The Road Trip At The End Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Wood, J N

  ‘I’m making a fire,’ he said, kicking the fence. ‘I want some hot food to celebrate getting here.’

  ‘I’d prefer a beer,’ I told him.

  One of the long panels broke off. He leaned it against what was left of the fence and started stamping on it to break it up.

  ‘I’ll collect some of this rubbish up for you,’ I told him, walking back to the bin. ‘I’m gonna eat my food cold though.’

  An hour later we were sat on the beach. Roy’s fire was still burning about twenty feet away from us. We sat at the edge of its light. The water sounded close, but we still couldn’t see it. I’d eaten my sausages but Roy’s canned food sat on the sand between his legs, still too hot to open.

  ‘It’s just over there,’ Roy said, pointing to the darkness in front of us. ‘If it was light we might be able to see it.’

  ‘I’ll assume you’re talking about England.’

  ‘It’s quite hard not to get excited, now that I’m so close to home. I’m looking forward to seeing my sister and mum. Hopefully my friends back home are okay as well.’

  ‘Who’s counting their chickens now?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s okay, I’m not…fucking hell it’s still boiling hot,’ he cried out, dropping the can back onto the sand.

  ‘Are you sleeping in the car tonight?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah of course I am. It’s freezing. Where are you planning on sleeping?’

  ‘The car obviously.’

  Roy managed to wedge the can between his shoes, and then used the top of my can to open his.

  ‘Happy now?’ I asked.

  Using one of the Penelope’s spoons, he poured in a mouthful of beans. ‘No,’ he said, waving a hand in front of his mouth. ‘It’s really hot.’

  ‘Right I’m gonna try and get some sleep,’ I told him. ‘What time shall I set the alarm?’

  ‘Six?’

  I stood up. ‘Okay.’

  ‘I’ll put the fire out and join you in a bit,’ he told me.

  Chapter 26: Sorry

  I woke up in desperate need of a piss. It was half two in the morning so I’d only been asleep for a couple of hours. I tried to ignore my full bladder, hoping I would fall asleep again.

  Nope. I’m gonna have to go and do it.

  I opened the door as quietly as I could, and then gently closed it behind me. I took a few steps and unzipped my flies.

  Fuck me it’s cold.

  ‘Ne bouge pas,’ a voice whispered behind me.

  I pissed on my shoes, startled by the voice.

  ‘Anglais,’ I replied, louder than I needed to, hopefully waking Roy up.

  ‘I say do not move,’ the voice said. ‘Put your cock away.’

  Something sharp prodded me below my right shoulder blade. One of the car doors opened behind me.

  ‘Vider,’ another voice whispered.

  ‘I haven’t stopped pissing yet,’ I told him.

  ‘Are you alone?’ he asked.

  Confused by the question, I didn’t know what to say so hesitated. ‘Erm…yes.’

  I finally finished pissing and tucked myself back in.

  Where the fuck is Roy? Did I see him when I got out of the car? I don’t think I looked at his seat. It’s really dark in there.

  ‘Get on your knees,’ the voice ordered.

  I swivelled to my left slightly before falling to my knees, trying to avoid kneeling in my own piss.

  We’re so fucking close to home. It’s literally just on the side of the water.

  I heard fast moving footsteps, followed by a thud and a man’s pained groan. Two shapes, merged together in the darkness, skidded away from me across the ground. I stood and spun around. Someone was by our car, also spinning around to find out what the fuck just happened. I ran at them, shoulder barging the person into the car. I caught a glimpse of his face. He looked more shocked than me. He swung something at me. It ricocheted off my shoulder and brushed the top of my head.

  The fucker has got The Smasher. He just hit me with my own bat.

  He pulled it back to swing at me again. I stepped in close to him and shoved my elbow into his face. His head whipped back and loudly connected with the roof of our car. Before he could swing again, I grabbed a hold of my bat with both hands and tried to pull it from his grip. He didn’t let go, so I ended up dragging him around me, away from the car.

  He was only a small guy, maybe even a teenager.

  When the spin was over, his feet skidded out from under him so I was supporting almost his whole weight. I pulled my hands and the bat straight up. His hands lost their purchase and his face slammed into the ground. I brought the bat down on the back of his head, four or five times, only stopping when he stopped moving.

  I looked over to the other two shapes still fighting. One was sitting astride the other, repeatedly punching the prone body on the ground.

  I quickly closed the gap between us.

  Thank fuck for that. Roy is the one on top.

  The guy under him wasn’t moving. His arms were splayed out to either side. There was a horrible wet noise every time Roy’s fist connected with the guys face.

  ‘Roy,’ I said. ‘I think you can stop.’

  He continued punching.

  I placed my hand on his shoulder. A pain shot through my hand. I held it up to see a small patch of dark liquid in the middle of my palm.

  I grabbed his other shoulder, trying to pull him back. ‘Come on mate. I think you’ve beaten him.’

  After a second or two he relaxed and let me. He fell backwards to sit on the ground, away from me and the prone man.

  ‘Where the fuck were you?’ I asked. ‘Did you fall asleep on the beach?’

  A loud wheezing noise escaped Roy’s mouth.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I asked. ‘Did you get punched in the stomach?’

  He waved his hand from side to side, and then beckoned for me to come closer. I stepped towards him and saw the knife.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ I exclaimed, dropping The Smasher and taking off my coat. I scrunched it up to use as a pillow, got down on one knee and placed my hand behind his head. I gently eased him back down to lie on the ground.

  The knife’s blade had gone into his neck right up to the handle. The point of it was sticking out of the other side. His glasses were missing, lost in the fight somewhere.

  Oh fuck. This is really fucking bad. I don’t know what to do here.

  I thought my heart was beating fast during the fight. It just went fucking crazy.

  ‘Don’t worry mate. It’s gonna be fine.’

  I pulled off my t-shirt and tried to press it against both sides of his neck.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

  ‘I’m gonna go and get something else for your neck,’ I told him.

  He grabbed my arm as I started to rise, pulling me back down to his side.

  ‘It’s okay. I’m only going to the car. I’ll be two seconds.’

  He shook his head and coughed, blood spitting out onto his chin. Still gripping tightly onto my arm, he lifted his other hand towards the handle of the knife.

  I grabbed his wrist before he could get there. ‘No leave that. Don’t touch the knife.’

  He nodded his head, continuing to move his hand towards the knife.

  ‘We have to leave it in there. I’m sorry. It’s stopping you from bleeding more.’

  He was really fighting me, desperately reaching for the handle.

  ‘Please Roy. You can’t do that.’

  He stared up at me and nodded his head again.

  ‘What?’ I asked him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Help me,’ he gurgled, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. ‘Help me die.’

  ‘No,’ I told him. ‘I’ll get you back to England on the boat. There’ll be hospitals still open. I’m sorry mate. We can’t pull the knife out.’

  He shook his head, still reaching for the knife’s handle. His face was so pale, even in the darkness I could see how white he was turning.
<
br />   ‘Please Roy,’ I cried, tears now filling my eyes. ‘There’ll be doctors here in France somewhere. We can find one.’

  ‘No Christophe,’ he wheezed. ‘Let me die.’

  I pressed my t-shirt harder against his neck. The hand still gripping my arm pushed me away, the t-shirt in my hand with it.

  ‘Please Chris,’ he pleaded, tears also filling his eyes. They spilled out and ran down into his hair.

  What the fuck do I do here? Somebody please help me.

  His eyes bore into mine, pleading with me. I knew what he wanted.

  A sob escaped my mouth.

  I stopped pushing his hand away, the one struggling to get to the knife, the tears now pouring down my cheeks.

  Roy slowly nodded, his eyes still locked on mine.

  His hand slowly gripped onto the handle and pulled. He couldn’t move it. He wasn’t strong enough to do it. ‘Help me,’ he said through the blood, now seeping from his mouth in waves.

  I dropped my forehead onto his chest, unable to hold back the sobs. They shuddered through my body. I felt his hand on the back of my head.

  He’s gonna die anyway. If I pull the knife out it’s like I killed him.

  No Chris. He’s in pain. He wants to go quickly. You have to help him. You can’t let him die slowly.

  I lifted my head up and put my hand around his, both of us holding the knife’s handle. I looked into his eyes. ‘Love you mate,’ I told him.

  His mouth closed, the blood still forcing its way out. He nodded his head, just the once.

  I pulled the knife. It easily slipped out. Blood sprayed onto my hand. The little colour left in Roy’s face vanished in an instant. He was almost blue. The blood sprayed for another couple of seconds, before slowing and ebbing out of both wounds.

  Roy’s eyes suddenly widened as his body started to convulse. He weakly lifted his right hand up to his neck and placed it over one of the wounds. He looked terrified.

  ‘Fucking hell Roy,’ I cried.

  I wrapped my blood soaked t-shirt around his neck and pressed hard on both sides. ‘I’m sorry,’ I cried. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

  It was so quick, taking just a split second. His body stopped convulsing. His lifeless eyes still stared up at me, the terror and fear had left them.

  I let go of him and sat back, pulling my knees up to my chest, crying like a baby. I shouted and screamed at the night sky.

  My baseball bat was within arm’s reach. If I leaned towards it I could get it.

  So that’s what I did. I held it in my hand and stood up, looking down at the man who’d killed Roy. Just two steps and I was next to him. I brought The Smasher down onto his already mangled face. And then did it again, and again.

  Finished with him, I walked over to the other guy, almost certainly already dead, and did the same to him. My bat caved in the back of his skull.

  I climbed into our car, intending to get some sleep before I go home. After retrieving my bag from the back seats, I put on a new t-shirt and jumper.

  Hopefully this ridiculous amount of shaking will pass soon.

  I closed my eyes only to see Roy’s terrified face staring at me.

  DAY FIFTY TWO

  Chapter 27: Tunnel

  Roy’s six o’clock alarm woke me up. I must have been asleep if I just woke up. It certainly doesn’t feel like I slept.

  I have to leave the car. I don’t want to because there’s three dead bodies outside, one of them Roy. I don’t even want to look outside.

  Can I get out the other side of the car and ignore them?

  No I can’t do that to my friend. I can’t leave his body just lying there. I’m not gonna do that again.

  I glanced out of the window, instantly looking away. The bodies were much closer together than I was expecting. I thought we’d all been more spread out on the road last night. There was a lot of dry blood around Roy’s head. There was a lot of blood around all three of them.

  Jesus fucking Christ. I really don’t want to do this.

  I took a deep breath, trying to settle myself, opened the door and stepped outside. I kept my eyes on the houses behind, not wanting to look at the bodies. I was thinking about retrieving my coat, still under Roy’s head. It was very bloody, now a few shades darker than it should be.

  I’ll take Roy’s coat. Only the shoulders are stained. He won’t mind.

  The house opposite me had a concrete front yard. I spun around to find the house on the other was the same. It did however contain some kind of rockery display in the middle.

  That will do.

  Standing behind his head, I gently lifted Roy’s upper body by putting my hands under his back, and then grabbing a hold of his coat.

  ‘Sorry mate.’ I dragged him across the road and through an open gate, stopping next to the rockery. I sat him up and peeled off his coat, then slowly laid him down to lie flat on his back.

  The low sun glinted off something on the road. The light was catching Roy’s glasses. I walked over and picked them up.

  I placed the glasses on his face and started moving the rocks over, gently laying them on top of his body. I left his head until the very end, not wanting to break his glasses. I managed to balance the last rock over his face, without it actually touching him.

  The ghastly image of his glassy eyes, staring up at the sky will probably stay with me for a long time.

  After finishing, I stepped back and looked down at his burial mound.

  Suppose I should say something.

  I took a breath and opened my mouth to speak, but stopped.

  Fuck’s sake. There’s nobody here. It doesn’t matter what you say.

  Right, okay then.

  ‘Thanks for everything Roy. Without you I wouldn’t have made it this far. I’m sorry if I did anything wrong last night. I hope what I did do, is what you wanted. I’m also sorry for this shit eulogy. You deserved better. I’ll miss you mate.’

  I walked back to the car to collect my belongings, and then headed for the boat.

  It’s a good job that guy found my baseball bat last night, and not Roy’s rifle.

  I stopped in the car park and stared at the small motorboat, my stuff dumped at my feet.

  It was only about ten or eleven feet long. The silver motor at the back had been rotated up so the propeller would have been out of the water. It basically looked like a row boat with a motor. It was small, but it didn’t look very lightweight.

  This would be a lot easier with two people.

  A black electrical cable ran from the boat’s bow to the SUV. A winch tied the bow to the front of the trailer and two straps secured the stern.

  Simple.

  I detached the electrical cable, removed the two straps from the stern, and then climbed up onto the front of the trailer. I unhooked the winch and clung on to the boat.

  It didn’t slide off the back of the trailer so that’s good.

  I slowly pushed it backwards, the bottom of the boat rolling over two little plastic wheels attached to the back of the trailer.

  I think I might be able to do this.

  The further I pushed it out and over the edge, the more the heavy stern was trying to fall to the ground.

  This is okay. Once the back end is all the way off the trailer, I’ll gently lower the stern to the ground.

  The back end of the boat started to go. I hung onto the bow, hoping my weight would slow the descent.

  It didn’t.

  The stern crashed into the ground. I clung on so was flipped over the bow and into the boat, rolling down to hit the motor, which had luckily stayed in its upright position. The propeller was off the ground, narrowly avoiding any damage.

  That could have gone better, but at least it’s half way off.

  I twisted around and crawled off the boat to stand on the car park, catching a glimpse of the two dead bodies in the process.

  Nope. Don’t think about them. Concentrate on getting this boat sorted.

  I ducked
down under the bow and pressed my back against the underside of the boat, testing the weight. The front was much lighter. I lifted it with my shoulder and spun the whole thing around, before dropping it onto the ground.

  Now I just need to get the fucking thing over these dunes and down to the water.

  After throwing all of my stuff into the boat, I unhooked the two straps from the trailer and tied them to the metal handles on the sides of the boat. I wrapped the other ends of both straps around my right hand, and then put them over my shoulder. I turned to face the grass topped dunes, and dragged the boat behind me. It scraped along the gravel, very loudly protesting at every crunch.

  This is gonna sink as soon as it goes in the Channel.

  Once I got the boat onto the sandy path it was much easier. In no time at all I was down at the water’s edge.

  I couldn’t see England.

  I’m sure someone, other than Roy, once told me you could see the White Cliffs of Dover from Calais. They were talking shit.

  Sorry whoever told me that, I spoke too soon.

  The clouds shifted and I could see it. It might not have been the White Cliffs, but it was definitely land.

  I took off my clothes and waded into the water. It was freezing, but it felt good to wash away the last few days.

  After getting dressed I pushed the boat into the Channel, once again stepping into the freezing cold water. It was a struggle to push it against the tide. It kept trying to go back onto the beach. When the water was up to my thighs, I jumped up so my top half was in the boat, and then did my best seal impression to squirm the rest of me on board. I quickly got the oars into position and rowed like my life depended on it. Once I was in deeper water, I pushed the motor over so the propeller was submerged in the water. I pulled the cord I assumed would start it up, like my granddad’s old lawnmower. It worked first time.

  We were however moving very slowly.

  I could probably row home quicker.

  Then I realised if I turned the handle the motor became louder and the speed increased.

  Pretty obvious really.

  Compared to the Atlantic, the water was as flat as a pancake. The watery breeze on my face reminded me of spending those weeks sailing with my Spanish and French friends. I wasn’t wrong when I thought I was gonna miss them, but this feeling was almost overwhelming. If they were still alive, the reality would have meant almost certainly never seeing them again, but hope is an amazing thing. Now they’re gone forever. I’ll never see them again.