At 4:03 a.m. Sunday, just minutes before the madness started, one crash on Interstate 75 seemed almost ordinary.
A silver Toyota heading south through the haze of smoke and fog slammed into the guardrail in the far-left lane. The driver of the car veered to the right, coming to a stop in the grass off the highway.
Nothing too serious; all of the passengers were safe. One woman called 911 to report the crash and request a tow truck. They were about three miles south of the Archer Road exit, and the call was calm and routine.
Three and a half minutes into the conversation, the Alachua County Sheriff's Office dispatcher prepared to hang up.
"I'm going to have to let you go," the dispatcher said. "We have a lot of lines ringing right now, but we do have help going out there with you, and-"
"Oh shit!" the caller interrupted. "Another crash. Oh my gosh."
In the 911 call released by the Sheriff's Office on Monday afternoon, the dispatcher pressed the woman for more information. It was across the median in the northbound lane, said the woman, whose name was edited out of the tape.
A truck was involved. Other than that, though, the woman couldn't give any more detail.
She could barely see her hand in front of her face, she said. And on a morning when nature blindfolded drivers — leaving 10 dead, 21 hospitalized and countless more lives forever changed — the woman on the phone could only rely on sound to paint the tragedy.
Her friend thought she heard a couple other crashes earlier. She wasn't sure, though. She knew she heard something.
Then, just as the dispatcher tried to hang up, the group heard a sharp, loud ping. The crash was undeniable. The woman on the phone started talking to someone else in the area. Fifty-six seconds later, another sharp noise, like an aluminum baseball bat connecting.
One minute, 24 seconds passed. The dispatcher asked how many people were injured. The woman cut her off: "Uh-oh. Uh-oh. Another one."
The dispatcher asked for details. The woman didn't know. The dispatcher asked if chemicals were involved. A loud pop.
"Another one," the woman told the dispatcher. "Oh my goodness. This is bad."
Crying filled the background. Fifty-five seconds later, another crash. The dispatcher asked another question. Fifteen seconds later, more screaming. Sixteen vehicles have now been involved, the woman told the dispatcher.
Fifteen more seconds. The woman said a car was approaching: "He's coming too fast. Here comes another one." Then, a smack.
All around the woman, firefighters and officers sifted through the sightless, according to an incident report. One person said the smell of fire permeated the air. Another man said his wife was in the back of his SUV and couldn't wake up.
Multiple vehicles were on fire. A friend was breathing but unconscious. A pickup truck was on top of a car.
All the while, the woman on the phone tried to remain steady. The dispatcher promised help was on the way. The dispatcher told her to encourage those wounded to sit comfortably.
"You are doing an amazing job," the dispatcher said.
The woman was calm until the end of the call, around 4:05 a.m. Her voice wavered, and she whispered one wish, barely audible over her breath.
"Slow down," she said. "Slow down. Slow down."
The view of Interstate 75 from an Alachua County Sheriff's Office vehicle at the time of the crashes Sunday morning.
