks it up and throws it toward the rear of the car. I’m sure they’re operating on pure adrenaline; it’s their job to get to her as quickly as possible. You see this in the movies, hear about it on the news, but to be here and witness the determination and dedication these men and women have is awe-inspiring.
    The paramedics swoop in and check on the driver. I see now that one of them is in the passenger seat. I guess that door opened just fine. Everyone works together assessing the situation. When they yell for the stretcher, my heartbeat accelerates. Is she going to be okay? Can they get her out? Do they have to cut her out? A million questions are running through my head, but I still keep my eyes glued to the car. To her. I need to see that she’s okay.
    Minutes, hours—I’ve lost track of time. It’s not until I see them slowly and ever so gently lift her from the car and place her on the stretcher that I feel myself take a deep breath. From the ache in my chest, it’s as if it’s the first in a while.
    The paramedics work on strapping her down. A fireman throws a big blanket over her body, followed by what looks like a tarp, an attempt to keep her dry in this torrential downpour. Mother Nature is relentless tonight. Tears from Heaven, as my mother always says.
    Four of them flank each corner of the stretcher and begin the slow, slippery trek up hill to the ambulance. In the dark of night, I lose sight of them until they reach the headlight beams.
    “Hey, man, are you good? You hurt?” One of the guys lays a hesitant hand on my shoulder.
    I shake my head. “No, I just stopped to help,” I try to explain.
    He nods, letting me know he heard me. This rain makes it damn difficult to have a normal conversation.
    Turning, he heads toward the car. Reaching inside, he pulls out a bag.
    Her purse.
    What if she wakes up in the hospital all alone? How long will it take her family to get here? She’s going to be scared. It’s that thought that has me climbing the hill. I’ll go to the hospital and just make sure she’s okay, that she’s not alone. I’ll wait until her family arrives. Maybe I can answer any questions she might have. I can at least fill her in from the point that I found her in her car.
    At the top of the hill, they already have her loaded in the ambulance. I’m headed that way when the sheriff stops me.
    “Excuse me, sir, do you know the victim?” he questions.
    “No. I was driving by and saw the headlights over the embankment,” I explain.
    He nods. “I’m going to have a few questions.” He looks up at the rain still falling from the sky. “Can you come down to the station?”
    “No. I’m following them to the