A gray car was speeding down highway A15, well beyond the authorized maximum speed, dangerously weaving between the other moving vehicles. Behind it, another car was also speeding, but maintaining a certain distance between them. The siren blared as a young gendarme with a café-au-lait complexion accurately described their progress via radio to her colleagues nearby.

Karima Ali was doing her best to appear calm, but in reality, she was worried. Strangely, it wasn't the ongoing pursuit that occupied her mind, as she had seen dozens of cases like this, even though her career could be considered short. She was waiting for a very important letter that would announce whether she had passed her exam to become an officer in the gendarmerie. She truly didn't know if she had passed. It was her second attempt, and for her, it had to be the right one. It had to be the right one if she wanted to move up. Above all, she needed this exam to skip a few ranks and gain a few years.

"She's turning," exclaimed the driver, whose concentration was at its peak.

"He's crazy! At that speed..." Karima didn't have time to finish her sentence before she saw the fleeing vehicle crash. At such a speed, it only took a slight deviation to lose control of the car.

"Damn it! There it is! Central, do you copy? The gray Porsche registered **-432-** that we were pursuing has crashed at the exit junction to join N184, heading towards Conflans. The vehicle is immobilized. Request reinforcements and an ambulance. And a tow truck. Thank you.

"Received," a male voice replied over the radio.

Karima stepped out of the navy blue gendarmerie car, a fairly recent model with enough power for this kind of situation, and cautiously approached the pretty gray car, which looked to be in bad shape. It now resembled a toy put through a blender since it had bounced four times on the left safety barrier and the concrete barrier on the other side of the road. One of the front wheels had even been torn off and continued to roll for a few dozen meters. The driver was still inside, visibly dazed.

"We need to act fast," Karima evaluated, "because we're on a busy highway exit, in a curve, and there's only room for one vehicle. We might have another accident!"

Not knowing what to expect, the young woman drew her service weapon.

"Get out of the vehicle! Hands visible!" she ordered firmly to the driver.

"I-I hurt my legs," he moaned from his seat in a trembling voice.

"Get out of the vehicle," she repeated authoritatively, hoping not to have to forcibly remove the delinquent.

Karima stepped further onto the asphalt, her boots crunching on the glass shards. As she had been taught and as she had done many times since putting on the uniform, she meticulously handcuffed the shocked and slightly injured driver, despite the violence of the accident.

The pursuit had been going on for a while. Initially, the offense was minor: a simple speeding violation. But the man had refused to stop to receive a fine and had suddenly accelerated to escape the gendarmerie. Speeding had thus become a hit-and-run, which was much more serious. Not to mention all the traffic violations accumulated during the escape.

The young gendarme couldn't help but think of all the risks this man had taken and all the lives he had endangered to escape the consequences of his actions. It was ridiculous. Unfortunately, this situation happened practically every day. Karima didn't let herself be discouraged by the man's words and actions and placed him in the back of the car. As for the Porsche, it would be removed later by a professional.

While her colleagues were in contact with the national gendarmerie offices, Karima positioned herself higher up on the exit to signal its closure. The cars passed by like rockets in front of her and disappeared in a second. Everyone here was driving at the maximum authorized speed, which was 80 miles/h (130 km/h). A colleague took her place, and she returned to the navy blue gendarmerie car, which had "Gendarmerie" written on it in large letters. The spinning lights of the flashing beacons could be seen from afar, but one had to remain cautious.

As one of Karima's teammates exchanged information with a colleague over the radio, the sound suddenly deteriorated before being cut off. The blue lights on the roof of the car did the same. Even the engine had stopped running.

Suddenly, everything became very quiet in a matter of seconds around the still nervous team of gendarmes.

Karima looked up and saw beyond the metal barrier and a high embankment all the cars on the highway slowing down and coming to a stop. Some drivers had panicked upon realizing that they were losing control of their vehicle and had ended up crashing into the safety barriers or another car. Others had braked, which was the best thing to do here if you wanted to cause an accident with the following vehicle. Several cars collided before coming to a complete stop in the middle of the highway.

Karima took a few steps, her eyes wide, and observed without understanding the surreal scene unfolding before her. It was as if Allah had decided to pause the world. Quickly, the deafening silence that had settled on the highway was replaced by moans and curses.

It took a few seconds for Karima to snap out of her stupor. She then regained awareness of her identity and role. Despite the thousands of questions that appeared one by one in her confused mind, she began to give orders since she was the highest-ranked in this crew.

"Fred, come with me! Greg, call central. Tell them... that many accidents involving a large number of vehicles have occurred between the A15 and the N184. Request additional ambulances and firefighters to help them.

"My adjudant-chef," exclaimed Greg from the front right door of their car. "No one is responding! The radio is out!"

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"What? Well, call the lieutenant or the captain with your cell phone, then," Karima replied with a growing sense of frustration.

"Yes! Oh, my phone won't turn on! Do I have no battery left?"

"Can't you be a little more careful?! Forget it," she said, sighing. "I'll call them with mine."

Karima quickly pulled out her small flip phone, but was surprised to find that the screen remained off. Normally, simply opening it would take it out of "standby" mode. She would then see the home page with a very low-quality photo of her and her mother in a green park as the background. She pressed several buttons, but nothing happened. She turned to Fred, a tall, well-built man with a completely shaved head who seemed to be in his thirties but was actually five years younger than her.

"Fred? Is your phone working?"

"Um, no. But there was at least 70% battery left earlier," he replied, looking perplexed.

The three gendarmes didn't understand what was happening. It was too strange, and naturally, they hadn't been told anything about this kind of situation. Karima wondered what a gendarmerie officer would do.

"All right! We'll try again later. For now, let's help everyone who needs it. Greg, go check the green minivan, Fred will handle the white 208, and I'll see the driver of the green apple Punto. Go!

"Understood!"

The three gendarmes immediately went into action, dispersing to help the injured. Karima ran towards a small car that had crashed into the back of a semi-truck. The front was bent, or rather, crushed. There couldn't be much room left for the engine and the battery inside. The driver was a young woman in her twenties, around the same age as the policewoman.

"Madam, are you okay? I'm a gendarme.

"Ah... My head hurts."

No wonder! She's bleeding! Her head must have hit the steering wheel. Hmm, the airbags didn't deploy.

"Are you okay, madam? Do you hurt anywhere else? Your neck, arms, legs?" Karima asked in a reassuring voice.

"My l-legs. My legs hurt. And my neck, too."

"Okay. I'll try to get you out of here. Are you alone in the vehicle?"

"Yes."

Karima pulled on the driver's side handle, but nothing happened. It was like it was stuck. She went around the small car and tried the other side with no more success.

"Madam, your doors are locked. Can you unlock them?"

"I'll try."

The young woman pulled on the interior handle of the door, but nothing changed.

"I... I'm sorry. It's not working."

"It's okay. I'll do it differently. Do you authorize me to break a window? We'll try to evacuate you through there."

"Do as you want. Anyway, my car is dead. Damn it, I'm going to be killed by my mother."

Karima went to the trunk of her car, which remained open, and grabbed a tool to safely break a window, then ran back to the small Fiat Punto. She took a quick look at her colleagues, who seemed to be facing the same problems as her. Carefully, she smashed the window on the passenger side and reached into the car to try to open the door from the inside, with little success. The car was completely locked.

"Madam, I'll try another way. We'll go through the windshield.

"O-okay."

It was delicate, as they didn't want to hurt the already badly injured young driver more. With caution, Karima struck the glass in a corner opposite to the young woman. Since the shock had already weakened the glass, it didn't take long to make a hole. With delicacy, Karima widened the hole until there was little or no more glass left at the front. She passed one leg through the gaping hole, then the rest of her body.

As she finished sliding inside the car, Karima felt a massive shadow pass over her at great speed. Instinctively looking up, she was surprised to see a huge plane flying at very low altitude in complete silence. Normally, such planes would roar and could be heard from afar, but this one seemed to glide in the sky like a ghost. That's why she hadn't seen it coming until the last moment.

Karima stood frozen in place like a statue as the plane continued its descent to the northwest, passing over a large inhabited area. Finally, the huge airliner crashed somewhere behind the tall trees surrounding the highway. The ground trembled briefly, and a gigantic ball of fire and black smoke rose into the blue sky.

"Oh no," murmured Karima with a strangled, unrecognizable voice that seemed to come from the depths of a cave.

Karima felt all her strength leave her. Her head spun as if she had ended up in a hellish carousel, her ears rang, and a ball of anxiety formed in her stomach. Managing a road accident was one thing, managing twenty road accidents was another, but a plane crash was on a whole other level. There was too much to do, and she didn't know where to start. It was too many missions at once!

Focus! Focus on what you're doing, Karima! You can't help everyone at once! Trying to help everyone, you might end up helping no one!

"M-madam, I'll... get you out of there! I'm coming," the young woman announced with difficulty to the attention of the driver with a livid face.

The young victim didn't say anything. She was in shock, and seeing this plane pass so close to her car to crash a little further away hadn't helped matters. Her gaze was fixed on the imposing column of black smoke rising in the distance. Tears flowed down her cheeks, taking some makeup with them. Her misty eyes slowly rested on this young gendarme with dark skin and very curly black hair who was doing her best to help. She estimated that they were about the same age, but unlike her, she seemed very brave.

Despite the very strong agitation around her, Karima managed to do her job and unbuckle the belt of the young woman. She then moved the driver's seat back to give more space to her legs. They were long and slender, perfect legs according to Karima. Despite the blood staining her face and the top of her t-shirt, she could clearly see that she was very beautiful. She noticed on the seat a black bag containing a smoking laptop and some math books scattered everywhere in the cabin with handwritten notes. She deduced that the person she was trying to rescue was a math student or something like that.

"I'm going to try to move your legs. Tell me immediately if it hurts, okay?

"Y-yes," replied the student in a trembling voice, afraid of being in pain.

With the greatest delicacy, the young gendarme took hold of the driver's legs and moved them aside, sliding them over the handbrake and gear lever. Her voice was gentle, and her tone encouraging, which greatly reassured the student.

"That's very good! Well done!

"Thank you!

"Now, I'm going to help you get out through the windshield.

"Wait! My stuff! My computer!

"Don't worry. They won't fly away. I'll take care of you first, then your belongings. Okay?

"Okay.

"Good. On three. One, two... Three!

"Hurgh!

"Just a little more effort," encouraged the young policewoman. "There! We did it!"

With one final effort, Karima slid with the student onto what was left of the hood of the small car and guided her to the roadside of the national road. Several people were already gathered there, while others were helping the victims. Like Karima and her colleagues, they had been forced to break their own car to get out. Obviously, between being stuck in your car and breaking a window to escape, the choice was easy. Some still seemed hesitant. In these cases, they needed to be convinced. Karima forced a few doors to rescue the unfortunate drivers.

Greg, the gendarme with the soft Caribbean accent, approached his superior, running a trembling hand over his mouth, obviously shaken by the magnitude of the disaster.

"My chief warrant officer, we still can't reach the barracks. What do we do?

"We're going to the crash site, of course! There must be many injured people! Maybe we'll find other gendarmes there, and maybe we can use their radio!

"Understood!"