What Kind of Help?

"Who exactly do you think is here?" I ask. Olivia ceases waving her arms for a moment. "Help is here?" "Who?" "That car." As soon as the words leave her mouth she realizes that the car is probably no friend we want to wave down. Unfortunately, it is too late. We are caught by blinding headlights. We hear small trees snap and break under the weight of the speeding car. Olivia grabs my hand and she screams "Run."