“Stay where you are,” says Noah, squeezing Rachel’s hand. “Help is on the way.”
Rachel nods as he leaves and she looks around, trying to match the bloodied outfits that just a few seconds ago had looked so glamorous to their owners.
A man, just a few meters away from her, groans as he comes round. Seeing the color of his trousers, and having made the observation earlier that it was only Will and Jack in dark suits, Rachel goes to get up, desperate to get to him. But she screams in pain as her leg buckles beneath her and she falls heavily to the ground.
“Jack!” she says, wanting to shout, but forcing herself to stay calm. He looks to be a minute or two behind her and she wants to give him the same moment she gave herself, to feel for what hurts and assimilate what has just happened.
As Jack rolls himself over, Rachel has to stop herself from recoiling in shock. One half of his face is covered in blood; the flesh that normally covers his cheekbone is flapping and his front teeth look to have gone through his bottom lip.
“Don’t move,” says Rachel, using her arms to drag herself along the floor toward him. “I’m here and help is on its way.”
He groans. “Please,” says Rachel. “Please don’t try to talk. You’re going to be okay. I promise.”
Those that had been floored by sheer terror and shock begin to stand, as if not quite believing they can. They pat themselves down and sob as they hug one another, the adrenaline that had coursed through them just seconds before now dissipated, leaving them drained and emotional.
“Paige!” calls out Noah, as he moves ever more frantically around the terrace, turning people to face him, as if he wouldn’t recognize his wife from behind. “Paige!”
“Aqui, bebe um pouco de água,” says a man kneeling down next to Rachel. She gratefully takes the bottle of water that he’s offering.
Blue flashing lights descend down the hill, the noise of the sirens piercing the eerily quiet atmosphere. As men in red jackets, with Bombeiros written across their chest, race onto the devastating scene, Will breathlessly explains in broken Portuguese what happened. It’s only as he uses his raised hand to describe the car going off the terrace and into the sea that Rachel acknowledges that if the car is now underwater, so is whoever might be in it.
Rachel looks out to the black thrashing ocean, which offers up no clue whatsoever to what’s just happened. A chill rushes through her as she imagines the submerged vehicle sitting on the seabed, the water rising second by second as the driver thrashes to get out. It would be impossible to see, the cold and the dark so disorienting that even if the car had landed the right way up, you’d never know it.
No, Rachel tries to convince herself: it was a runaway, it had slipped off its handbrake and come hurtling toward them in a million-to-one freak accident. It couldn’t have had a driver because that means that person is still in there.
“Paige!” calls out Noah again, increasingly desperate.
“Precisamos de saber quem está presente,” says the bombeiro.
Will rakes a hand through his hair. “Yes, I can give you the guest list, but we need ambulances. My wife…” His shoulders collapse as he kneels over Ali, lying motionless on the ground. “My wife is unconscious … inconsciente.”
“Okay, okay,” says the bombeiro, issuing instructions to his crew and gesticulating toward the sea.
“Jack,” says Rachel, pulling herself up beside him. “Can you hear me?”
Jack groans as he slowly brings one hand up to his other arm.
“I’m here, Jack,” she says. “But please try not to move, okay?” Relief floods through her as she looks up to see men carrying stretchers running down the hill toward them. “The ambulances are here, but you must stay still.”
He makes an inaudible noise that sounds like he’s gargling blood.
From the shocked stillness of just a few minutes ago, there is now a palpable sense of panic. For every limp body that is on the floor, there is someone by their side, comforting them. But then Rachel catches sight of a shoeless foot, twisted at an unnatural angle, with no one there to show they care.
“Chrissy!” she breathes, then calls out to the men in hi-vis jackets. “Hey! Over here.” She crawls toward Chrissy, dragging herself along on her elbows, like an enemy in combat. “It’s okay,” she says, grimacing as the pain in her leg shoots through her consciousness. “Chrissy, it’s Rachel. Can you hear me?” There isn’t even a flicker of movement and Rachel cries out, unable to help herself. “Chrissy, stay with me. Please, somebody! Over here!”