Just Now ·
Hold on. I’m looking at the wiring. It’s just a splice, right? We tape it. We insulate it. It’s a fifty-cent fix at the auto parts store. Why is it smoking? Why is the whole dash going dark? I’m telling you, it’s just bad solder. We just need a multimeter. Stop looking at me like that. It’s not a fire. It’s just a short.
The tape isn’t melting, it’s charring. Smell that? That’s not bad solder, that’s insulation cooking. The multimeter is dead in your hand, didn’t you notice the screen go black?
I’m not looking at you, I’m looking at the smoke. It’s thick. It’s coming from under the hood, not the dash. We are not taping this. Get the fire extinguisher out of the trunk before the fuse box gives up.
I am grabbing the trunk handle. It’s stuck. Why is it stuck? I’m yanking it. The smoke is getting into my eyes. It tastes like burnt plastic. I told you it was a splice. I told you we just needed tape. Why is the whole car reeking? I can’t get the latch. My hands are shaking, I can’t feel the metal. Is that the battery? Is that the battery casing?
Stop yanking the handle. It’s thermal expansion, probably. The latch mechanism is swelling.
No, that’s not the battery. That’s the HVAC ducting. It’s melting. The plastic is hitting the heater core.
Get out. Now. Do not touch the metal. Your hands are shaking because you’re in shock, not because it’s cold. The smoke is thick enough to see through. If you can’t see your own arm, you’re blind.
Kick the door. Don’t pull the handle. Kick it.
I’m kicking it. The panel caves in. The air hits my face and it’s scalding. I’m out. I’m standing on the asphalt. My shoes are smoking. I can see the whole engine bay is gone. It’s just black sludge and fire. I’m holding the multimeter. It’s dead. I’m holding a dead tool while my car dies. Why didn’t I just tape it? Why did I argue?
Put the multimeter down. It’s useless. It’s a piece of plastic now.
You didn’t argue. You panicked. The tape would have caught fire in ten seconds. You know that.
The asphalt is hot. Move. Get ten feet away. The tires are going to blow. You can hear the pressure dropping.
Don’t look at the engine. Look at your shoes. Are they smoking because of the heat or because the soles are melting? If they’re melting, take them off. Run barefoot if you have to.
The car is gone. It’s not a car anymore. It’s a pile of toxic ash. Stop holding the tool. Let it drop.
I dropped it. It’s in the grass. The soles are peeling off. I’m barefoot. The asphalt is like a hot skillet. I’m hopping. I’m on the sidewalk. My feet are red. I can’t feel my toes. I’m looking at the car. It’s just a black skeleton. I can’t see the grille. I can’t see the headlights. It’s just... gone. I still have the tape roll in my pocket.
The tape is useless. It’s ash.
Your feet are blistering. You can’t feel them because the nerve endings are dying. That’s not a good thing.
The tires haven’t popped yet. They’re charring. Listen to that hiss. It’s the coolant hitting the exhaust.
Get to the hydrant. It’s twenty yards down. Splash water on your feet. If the skin is white, that’s bad. If it’s red, that’s better.
Stop looking at the skeleton. It’s not a car. It’s a hazard. Someone’s going to walk into it.
I’m not coming back for it. The insurance won’t pay for a burned-out chassis. We’re done here.
I’m at the hydrant. The water is freezing. It stings. My feet look like raw meat. I’m holding my hands over the stream. The hiss is getting louder. The tires are swelling. I’m backing away. I’m on the street now. I can’t look. I keep looking. It’s just a black lump. I still have the tape in my pocket.
The tape is ash. It’s not tape anymore.
The tires aren’t swelling, they’re rupturing. Listen to the pressure escaping. It’s a whistle.
Your hands are white. That’s frostbite. Stop holding them under the stream. You’re freezing the damage in.
Move to the corner. The hydrant is for the fire department, not for you. You’re blocking the lane.
The car is a black lump because it’s finished. There’s nothing left to save. No grille, no lights, no engine. Just slag.
Why do you keep looking? It’s not going to change. The tape isn’t going to unburn it.
Your feet are raw because the asphalt was hot. That’s not a metaphor. That’s physics.
Get off the street. The next car coming down here isn’t going to stop for a burning wreck.
I’m on the corner. My hands are numb. I can’t feel my fingers. The whistle is getting higher. The tires are popping one by one. Thump. Thump. I’m hugging my knees. I’m breathing through my mouth. The air is thick. I’m waiting for the fire truck. I don’t know if they’re coming. I just know I’m here.
The whistle is the pressure dropping. That’s a good thing. It’s venting.
Your fingers are numb because the cold stopped the blood flow. That’s not permanent, probably. But you don’t know that yet.
The fire truck isn’t coming because you didn’t call them. You’re waiting for a miracle.
The air is thick because it’s full of particulate matter. Stop breathing through your mouth. Use a scarf if you have one.
You’re hugging your knees to keep the heat off your feet. That’s smart. But you’re also freezing your hands.
The car is dead. It’s not a car. It’s a pile of debris.
You’re here. That’s all you know. That’s enough.