van scene

I saw several things simultaneously. Nothing was moving in slow
motion, the way it does in the movies. Instead, the adrenaline rush seemed
to make my brain work faster, and I was able to absorb in clear detail a
few things all at once.
Edythe Cullen was standing four cars down from me, mouth open in
horror. Her face stood out from a sea of faces, all frozen in the same mask
of shock. Also, a dark blue van was skidding, tires locked and squealing
against the brakes, spinning wildly across the ice of the parking lot. It was
going to hit the back corner of my truck, and I was standing between them.
I didn’t even have time to close my eyes.
Just before I heard the shattering crunch of the van folding around the
truck bed, something hit me, hard, but not from the direction I was
expecting. My head cracked against the icy blacktop, and I felt something
solid and cold pinning me to the ground. I realized I was lying on the
pavement behind the tan car I’d parked next to. But I didn’t have a chance
to notice anything else, because the van was still coming. It had curled
gratingly around the end of the truck and, still spinning and sliding, was
about to collide with me again.
“Come on!” She said the words so quickly I almost missed them, but
the voice was impossible not to recognize.
Two thin, white hands shot out in front of me, and the van shuddered to
a stop a foot from my face, her pale hands fitting exactly into a deep dent
in the side of the van’s body.
Then her hands moved so fast they blurred. One was suddenly gripping
under the body of the van, and something was dragging me, swinging my
legs around like a rag doll’s, till they hit the tire of the tan car. There was a
groaning metallic thud so loud it hurt my ears, and the van settled, glass
popping, onto the asphalt—exactly where, a second ago, my legs had been.

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