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And now that she realizes it, she’s terrified Robbie is going to take away her chance to do something about it.
With her fists around the steering wheel and the car humming under her, Charlie stares at the bridge over the ravine. In that moment, she understands that she’s in charge of her own destiny.
She’s Ellen Ripley.
She’s Laurie Strode.
She’s Clarice Starling.
She’s ThelmaandLouise, kicking up dirt in a final fuck-you as they choose freedom over life.
Their choice. No one else’s.
Now it’s Charlie doing the choosing. Robbie can’t be the one in control.
She reaches for her seat belt, pulls it across her chest, snaps it into place.
She takes a deep breath.
Then she slams the gas pedal against the floor.
The Volvo streaks toward the bridge, shuddering, out of control. Tires screaming. Engine screaming. Robbie screaming. All of it blending into a single scream that’s part human, part machine.
The car thumps onto the bridge, roaring over it.
Halfway across, Charlie yanks the wheel to the right and the Volvo careens toward the bridge’s wooden railing.
A second later, the car smashes through it.
Wood scrapes against metal. An earsplitting friction.
The bridge beneath the tires disappears and the car seems to take flight, although Charlie knows that what it’s really doing is falling.
Arcing over off the bridge and crashing toward the water below.
Charlie lurches forward, her chest pinned against the steering wheel a moment before she’s jerked backward by the seat belt.
Robbie, on the other hand, is thrown like a rag doll against the dashboard.
When the car hits the water, Charlie’s head snaps against the back of the seat. The impact sends a shudder through her body. And as a rush of water engulfs the car, a wave of darkness does the same to Charlie until both she and the car sink beneath it.
INT. VOLVO—NIGHT
Water on the windshield.
That’s what Charlie sees as she regains consciousness.
A line of it runs right across the glass. Above it is night sky and streaks of stars. Below is murky water illuminated by the Volvo’s headlights. Charlie guesses it’s about fifteen feet deep and that the Volvo, pitched forward, will be reaching the bottom sooner rather than later. Water gushes into the car from below, already up to her lap.
Charlie looks to the passenger seat.
Robbie’s still there, wide awake and watching. The slam against the dashboard has left him bruised and bleeding. A large red mark covers half of his face. Blood trickles from his right nostril.
“Is this what you wanted?” he says. “To kill us both?”
“No,” Charlie says. “Just you.”
She unhooks her seat belt, not worried about getting out of the car. She knows what to do. Wait until it fills completely with water, which alters the pressure against the side of the car, then open the door and swim out.