After a whirlwind July weekend in South Beach, five young women from Pennsylvania — in town for a bachelorette party — danced their last night away on the outdoor patio of the Clevelander hotel.

In their own words:

Brooke Guillams: “Two buff dudes in the police uniforms come up.”

Camille Campbell: “I thought, Oh my God! These are strippers because their uniforms were so snug.”

Jamie Aldinger: “One of them grabbed me inappropriately. I pushed him off and said something to my girlfriend that this guy gave me the creeps.”

After a few minutes of small talk, dancing and a group photo, one of the two Miami Beach police officers offered bride-to-be Adalee Sharee Martin, 28, a ride on his red, department-issued all-terrain-vehicle.

Martin: “He asked me if I wanted to go on the ride on the beach, that people pay lots of money to go on rides on the beach.”

Minutes later, in a crash that drew headlines across the country, Officer Derick Kuilan, with Martin on the back, plowed into a man and woman on the South Beach sand at Fourth Street.

Martin flew off. The ATV rolled over her and flipped.

Beachgoer Kitzie Nicanor, unconscious and seriously injured, lay crumpled in the sand.

“She looked like a corpse,” one friend who rushed to the scene told police. Nicanor’s friend, Luis Almonte, cried out in pain — his broken leg twisted at an unnatural angle.

Kuilan breathlessly radioed for help while flipping the ATV back on its wheels.

Miami-Dade prosecutors recently released vivid, audio-recorded accounts and photos that tell the story of the chaotic scene in the early morning hours of July 3. The women, in their own words, gave detailed statements to investigators about the emotional moments on the beach.

“All I see is people laying on the ground and chaos,” said maid-of-honor Campbell, who rushed to the scene with the rest of the party after getting a frantic call from Martin. “She came running over, covered in sand, her hair a tangled mess, bawling, completely hysterical.”

Kuilan, 30, is facing charges of driving under the influence and reckless driving with serious bodily injury. Prosecutors say his blood alcohol level measured .088, above the legal limit, nearly five hours after the accident.

Miami Beach police quickly fired Kuilan and the other officer at the Clevelander, Rolando Gutierrez, who were both depicted in a now-notorious photo with the bachelorette party. Several supervisors also were ordered demoted in the scandal’s wake.

LAWSUIT FILED

Nicanor, who is recovering from her injuries, is suing Kuilan and the Clevelander for negligence, claiming the hotel created “an environment for on-duty, uniformed police officers, including Derick Kuilan, to drink freely.” The hotel has denied it served Kuilan any alcohol.

Although there was initial confusion about whether Kuilan drank at the hotel bar, 1020 Ocean Dr., none of the evidence in the criminal case so far suggests he consumed alcohol at the Clevelander that night.

His defense attorney, Evan Hoffman, says he is confident a judge will toss out the blood alcohol test, which was administered by a Miami Beach paramedic.

Kuilan did not consent to the blood test and detectives had no probable cause to perform the test against his will, Hoffman said.

Kuilan also will argue that he was never reckless on the ATV. Driving the vehicle without headlights is part of police training, Hoffman claimed.

‘FEELS AWFUL’

“He feels awful that people were injured, but the issue is, was he driving recklessly? Is this lady going to say she saw swerving all over? Doing doughnuts or wheelies? What’s the reckless part of it?” Hoffman said.

The events that led up to that night started when Martin, a waitress, and four friends from Pennsylvania flew down to Miami for a bachelorette weekend. They had two adjoining suites at the Loews Miami Beach hotel. That Saturday night, they toasted with champagne. Some time after 11 p.m., they left for the South Beach nightlife.

Their first stop: the Cameo nightclub, where they stood in line for an hour.

Frustrated, they left, grabbing a cab to the Clevelander, where they had partied the night before.

They shared shots of tequila, drank Coronas and danced. Martin donned the standard garb: a “bachelorette” crown and a pearl-colored sash. The group asked the DJ to announce her celebration — but he mistakenly wished her a happy birthday.

The night melted away. Just before the bar’s 5 a.m. last call, Kuilan and Gutierrez walked in.

One of the women thought the officers came in to clear the dance floor.

Some thought they were dancers in cops’ uniforms — a part of the party scene. One jokingly asked one officer to handcuff her.

For a few minutes, they all danced. One officer might have had a cup in his hand, some women recalled.

Kuilan, Martin said, made small talk. He said he was married. He offered her a ride on the ATV.

Their curiosity piqued, Martin and Campbell walked outside with him. Kuilan disappeared into an alley, then emerged on the ATV. Martin hopped on, placed her arms around his waist, and they left. After a little while, the others grew concerned about their missing friend.

They went outside, and found Campbell leaning on a yellow fire hydrant, chatting with a bellhop.

Aldinger exploded in anger. How do we know they are real cops? she asked.

“Why were the police officers dancing and drinking and acting all crazy and grabbing me, if they are police officers,” Aldinger recalled telling Campbell. “I met a lot of police officers and none of them act like that.”

Campbell, in her interview with police, said she trusted the officer. She was impressed by Kuilan’s SWAT pin.

“We thought it was fun,’’ she said later. “It was naive in hindsight. It’s not like some random guy who rented an ATV.”

On the ATV, Martin wrapped her arms around Kuilan as he raced south, headlights off, alternating speeds. He flicked the lights on and off when approaching pedestrians. He engaged in “small talk,” she remembered.

“I honestly wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying. I was honestly just going for the ride,” said Martin, whose wedding took place in September.

They reached the south end of the beach and turned around to head back. Not far away, Almonte and pal Jonathan Adames had walked onto the sand for a late-night stroll with Nicanor and her aunt, Jane Hooker Diaz.

Nicanor and Almonte walked ahead. Adames heard the ATV and saw the shape shoot past.

Suddenly, the crack of metal on flesh rang out in the dark.

“I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t see anything. I just felt like we hit something,” Martin said. “When I hit the sand, the ATV hit me and then bounced wherever.”

Adames didn’t realize what happened. “I couldn’t conceive it was a cop,” he remembered. Diaz knew what happened immediately — she cried out and the two ran over.

Almonte lay on the ground, writhing in pain. Adames thought Nicanor was dead, until he noticed her stomach heaving.

Kuilan appeared in the dark, hollering into a radio. The officer pleaded with Adames to flag down approaching rescuers.

“Papi, go over there and let them know. I need you to help,” Adames recalled Kuilan saying.

“He was paranoid,’’ Adames said. “He was nervous. I just wanted to calm him down.”

Across the city, officers heard Kuilan’s garbled distress call: a female unconscious. Several officers, rushing to the scene, initially believed Kuilan had rescued someone from the ocean.

Instead, arriving officers found Kuilan on his knees over Nicanor, his head dusted in sand. As more officers streamed to the site, Kuilan “appeared to be shaken up, just kind of wandering around, just like anybody would be in a traumatic event,” Officer Grant Reid remembered.

Back at the Clevelander, Aldinger’s cellphone rang. It was Martin. There had been an accident.

The group, in high heels, took off toward the scene some six blocks away, following the stream of police and fire-rescue lights. They flagged down Miami Beach Lt. Bernard Berrian, explaining what happened; he ferried them to the scene.

Nicanor and Almonte were rushed to a nearby hospital. Kuilan was driven to the station. After a flurry of unanswered phone calls, Gutierrez finally picked up his phone and was ordered to the headquarters.

The friends were taken in for interviews and shared their story and photos with investigators.

Aldinger was seething, angry with her friends and with Kuilan.

“A cop in Pennsylvania would never do this, ever,” she told a Miami Beach detective. “I thought you all were here to protect and serve.”