by Andy Briggs
Marlow stopped several houses away from her old haunt. She let the engine idle and watched several children play in the street outside her ex-home.
Was that Molly and Jamie amongst them? It had been so long and they must have grown so much... Christ, what was wrong with her that she couldn’t even recognise her own children? She was sure it was them…
The youths booted a ball around with reckless abandon and their shrieks of laughter broke through the throaty rattle of her jalopy. She wanted to climb out and wave, but feared they would take one look at her and flee in terror. That's if they remembered her at all.
The football swerved in a graceful arc and thumped against the bonnet so hard it left a dent.
Marlow panicked as the children turned towards her. For a split second she studied their faces and kicked herself because she still couldn't recall which, if any, were her own.
It's been too long.
Gears ground as she put the Beetle into reverse and hit the accelerator, The car bounced from the curb and she pranged into a lamp post. The children were now looking at her with mouths hanging open in astonishment. Marlow dared not meet their gaze as she crunched into first gear and twisted the wheel so hard that the addled Volkswagen whined as it performed a sharp U-turn, balding tyres screeched in protest as they painted the road with a pair of black skid-marks. The gearbox barked as she tried to find second, so instead opted for third and a less speedy getaway.
Marlow's hands shook as she turned the police scanner back on. She noticed an old phone charger coiled amongst wrappers on the floor. She quickly pulled into a bus stop and retrieved it. Taking Dan’s dead phone from her pocket she checked if they matched: bingo. She quickly plugged the charger into the cigarette lighter and checked the phone was charging before she pulled away.
Back on the road her thoughts drifted once more. She berated herself, feeling stupid for the detour. Her family didn't want to see her, Trebor had made that very clear. A second later a trickle of doubt rippled across those self-deprecating thoughts; had she misinterpreted him? Was he angry precisely because she had stayed away? It was difficult to judge, especially as her short-term memory was foggy at the best of time.
A police report caught her attention: something about a jackknifed lorry on the motorway. It wasn't unusual or out of the ordinary... but something nagged Marlow that she should at least investigate. It most certainly would be nothing other than a welcome distraction from her immediate problems. Glancing at her watch she realised she was overdue calling Boris with an update, and at least visiting the police emergency would prove she'd done something to look for his stupid grandson.
It took just under two hours for Marlow to get within viewing distance of the over-turned lorry. Traffic in both directions had severely backed up, resulting in jams that stretched for five miles and were still growing. The police were forced to siphon traffic off the motorway, which resulted in severe congestion in the arterial roads around the area. In the end, Marlow had to park her car at the side of a B-road, clamber up a muddy embankment and walk across a footbridge that was crowded with gawkers. Every step of the way she was convinced it was a waste of time, but her nagging conscience about the fate of the kid propelled her on. That, plus the negotiated daily rate she had agreed with Boris, which was almost double her usual fee.
The spectators naturally parted when Marlow pressed through. Despite her shower, her clothes stank to high-heaven. The view before her was... impressive was the first word that came to mind. The next was: disastrous.
The lorry had jackknifed through the median barriers, tipping onto its side and sliding to a halt blocking both lanes. As far as Marlow could tell, no other vehicle had been struck. Anything approaching from the opposite direction would have surely vaporised on impact. The lorry's load of electrical goods were strewn across the carriageway. Glancing behind her, Marlow could see the trail of destruction the fallen goods had caused. Several had claimed victims. One car had a boxed microwave through the windscreen while a mini bus had collided with a fridge freezer with such force that the front of the vehicle had wrapped around it. A washing machine had caused several cars to veer aside - straight into the path of an overtaking 4x4 - while a pickup had winged the washing machine and spun one-hundred and eighty degrees.
His brought his gaze back to the truck itself. Something about it had sounded a note of alarm in the recesses of her mind, but only after twenty seconds of scrutinization did she consciously notice it.
The lorry's trailer had been shredded apart in a very particular fashion that was instantly recognisable to her. Petals of the metal container were peeled back in such a way she could envisage massive claws tearing it open from the inside. Now she knew what she was looking for, Marlow could see a jagged chunk of metal had been taken from the back of the lorry's roof. To the untrained eye it was just the result of the crash, but Marlow recognised a massive bite mark when she saw one.
With rising panic, she pushed her way through the growing crowd; many of the vultures were taking photographs on their phones. At the end of the bridge she vaulted the rail and scrambled down the steep incline to the road. Her boots slipped and she tumbled uncontrollably down, landing on her back on the hard shoulder. Ignoring the ache, she dashed across the tarmac, towards one of several police officers surrounding the vehicle.
“Was anyone hurt?” Marlow demanded with as much authority as she could muster.
The Officer turned, his eyes widening when he saw what was approaching; his flaring nostrils followed suit. “You can't be here, miss.”
“Can't I?” said Marlow, momentarily confused. “Well I am, clearly. Was anyone hurt?”
The Officer wasn't prepared for her apparent incomprehension and had no desire to be in close proximity to escort her away, so he found himself answering the second question.
“Few injuries. No fatalities. Bloody lucky escape all round. Driver had a few cuts 'n' bruises, and the same for the other drivers. Whiplash central it is. Anyway, you can't be on the motorway. Not allowed,” he added in the hope the clarity would send Marlow back to whichever dump she had crawled from.
Marlow craned to look over the officer's shoulder. “A kid... was there a boy onboard?”
“A boy?” asked the Officer confused as to why Marlow was still looking at the wreckage with such concern.
“Yes,” hissed Marlow impatiently, “A kid. child. A boy. About yey big.” She held up his hand to approximate Dan's height.
The Officer bristled. “I do know how big children tend to be, miss.” The Officer's patience was thinning. Every day he was called out to traffic accidents and they were never very pleasant affairs. This one was a lucky break with nobody killed and he didn't want a lunatic to ruin the moment.
Picking up non-verbal communication wasn't one of Marlow's strong points. Body language was as foreign to her as French was. Coupled with her complete disregard for authority, something she had fostered in retaliation against her father, she failed to pick up the Officer's growing hostility and her next gasp of breath came out dripping with sarcasm.
“Well I am impressed the finest law enforcement officers are trained to know the exact height of every kid in the country, yet are still unable to provide me with an answer to my question - was there a child onboard?”
The Officer had had enough. He took a step forward in what he hoped was a threatening manner, although he was a little alarmed to see the woman held her ground. He raised the radio mic that was clipped to his fluorescent high-visibility jacket, in a warning that said 'I click this mic and you're gonna be nicked.'
“If you don't get off the motorway immediately I will arrest you for disturbing the peace.”
“Disturbing the peace? This is a major accident. I'd say the peace has already been disturb-”
“AND,” continued the Officer talking over her, “I can inform you that there was no child, baby, OAP, man, woman, or pet - other than the driver - aboard when we arrived.”
Marlow
threw her hands to the heavens. “Finally!” she yelled. She shared a grin with the Officer. “Just one more thing, mate.” She jerked a thumb in the direction the lorry was heading. “There's a service station a couple of miles from here, isn't there?”
Dan's hands were still shaking as he gulped the lukewarm coffee. The taste allowed him to focus on the issue of why service station coffee was always sold so cold you had to drink it in several gulps or throw it away? He'd tried ice coffee once before and hadn't liked the taste, so tepid was hardly an improvement. Then again, he didn't really like the taste of coffee any more than the vile energy drinks he was forced to consume.
Diversion over, his mind leapt back to the moment he jolted awake in the lorry cab and straight into a waking nightmare just as it struck the central barrier. The Driver had screamed at the top of his lungs as their world jolted sideways. Dan felt his stomach lurch and was convinced if he'd eaten anything more substantial than a Mars bar, then they would also have had flying vomit to contend with as the lorry tipped over. The seatbelt kept him firmly in place, which was a good thing as his backpack was already airborne and struck the Driver in the face - silencing his terrified scream.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dan could see the road fill up the side window next to him. The wing mirror snapped off seconds before the lorry floundered and the side window smashed into a myriad of white safety glass shards aimed at his face. Sparks licked from the door as it scraped across the road. All around him it sounded as if the world was coming to an end.
Then it abruptly stopped.
They were no longer sliding. Metal was no longer eating asphalt and the engine was no longer screaming in overdrive. Dan was lodged sideways in his seat, the Driver unconscious above him, held in place by his belt. There was the distinct smell of diesel. Dan's head was spinning both from the crash and the fumes. Even when he closed his eyes he could still feel the world wallowing sleepily around him. What had happened? Had they tried to avoid something in the road? Had there been a reckless driver ahead? His Grandpa had always told his mum that the most dangerous thing on the road were other drivers.
Or had it been another nightmare?
Dan shivered at the thought. How long had he been asleep? Minutes? Hours? How far had they travelled before the shades of his mind oozed into reality? With his sense of balance reeling, his mind churning and his nostrils filled with the increasingly strong scent of fuel, Dan decided they should get out.
“Are you OK?” he said reaching a trembling hand for the Driver. He didn't move. Dan gave him two sharp shakes, but still the man was unresponsive. For a horrible moment Dan thought the man was dead until he noticed the shallow rise of his chest.
“I'll get us out of here.”
He unclipped his seatbelt and fell unceremoniously onto his backside, scrapping the tarmac through the shattered passenger window. He stood, bringing him level to the Driver's face. The man's nose was broken from impact with Dan’s flying backpack, and bloodied bubbles formed on his lips as he breathed.
“Wake up,” said Dan shaking him. It was a lame thing to say, but he couldn't think of anything else. He'd watched enough terrible hospital dramas on TV that he should know what to do. He thought back - usually when somebody was lying bleeding on the floor the doctors... well, the doctors and nurses talked about who was sleeping with who and why. Thinking about it, none of the TV shows he saw bore any resemblance to what people would really say. No wonder his Mum always insisted television wasn't educational.
“I'll get you out,” he said, hoping that the Driver could hear him at some level. Dan thumbed the release switch on the Driver's seat belt–
And the Driver dropped towards him. Dan tried to catch him, but the man was far too heavy. He butted Dan in the chest and they crashed awkwardly to the floor where Dan had been sitting moments earlier.
“Crap.” The man’s weight crushed Dan. He had to use his feet to lever the bulky carcass off him. It was a good thing the Driver was still out cold. “Sorry about that.”
The windscreen had shattered, but the safety glass had held together so that it was now opaque and covered in a network of white lines like a spider’s web. Dan experimentally touched it. It wobbled like plastic. He gave it two sharp kicks and the whole window crumpled onto the road beyond. Outside, he could now see a wall of traffic - the cars approaching from the opposite carriageway had halted seconds away from impact. Dan gripped the Driver under the armpits and pulled him a few feet across the road before he fell flat. The Driver's legs were still in the cab, caught on his seatbelt.
“Help me!” yelled Dan to anybody who might have been watching.
He pulled again, inching the Driver further out but hampered by both the belt and the Driver's mass. He heaved once more and was surprised when the Driver moved a few feet. Dan realised this was achieved because two drivers - one woman and a suited man - were helping him.
The woman was a picture of concern. “Are you alright?”
“I'm fine, but he's unconscious,” said Dan.
Between the three of them, the Driver was easier to move away from the danger zone. Dan became aware traffic on the motorway had ground to a halt, with many cars facing completely the wrong direction. People were wandering around – some injured and bleeding, others with mobile phones cradled against their ears. He caught snatches of conversation.
“Police... traffic accident... smell petrol...”
They dragged the Driver to the grassy bank and laid him down. The suited man took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
“I’m a qualified first aider,” he stated with some authority. “Roll him into the recovery position.”
Dan and the woman had no idea what this was, so followed the suit's instructions to roll the Driver on his side and check he wasn’t choking on his tongue. The man then began his inspection of the Driver as more people crowded around.
“An ambulance is on the way,” somebody said.
“Stinks of fuel,” said another, “It could blow up any second.”
Dan suddenly realised his backpack was still in the cab. It contained all the possessions he now had in the world and didn’t want to lose them. He darted back to retrieve it.
“You boy! No! It's too dangerous!” somebody shouted but nobody tried to stop him.
With his backpack in hand, Dan finally saw the full trail of devastation behind them. His eyes drew to the trailer and the huge tears along the metal. There was no doubt in his mind what had caused the crash.
Swinging his backpack on, Dan sprinted across the far side of the carriage way – away from the Driver. He scrambled through the bushes on the inclined embankment. He needed to get far away. He heard voices call behind him, but he ignored them all. The greater the distance, the less harm he could inflict on others...
Dan placed his empty coffee cup down. The caffeine, combined with the adrenaline still flowing through him, would hopefully keep him awake for a couple more hours. He'd eventually have to find somewhere to sleep. Somewhere away from anybody he could harm. A vault in the middle of nowhere would be ideal.
It had taken him three hours to reach the service station, and the winter's night was already closing in. Worse, Dan noticed it had started snowing, which meant sleeping in the open was now out of the question.
His stomach rumbled. He needed more than chocolate and crisps to keep him going. Luckily the service station had a restaurant serving hot stodgy food that would help keep him awake. He left the café, ambling towards the restaurant as he counted the money in his pocket. Twelve pounds and some change was all he had. How was he supposed to get far with just that?
Contemplating how to make the cash last, he didn't notice a figure entering the service station until the very last second. The woman's long wavy wet hair was plastered against her forehead, but there was no mistaking the raggedy appearance of Marlow.
Chapter Seven
Dan bolted like a jackrabbit. Marlow swore under her breath and gave chase as discr
etely as possible, although she was more than aware of the eyes following her as she pushed her way through a knot of people.
“Excuse me,” she grunted.
She caught the word 'gypsy' muttered under a few of people's breaths. Ordinarily, when in a bad mood, she would round on such idiots and vent a piece of her mind, but now her eyes were fixed squarely on the boy as he fled into a shop.
Dan tried to duck between shelves but Marlow had the height advantage and tracked the boy's bobbing head. The aisle were maze-like, but a few quick turns and Marlow had Dan cornered against a wall of magazines. The boy froze, his eyes darting to an old woman blocking his only escape route past the paperback section.
“Dan, it's me. You remember who I am?”
Dan scowled. “I know who you are. Keep away from me.” He kept his voice low, if he drew attention to himself then security would surely come along and grab Marlow, but then he would have to answer several awkward questions too.
“Your Grandpa sent me to bring you back.”
“I don't care. I'm not going back home!”
Marlow glanced around; everybody in the shop was staring at him. The sight of such a woman menacing a child was more than enough to have the place swarming with police.
“I'm his aunty,” she said forcing a grin. “Ain't that right, Dan?” She glared at Dan, defying him not to play along.
Dan looked up at the faces fixed expectantly on him. Now was the perfect chance to get Marlow off his case... and to end up with a caring Police Officer intent on reuniting him with his mother.
Dan gulped and forced a smile. “Sorry, Aunt. I just...”
“He had one of his turns. He's a little mental.” Marlow ignored Dan's scowl. That seemed to get a collective nod of understanding and, as one, everybody turned away as if staring was the unkind thing to do. Marlow extended her hand to Dan, and spoke a little louder than necessary. “What's say we sit down and get a drink, eh? Maybe some food. Calm down and talk things through.”
