we’re going anywhere,’ Al pointed out.
‘ For Christ’s sake, Lou, we’re not getting out and helping. They’re all dead.’
I’ll admit it was overly melodramatic, and probably not what was called for at the time. I was in Dutch with the wife – I knew without seeing her face and without her saying anything. It was more like an imperceptible lowering of the temperature.
‘ He’s alright anyway. Look,’ Al said, pointing at the sick bloke who was now standing. He leant against the back of the woman’s car, like his legs weren’t ready yet. The woman was still having it out with white van man.
‘ I’m at least going to tell that bitch to look after him,’ Lou stated, and opened her door. I swung round angrily and began to shout at her not to dare get out, but the sound of an approaching motorcycle stopped me. I saw it in the rear window careering down the middle of the road towards us, taking on a precarious wobble. Lou must have read something in my face because she slammed the door and assumed a nifty crash position. The whine of the engine flooded the car and Al’s wing mirror was ripped off, spinning away into the line of traffic.
The bike slew into the woman’s car which ground forwards and into the rear of the car ahead, simultaneously launching the rider clear over the top of three or four vehicles. The dry sounds of smashing glass and crunching bones were pierced by the woman’s screams as her children and passenger became folded up with the motorbike inside her crumpled car. As the wreckage settled I could see that her sick passenger’s torso was still in relatively the same place; pinched into the twisted roof with one arm severed at the shoulder. The woman ran with floppy arms and all the noise drained out of her, staring at where the man’s lower half – and the back of her car - should have been. She took a faltering step forward.
Two things happened – a breathtakingly large quantity of guts fell from his torn torso onto the sizzling hot tarmac; and his remaining arm flailed out, clutching a handful of the woman’s hair and pulling her face towards his open mouth. Al wasted no time putting the car into gear and pulling into the rubber-streaked space left behind the wreckage. She made no sound as Al pulled alongside in a three-point-turn. She didn’t even resist as great wads of fat were pulled cleanly from her skull.
We accelerated back up the road. The SatNav was the first to speak, without emotion.
‘ Take the next left, in four hundred yards.’
‘ I feel sick,’ Lou said. ‘That would have killed him outright, but he just…’
‘ You want me to stop?’ Al asked her. She shook her head, and closed her eyes.
‘ That could have been anything, couldn’t it?’ she pleaded. ‘It happened so quick; it might have just been leftover messages reaching his brain or something. You know, like wiring a frog’s legs up to a battery. When they guillotined people their eyes would sometimes move…’ She gave up, knowing we had no answers.
‘ It’s true. I saw some footage of a severed monkey head on the internet; some Russian scientist bloke had wired that up to the mains, and it still wanted to eat. Food would just drop out of its neck though.’ Al stopped, realising he wasn’t helping much.
After we ignored a few of the instructions to join busier or entirely blocked main routes, we opted for a terraced street which was lively but passable. Al was using his indicators now, I noticed. We did what the calm lady told us, through the screaming and the car alarms, and after twenty minutes or so we had ended up by a quiet meadow in the fields and farms still left on the southern edge of town. It was quiet; so quiet we could hear the hum of traffic on the dual carriageway a hundred metres away, on the other side of the field.
‘ We need to be on there’, Al pointed at the A23. ’She’s telling us to go through Horsham now though, which will be just as mental. I’ll just
‘ For Christ’s sake, Lou, we’re not getting out and helping. They’re all dead.’
I’ll admit it was overly melodramatic, and probably not what was called for at the time. I was in Dutch with the wife – I knew without seeing her face and without her saying anything. It was more like an imperceptible lowering of the temperature.
‘ He’s alright anyway. Look,’ Al said, pointing at the sick bloke who was now standing. He leant against the back of the woman’s car, like his legs weren’t ready yet. The woman was still having it out with white van man.
‘ I’m at least going to tell that bitch to look after him,’ Lou stated, and opened her door. I swung round angrily and began to shout at her not to dare get out, but the sound of an approaching motorcycle stopped me. I saw it in the rear window careering down the middle of the road towards us, taking on a precarious wobble. Lou must have read something in my face because she slammed the door and assumed a nifty crash position. The whine of the engine flooded the car and Al’s wing mirror was ripped off, spinning away into the line of traffic.
The bike slew into the woman’s car which ground forwards and into the rear of the car ahead, simultaneously launching the rider clear over the top of three or four vehicles. The dry sounds of smashing glass and crunching bones were pierced by the woman’s screams as her children and passenger became folded up with the motorbike inside her crumpled car. As the wreckage settled I could see that her sick passenger’s torso was still in relatively the same place; pinched into the twisted roof with one arm severed at the shoulder. The woman ran with floppy arms and all the noise drained out of her, staring at where the man’s lower half – and the back of her car - should have been. She took a faltering step forward.
Two things happened – a breathtakingly large quantity of guts fell from his torn torso onto the sizzling hot tarmac; and his remaining arm flailed out, clutching a handful of the woman’s hair and pulling her face towards his open mouth. Al wasted no time putting the car into gear and pulling into the rubber-streaked space left behind the wreckage. She made no sound as Al pulled alongside in a three-point-turn. She didn’t even resist as great wads of fat were pulled cleanly from her skull.
We accelerated back up the road. The SatNav was the first to speak, without emotion.
‘ Take the next left, in four hundred yards.’
‘ I feel sick,’ Lou said. ‘That would have killed him outright, but he just…’
‘ You want me to stop?’ Al asked her. She shook her head, and closed her eyes.
‘ That could have been anything, couldn’t it?’ she pleaded. ‘It happened so quick; it might have just been leftover messages reaching his brain or something. You know, like wiring a frog’s legs up to a battery. When they guillotined people their eyes would sometimes move…’ She gave up, knowing we had no answers.
‘ It’s true. I saw some footage of a severed monkey head on the internet; some Russian scientist bloke had wired that up to the mains, and it still wanted to eat. Food would just drop out of its neck though.’ Al stopped, realising he wasn’t helping much.
After we ignored a few of the instructions to join busier or entirely blocked main routes, we opted for a terraced street which was lively but passable. Al was using his indicators now, I noticed. We did what the calm lady told us, through the screaming and the car alarms, and after twenty minutes or so we had ended up by a quiet meadow in the fields and farms still left on the southern edge of town. It was quiet; so quiet we could hear the hum of traffic on the dual carriageway a hundred metres away, on the other side of the field.
‘ We need to be on there’, Al pointed at the A23. ’She’s telling us to go through Horsham now though, which will be just as mental. I’ll just
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