Delaney whipped her head around.
Genevieve was lying on the other side of the cabin. She was pinned. A piece of the carriage door—a sharp, jagged plank of wood—had shattered inward.
It had impaled her leg, pinning her to the wreckage. The blood was dark and flowing fast, pooling on the velvet cushions.
Delaney gasped. She rushed to her mother's side.
"Mama!" Delaney sobbed. "Mama, you're hurt!"
Genevieve's face was gray. Her breathing was shallow and ragged, a wet rasping sound. She looked at Delaney, her eyes struggling to focus.
"Don't worry, Mama," Delaney said frantically. She grabbed her mother's hand. "I'll find help. I'll find help for you and Papa."
She looked at the door above them. It was broken, hanging by one hinge.
Delaney stood on a suitcase. She pushed the door open.
The rain beat her instantly. It was freezing.
"Help!" Delaney screamed into the night. Her voice was tiny against the roar of the wind.
"Someone please help us!"
