“No, I have to go, the scanner says it’s a fatality!”, I said, abruptly ending the argument and hanging up the phone.
When I arrived at the accident, my heart was pumping. This time I would remember to use my flash and triple check exposure, not like that fire with two fatalities last time.
The scene was a tangle of twisted metal, a two car collision. A late 80s Burgundy Ford Escape t-boned an early 90s Pontiac Grand Prix, the kind with the squared off back glass. I quickly moved to the front of the Ford. Several Firemen wielded a giant saw, cutting the frame away to free the lady driver. Her screams still audible over the deafening squeal of the saw.
I worked my way closer to the driver, checking exposure and focusing on her face. Her pain and fear contorted it, demonstrating the agony of having a car engine crush your legs. Just as the flash triggered and the shutter opened, a Fireman touched me.
“You’re standing in gasoline.” he said casually. “Try not to smoke. But you can stay there.”