Dzinski was almost halfway across the bridge, driving slow, with an almost empty bottle held between his knees, listening to a man croon about lost love on the radio. Bright lights, squealing brakes. Then the impact. He fell against the steering wheel.
He woke up. Taste of blood. Sharp pain in his chest. Everything was bright. Unnatural. He slid out, wincing, and moved on shaking legs back towards the other car, shielding his eyes with one hand, as the other rolled comfortably into a fist.
It was empty. He turned away, stunned just as something big hit the river below.