Keeper of the Song

Chapter 2

A/N: From here on will be in Hannah's POV.

The car came to a crashing stop, at the edge of a hill above a river, as I found out later. I was trapped beneath my seat, which had come out from the floor as the car flipped. Still buckled, my situation was very uncomfortable. I did not know how l could bear my position.
I could not see my parents, nor could I hear any sound from either of them.
"Mama? Papa?" I asked, my voice quivering. No response. Were they. dead?

"Help!" I screamed with all my might. My only hope was that someone would be nearby, who could help us. Most of all, I hoped that they could save my parents, the dearest people in all the world to me.

After what seemed like ages, I heard footsteps outside the car, and men's voices. I could only make out a few words, but from what I heard, they obviously did not believe there to be any survivors in the wreck.
After a moment, I heard their footsteps again, and knew they were going away. They did not hear me, and we had no hope of rescue, unless I could bring them back. Summoning all the breath I had left in me, I cried, "Please help!"
"Did you hear someone call?" I heard one of the men ask.
"Yes," came the reply. "I think I did." and, to my great relief, I heard them re-approaching the wreck.
"I can't get the door open," said the first voice. "It's smashed in."
"Then break the window!" the second man ordered. "And be quick, too: someone may be dying in there."
I heard the sound of glass shattering, and I cowered instinctively under my seat, though I knew the glass could not reach me there. The sound of breaking glass has always terrified me.
Finally, the noise ceased, and I heard one of the men enter the car through the window.
"A woman and a man," the he told the man outside. "They're dead."
The last word seemed to pierce my heart. They're dead, and it's all my fault, I told myself. If I had not made papa look away from the road, they would still be alive.
"No use staying around, then," the man outside replied with a sigh. "We'll come back tomorrow, with help, with help to get them out. Come on."
"Help," I whispered. I was too weak; my head felt fuzzy, and I could no longer shout. I knew that, if they did not hear me, they would leave me. I would never come out alive. In one final, desperate effort, I lifted my arm, and pounded with all the strength I still commanded, on the seat which lay on top of me. It was all I could do, and it sounded so feeble; only a light tapping. They cannot hear. They cannot hear me.... My thoughts trailed off, and I became unconscious.