A bullet hits Chen in the leg. Bingo! Well played, Newly Adequate Psycho. Well played indeed. She wails. The Buick, apparently widening its vendetta, smacks into another car and then careens into the Chrysler Asshat, knocking it over the bridge. It executes a perfect triple twist but lands in the water with a mighty splash; the score is a 5.7, but it would've been a tad higher if the German and Japanese judges hadn't spitefully marked off points in a fit of engineering arrogance. "Oh God," Chen groans, awfully inconvenienced by all of this. She reckons she's broken a rib. Pratt rubs his head, wincing. He immediately starts to look for ways out of the car, but they've got a problem: Fry Cook can't feel his legs, and he's three hundred pounds of hamburger, so that's not going to be an easy carry-out. Pratt frowns. "Take my hand," he says. Fry Cook tries, but he can't squeeze Pratt's fingers. "Kid might have a cervical cord injury," Pratt says quietly. Chen can't think of anything reassuring to say, and she certainly doesn't want the kid with the worse injury to steal her limelight, so she whimpers, "Aaaaaah, my leg." You know, it kind of sucks for the Chen character that TPTB put her parents in a crippling car accident and then shuffled her off a bridge in a Chrysler. Next they're going to harvest her eggs and just throw them out on the highway during rush hour.
While Pratt picks around at Chen's bullet wound -- he discovers, shockingly, that it's bleeding -- Chen calls 911. "I'm getting wet," Fry Cook mumbles. Sure enough, water is seeping into the car. Pratt grabs the phone and barks, "There's three of us in here. Hurry, we're sinking." Fry Cook, sprawled across the back seat and immobile, sputters pathetically that he doesn't want to die. Just for once I wish that during a disaster one character would be like, "I am stoked. Death would be a sweet release." We smash into the credits feeling like it's going to be a long season.
When we come back, the car is still in the river. "It's getting deeper," Fry Cook breathes, speaking of the water level in the back seat. Pratt is more concerned with freeing Chen from her seatbelt. O mighty seatbelt! Truly you are a titan -- a vehicular prison warden not to be bypassed. Chen, of course, whines a lot about the pain and the seatbelt and the blah blah blah, and then sucks it up and gets free anyway. Once Chen is safely out of the seatbelt's greedy cloth claws, Pratt is cruelly forced to pay heed to someone from whom he's unlikely to get any gratitude sex. "How come I can't move?" Fry Cook asks. Pratt tells him that he may have broken his neck. The car shudders suddenly and changes angles; Pratt -- Mr. Physics all of a sudden -- explains that the weight of the engine always takes the front of a car down first. Chrysler executives everywhere are scratching their heads to try and come up with advertising strategies to combat "sinks like a brick." And at least one person is designing Floaties for the wing mirrors.