The car hood is crushed. I can count the wrinkles in the metal. The flames are spreading. I pulled to the other side of the road and stepped out. The windows are filled with smoke, and I can't see anyone inside. I hit the 9-1-1 on my phone and started talking to the dispatcher. In the middle of the conversation, I hear it.

COUGH COUGH

It was frail. Their lungs don't have room for oxygen as the smoke forces its way in. Someone is still in the car, and the fire is spreading. Do I jump in, or do I wait? I can be burned alive or scarred. Someone can die, though. Someone will die. I can't think as my chest grows heavy. I hear the dispatcher calling for me, and I hear another cough. I need to move.

The next sound I hear is my feet hitting the asphalt as I sprint forward. I reach into my fanny pack and squeeze the ball. The glow shines between my fingers as I hear the ticks of the timer starting. The flames stop, their heat fading. I grab the door as I feel my hands burn on contact. It's stuck or locked; I can't get inside either way. Light bleeds between the zipper of the fanny pack. I unzip it, and the Z-Caliber shines. I have no idea why, but it gives me an idea.

I stab the blade in between the door and push. My grip tightens as I push my body weight on the handle. The metal of the door creaks as it pries the door open. The ticking is louder and louder. The timer is almost up. I lean back and then push forward, putting my whole weight on the blade. There is a loud snap while the door flings open. I hold up my sword to see if it is intact without a single blemish.

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The snap came from the door. I swung it open. With the ticks of the ball beating like a hummingbird, letting me know I didn't have much time left, I used the blade to cut the driver's seat belt. I checked, and they were the only ones in the car- a 60-year-old woman with short white hair and a light complexion.

I pick her up and hear the ticks are gone. The heat of the fire rages as I see it spread all over the front of the car. I pick the lady up and sprint to my car. I place her in the passenger seat. The red streak glides down her face, from her hair to her cheek.

I check for her breathing, and I can feel her exhale and a voice from my pocket. The emergency dispatcher is on the line. I place the phone to my ear, but before a word, a force slams onto my back. My ears are hit with the loud BOOM of the explosion behind me. Shrapnel from the car pierces the side of mine and cuts my tricep and calf, but luckily, nothing else. None touched the old woman as I used my body to shield hers.

Red and blue lights stab through the blaze's light. In the distance, I can hear the ambulance. My arms are on the hood of my car, and I lean against the open doorway as she rests. The people's voices are muffled, and my vision is getting blurry.

I keep standing. I don't know why. It's not like I am preventing anything from happening to the old lady. Still, I want to stand, so I do. Once I feel a paramedic place their hands on me, my body gives out, and everything goes black.