by Ben Brown
17
It had been an hour since Michael’s phone call to Dominic. In that time, thanks to the police scanner, he had become acutely aware of one fact. He was the most hunted man in Britain. In an attempt to evade detection, Michael used every back road he could find. He knew that would be the only way to avoid Britain’s extensive system of CCTV cameras.
Doc was the first to break the silence. “Will we be stopping soon? I’m an old man, and I can only hold my water for so long.”
“I’m sorry, Doc, but we can’t stop at any service stations, it’s too risky. Although I will pull over soon so you can stretch your legs. I’m afraid you will have to use a bush.”
“I see. Well, that will have to do.…
“Michael, look out!”
Michael’s attention had been momentarily fixed on Doc. He hadn’t noticed the events, which were beginning to unfold in front of him. Michael snapped his eyes back to the road. The large tanker, which he had been following for over an hour, was braking hard. Smoke poured from its tires as the tanker section started to jack-knife.
Michael reacted instantaneously. He knew he couldn’t get trapped behind the tanker, not if it ended up blocking the road. He also knew that finding a new route would cost him his next meeting point, and most likely his life. Michael dropped the car down two gears and floored it; he had to overtake the tanker at all costs.
The tiny engine screamed as Michael forced every ounce of power out of it. It sounded as if it would rip itself apart. The car was level with the rear of the tanker as the mammoth vehicle began to swing sideways, forcing Michael off the road and onto the pathway.
The road consisted of two narrow lanes, scarcely wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other safely. Small concrete paths ran along both sides of the road. Each path measured maybe three to four feet wide. By the side of each path ran a drainage ditch; both ditches dropped below the level of the road by approximately two feet.
Every fifty feet or so, old decaying power poles jutted into the sky. Large high voltage cables laced their way from pole to pole. On the top of every other pole sat a small dull street lamp, which barely illuminated the road beneath. The road was flanked on both sides by fields; no houses could be seen for miles.
Michael mounted the high curb of the path in an attempt to avoid collision. One set of wheels still traveled along the road as the other set traversed the path. A plume of sparks flew from the underside of the car as it dragged along the edge of the concrete curb.
Doc stared, wide-eyed and open mouthed, through the passenger window. The rear of the truck was heading straight at his door.
“Michael, it’s going to hit us!”
Michael pulled hard right on the steering. The wheels, which traveled along the road, mounted the curb. Michael fought with the car in an attempt to keep it in a straight line. The wheels on the driver’s side started to pull down and into the drainage ditch as the other wheels found the path. Michael battled the car as he tried to stay out of the ditch; everything would be lost if he failed.
As Michael wrestled with the steering, the car passed the rear of the truck. With all his strength, he pulled the steering hard left, attempting to get the car back onto the road. The small car lurched sideways as it made contact with one of the old rotten power poles. A steel guard fitted to the pole ripped the wing mirror from the door, a wide gash opened along the right side of the car.
Michael’s small car careered back onto the road. He looked in the rear view mirror at the crash, which was now unfolding behind them. The tanker section of the truck was completely sideways, and its momentum kept pushing the truck along its destructive course. The tanker had totally obliterated the power pole, which Michael’s car had just bounced off.
The streetlights went dead as a large fountain of sparks soared into the sky. The power lines that had once been thirty feet above the ground now lay submerged in the water at the bottom of the drainage ditch.
Doc stared over his shoulder at the collision. He could now see that he and Michael had not been the only people caught up in the accident. The truck was plowing into a Range Rover! The 4x4’s rear wheels were off the ground, and its front bumper was starting to drag along the road. The rear of the car was climbing ever higher up the front of the truck.
The truck continued to push the up-ended car along the road; the sound of metal on tarmac made Doc wince. The noise resembled giant fingernails scraping down some immense chalkboard.
The Range Rover’s bonnet and engine began to force their way up and into the front of the car, crushing the front passengers.
“For the love of God, please no!” Doc exclaimed.
Michael’s eyes flicked from the road to the rear view mirror, even he felt for the occupants of the ill-fated car. The car balanced on its nose for a few seconds longer, and then came smashing down on the driver’s side.
The tanker section now began to overtake both the tractor unit and the Range Rover. However, its momentum was being slowed by the power poles. The left side of the truck now pressed hard against the underside of the car; suddenly, the truck began to flip.
As if some giant wrestler had performed his final pinning move, the tractor unit smashed down onto its side. This in turn flipped the car onto its roof; a second or two later both vehicles came to a complete stop. Michael accelerated away from the scene.
Doc wrenched his eyes from the accident. “What are you doing? We need to stop and help those people. Michael, you must listen to me!”
“I’m sorry, Doctor, but I can’t delay any longer — we must make the next rendezvous point.”
“Michael, listen to me. You need to stop and you need to help those people. Michael, I know that in the past you always put others before yourself. You can be that person again. Deep down, you’re a good man; please stop the car.”
Michael’s eyes never left the road.
Suddenly, Michael brought the car to a screeching stop; he slammed the car into reverse.
“If we are late, Dominic will most likely kill us, so I hope this is worth it.” Michael agonized as he steered the car back to the accident.
“It will be worth it my boy, I promise you that.”
The car once again screeched to a halt about a hundred feet from the wreckage. Michael wanted to make sure the car was well out of harm’s way, just in case the tanker exploded. Both men were out of the car and running, each headed towards the two mangled vehicles. Michael reached the scene long before Doc.
Michael could hear children’s’ screams coming from the Range Rover. My God, there are children in there! Michael’s heart raced; he couldn’t stand the thought of what they had just gone through. He rushed to the rear passenger door; it was jammed!
He grabbed the rear door with both hands and simply ripped it from its hinges. Air bags, which had deployed from the rear of the front seats, enveloped the screaming children. Desperate to free them, Michael tore wildly at the bags.
Then he saw them, two tiny kids dangling upside down from their child seats; both were crying.
“Don’t worry, kids, it will be all right. We’re here to help you.” Both children instantly stopped crying and looked at Michael. He had always been able to sooth children; he’d been told it was a gift from God. He could feel warmth flowing through him, caused by their response. He had forgotten how gratifying that feeling was.
“Here, Doc, you take the kids. Then I’ll get the others out.”
Michael reached into the car and began to unbuckle the children. He passed them out one at a time.
Doc had one under each arm as Michael clambered back out of the car. He looked at the two children with compassion, he stroked both their faces.
“This is Doc; he’s going to take you to our car while I help the others, is that okay?”
Both children nodded.
Doc headed for the car as Michael turned his attention back to the wreck. Michael grabbed the front passenger door and ripped it from its mountings. The perso
n inside was obscured by an airbag. Once again, he ripped it clear, revealing a badly injured woman.
Michael looked past the woman and saw a man trapped behind the steering wheel. For some reason, his air bag had not deployed. I’ll need to get her out before I can reach him.
The woman seemed to be unconscious, but as he checked her neck for a pulse, she came to.
“My babies, where are my babies?” She began to panic as her situation dawned on her.
“Don’t worry, they’re safe. They didn’t get so much as a scratch. Now, you need to calm down, you’re losing blood from somewhere, and the more worked up you get, the quicker it pumps out of you.”
Michael took hold of her hand. She turned her head to face him — she was still upside down and looked very pale.
“Thank you so much,” she said, “but please, I need to see them. I need to know they’re okay.”
“Once I get you out of here, then you can see them.”
“My legs, they’re trapped. I can’t feel them anymore.” Her eyes began to flicker shut.
“Stay with me,” Michael shouted. “Open your eyes! Think of your kids, they need you.”
Michael moved quickly. He knew if he didn’t get her out, she only had minutes left. He had to stop the bleeding and free her legs.
Michael soon realized that the dashboard and its structural columns had crushed her legs. He punched at the dashboard with his fist; he needed a good grip on the metal of the columns hidden beneath the plastic of the dashboard. It took four extremely powerful punches to blast through the plastic.
The woman screamed with pain as his last punch broke through the dashboard.
“I’m sorry; I needed to grab the metal. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
The woman nodded as she bit her lip.
Michael now had hold of the main body of the car. He repositioned himself, putting his other hand around the door column to use as a lever. He began to pull down on the body of the car — it didn’t move. Michael readjusted his grip and pulled again. He put every bit of strength he had into it; he looked like a weight lifter straining for that final, heaviest of lifts. His face contorted under the strain as the car began to creak, the bent and mangled bodywork was beginning to move. Michael stopped for a second and only a second; he took a breath as he got a better grip on the framework, then he heaved again. This time the dashboard moved several inches.
Blood from the woman’s legs shot all over his arm. Michael quickly released his grip from the car and pulled the woman from her restraints. Moving like lightning, he grabbed her from the car and ran to Doc with her in his arms.
“Doc, help, we need something to stop her bleeding.”
Michael laid the woman next to her children. The two sat on the road next to the old man; luckily, they were so young they didn’t really realize what was going on.
“Michael, go and pull the seat belts out of our car. I’ll use them to tourniquet her legs. Quick as you can, please.”
Michael moved fast. He had them to Doc before he’d finished talking.
“I’ll look after her, go help the driver.”
Michael ran back to the Range Rover, launching himself through the open door.
He could see why the driver’s air bag hadn’t deployed. The steering rack had pierced through the driver’s stomach; the man was still alive, but barely. Michael drew closer so he could get a good look at the man’s injuries. Michael had seen injuries like this before. While working as a missionary, he’d treated people with severe wounds; he knew the man couldn’t survive. The man began to moan as he moved against the steering rack that impaled him.
“Take it easy. Don’t move, you’ll speed up your blood loss.”
“Are my wife and kids okay?” the man said, in a low and rasping voice.
“I managed to get them all out. Your kids are unhurt, but your wife has some injuries — I’m sure she’ll be fine.” As Michael spoke, he looked over his shoulder and saw Doc working franticly on the woman; things didn’t look fine.
“It was my fault — I fell asleep. Lizzy told me we should stop at a hotel, but I wanted to get home.” He swallowed against the pain. “I wanted to get back to work a day early, my firm has been pushing me — I’m on a deadline. All — all this — is my fault.” The man began to cry. He started to cough, which caused blood to shoot from his mouth and nose.
“What’s your name?” Michael asked, trying to distract the man from his guilt and grief.
The man looked at Michael as he answered. “Blake, Blake Mead.”
“Blake, I’m Michael. You can blame yourself if you wish, but it won’t help you get out of here, and it won’t change what happened. All of us make many decisions in our lives. Most are insignificant, but some have lasting consequences. Some are good and some are bad. The point is you can’t second-guess everything you do. You didn’t intend for this to happen; it’s all in God’s hands.”
“You believe in God?” As Blake spoke Michael felt his pulse, it was very weak.
“For some time I was unsure of my faith, but recent events have caused me to reconsider. I don’t know, but I did believe once.”
“I believe, Michael, and — and it helps me now knowing that when I die …” he licked his lips. “ … I will go to heaven. Do you think I’m going to die, Michael?”
Michael knew that lying to the dying man would be wrong and pointless. He simply nodded and said, “Yes, I think so, but this isn’t all there is. You will have eternal life in heaven, you need not be afraid.”
Blake wept as he gripped Michael’s hand tightly.
“I just wish — I had a priest. You see — I’m Catholic, I need my — my — last rites.” Blake began to cry again as he uttered the last few words.
As Michael held his hand, he looked deeply into the dying man’s eyes. His free hand drifted up to his neck; he gripped the small silver vial, which hung from a chain. He’d received the vial the day he became a priest. One of the monks who had raised him had given it as a gift.
The monk’s words still echoed in his ears. “This contains holy oil, Michael. As a priest, you should always have this on you, in case of an emergency. You never know when you will need to do God’s work.”
Michael had worn the necklace ever since, but had never needed it. Even when he was at his most devoted to Dominic, he couldn’t bring himself to part with it. This now seemed to be another sign that his life was about to change again.
He could feel all of Blake’s pain; he knew how important it was for him to receive his last rites.
“You know, Blake, I’m a priest — or at least I was for many years. Then something close to me was ripped away. I felt like God had deserted me, forsaking me when I needed him the most. Except now, I believe he has put me here at this place and moment to help you. I can give you your last rites, Blake.”
Blake smiled weakly as his eyes began to close. Michael knew he only had a matter of minutes before Blake would die.
“Do you wish to confess your sins, my son?” Michael asked.
Blake’s mouth moved, but even with his ear against Blake’s lips, Michael could hear nothing.
“I absolve you of your sins, my son.”
Michael struggled to control his feelings; he had tears forming in his eyes. This was as much an absolution for his own sins as it was for Blake’s. Michael was determined to help this man in his final moments; he would control himself, and he would help this man in his time of need.
“God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins. Through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
Blake was unconscious now. His breathing was low and labored.
Michael took the small vial of holy oil from his neck chain and began to anoint Blake’s head in a symbol of the cr
oss. “Through this holy anointing may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit.”
Blake began to take his last ragged breaths. His chest vibrated under the strain. Michael was crying now. He knew that this was the end.
“May the Lord …” he began to anoint Blake’s hands. “ … who frees you from sin, save you and raise you up.”
Blake took his last deep breath, and then exhaled it in one long, low hiss. He was gone.
Michael simply held the dead man’s hand as he gave one last silent prayer. Michael felt cleansed of sin, reborn, back to the man he once was. He wiped his eyes, and clambered out of the car, leaving Blake to his final peace.
Michael hadn’t been so deeply affected by another person’s death since the loss of all his children in Africa. He stared at the ground for what seemed like hours, but was, in fact, a split second. He could feel God guiding him again, for the first time in a long time. In that knowledge, he felt a peace and serenity he had not felt since meeting Dominic.
“Help, please help, I’m in the truck! My arm’s trapped. Can anybody hear me?”
Michael spun around to look at the truck; he had forgotten the truck driver.
In two quick jumps, one onto the upturned car, and the last onto the truck itself, he stood on the door of the truck.
He looked down through the window and saw the trapped man. The driver’s arm was wedged tightly between his seat and the door. The door had been forced in towards him as the truck had up-sided and hit the road.
Michael suddenly got a strong chemical smell in his nostrils. He looked over at the tanker section, which lay diagonally on its side across the road. It looked more or less intact except for a foot-long rip in its side, through which poured its contents.
Michael moved to one side of the door. He opened it and shouted down to the driver. “It’s okay. I’ll have you out of there in no time. What are you carrying in the tanker?”
“Triazine pesticide, it’s very flammable, I can smell it. It must be leaking. Please, get me out of here.”
