Ethan stared off into the distance. The movement resolved itself and it became clear that there were two forms approaching the car: One female, one male. He hit the steering wheel in futility. “The happy couple. Time to exchange insurance information,” he resignedly announced.
“Where are we?” Stace asked.
Ethan thought for a second. “I don’t know,” he finally responded. He hunted around the Sable for the GPS device that his parents had purchased, finding it buried within the remnants of his airbag. It showed a blank screen. “TripStar’s a fail,” he remarked, toying around with it. He exclaimed as it winked to life—all the other functions were intact; there was just no map. “Looks like we lost sync lock.”
It was at this point that he noticed that the car’s front end was puzzlingly intact, almost undamaged, and that some sort of foam had been expelled from the car they had hit. Presumably that had absorbed the force of the blow.
The man and the woman were closer now. Ethan got out of the car.
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