by NC Marshall
The Wrong Turn
NC Marshall
The Wrong Turn
Copyright © NC Marshall 2017
Smashwords Edition
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Prologue
I’m cursed! The two words play out over and over again in my head, and even though I have never believed in that sort of mumbo jumbo, it’s the only explanation that makes any sense as to why this could be happening right now. Or, maybe I did something wrong in a previous life? After a year or more of constant heartache and pain, one thing after another thrown at me, and now, as the brakes in my car refuse to slow me down, my conclusion is − I am cursed!
The car ahead, which has veered onto the wrong side of the road, continues to hurtle towards me. Its headlights flash, dazzling me, and causing temporary loss of sight. I continue to frantically pump my foot on the brake pedal. Nothing!
Before I know it, I hit the bridge. The other car continues to speed towards me and no attempt is being made to slow it down. I continue to work the brake pedal, again with no response. Now, the approaching car is directly ahead, meeting me at the centre of the deserted bridge. There’s not enough room to pass on the narrow road, and I know I'm travelling far too quickly, but I have no choice other than to attempt the tricky manoeuvre and avoid a potentially fatal head-on collision.
Turning the steering wheel sharply, just before impact, the other car clips mine and I immediately lose control. I swerve hazardously off the road, through the barrier, and down into the forested area that surrounds us. I’ve driven along this road numerous times and know the area like the back of my hand, but I hadn’t realized that there was such a steep decline. As the car accelerates, I catch sight of the vehicle that has succeeded in forcing me off the road, its tail lights disappearing into the darkness through my rearview mirror.
My car now moves even faster, plummeting down further into the overgrown ravine. Tree branches bang against the windscreen, scraping and scratching at the glass. I grip the steering wheel as tightly as I can and pray that I will survive, but when my car hits something solid and is thrown violently to one side, I only feel despair.
There’s a loud bang as the car rolls, and I’m jolted in all directions as it flies into the air and hits the ground with a deafening thud. There’s a loud bang that accompanies it, and I connect with the airbag, which has now inflated. A shattering sound follows and I scream out as the windscreen implodes and I’m showered with glass. A sharp pain drives across my temple and the strong metallic taste of blood floods my mouth. As the relentless groaning of crumpling metal continues, I close my eyes.
When I finally find the courage to open them, the car has stopped moving and I’m aware that I'm upside down. Touching my temple gingerly, I can feel a warm, sticky trickle of blood; still, I don’t feel any pain.
An icy wind is gushing around me and my small car is now barely recognizable – nothing more than a piece of tangled scrap metal. Crisp autumn leaves are scattered across the inside of the wreckage.
The car has finally settled at the bottom of the ravine and although its pitch black, the headlights and soft glow of the moon allow me to get my bearings. I try to move, but I'm pinned back by my seatbelt and my legs are trapped under the twisted steering column. I search around, desperately trying to think of a way I can escape the wreckage, but my vision is blurred and my mind is disorientated and confused.
I focus on breathing and inhale deeply, trying to stop the shaking of my entire body. The stench of exhaust fumes and petrol saturates the early evening forest air, and sparks dance from the now-visible electric wires of the dashboard, hanging to my side.
“Help me!” I shout, desperately, and my voice echoes back from beyond the trees. “Please – someone help me!” I hear nothing more than the deafening quiet of the dense surrounding woodland.
“Someone, please!” I scream again, as loudly as I can through excruciating sobs of fear.
I wriggle in my seat and, with every ounce of strength I have left, I try to force my legs out, but it’s no good, I’m tightly trapped. Prior to this, I’ve not believed in God, but I begin to chant a prayer, begging him to get me through this and spare my life. However, it seems that tonight, even God isn’t listening!
Attempting to calm down, I try and focus on a way of escaping, but when a large electrical spark flashes to the left of me, causing a small fire to ignite outside the car, I begin to lose control.
“Help, please someone help me!” I scream frantically into the night and, although I thrash back and forth, trying to free myself, the seatbelt's grip doesn’t budge. The flames flicker nearer to me, setting alight the dry heaps of leaves on the ground, and edging forward, they begin licking hungrily at the body of the wreckage.
The heat is already so intense that I can barely breathe, and every inhalation I do manage makes my lungs burn.
I’m going to die! Right here, right now, I’m going to die!
I continue to struggle – I can’t give up. I've gone through too much lately to lose my life in this way, but as the heat becomes more unbearable, and the flames crawl nearer, I know I have no choice but to surrender.
Minutes go by, or maybe only seconds and I close my eyes and welcome the darkness, knowing it’s time to let go. Salty tears slipping down my cheeks sting my dry lips. I’m losing consciousness and, as I can feel myself slipping into the comfort of sleep, I hear a sound close by, causing me to snap back to a state of semi-awareness. It’s the sound of dried leaves crunching, and it’s getting closer. Footsteps! There’s someone here!
“Help me, please help me,” I plead again, but my voice is barely a croaky whisper, silent to anyone but myself.
“Hey, it's OK, you're going to be alright,” I hear a distant voice reply. Thank you, God!
I frantically search for the owner of the voice, but it's too dark to see properly. Suddenly my door is wrenched open and I catch a glimpse of feet, and then a blistered hand reaches over to untangle me from my twisted seatbelt. I try to control my coughing as I feel an arm wrap around me, and I am torn from the driver's seat so that my legs are finally free.
My head swims, shadows and blurred shapes dance in front of my eyes. We stagger a short distance when I’m lowered gently to the forest floor, landing in a heap and unable to sit upright. I can smell the earth beneath me and feel the cold mud against the back of my sweltering neck. A cluster of leaves catches on the breeze, and blow through my hair. As I start to lose consciousness again, I dig my fingernails into the ground and force myself to stay awake; I then feel something similar to a blanket being placed over me.
I’m moving now, quickly, further away from the car, and my rescuer has me in their arms. I peer behind us where the sky is alive with a bright orange glow, and I can feel the breeze against my face, icy against the hot and damp streaks of blood, sweat and tears. As we continue up the hill, I break down and bury my head into the shoulder of my lifesaver. We are almost back to the road above when the car behind us explodes with an almighty bang.
Chapter 1
“Well, look who’s awake!”
My eyelids flicker open and I squint against the blinding light that stings my gritty eyes. With my right hand up to my face, I try to shift from the rays blazing through a small window to my side.
“Try not to move, darling. You’ve been through a bit of an ordeal.”
&
nbsp; I attempt to sit upright as a plastic beaker of water is thrust into my hand and, accepting it, I take a sip – it instantly soothes my burning throat. My dad’s face comes into focus as he fusses with the corner of the white sheet covering me.
“Where am I?” I ask. My voice is deep and scratchy, nowhere close to its normal sound.
“You're in hospital, love,” my dad replies soothingly.
“Why, what happened to me?” I touch my eyebrow, which seems to have been bandaged, and I feel an instant stabbing sensation across my forehead. I wince with pain and drag myself into a sitting position.
“You were in an accident, but you're safe now.” My dad rubs my shoulder.
“What accident?” I ask him, with no recollection whatsoever.
“Don’t you remember, Megan? You were in a car accident last night.” My brother Luke’s voice emerges into the bright room before he appears on the opposite side of the bed to my dad. “Your car came off the road down at Kitley Bridge.”
“Oh my God,” I reply, as I’m hit with a flashback. I put a hand across my stomach, suddenly feeling nauseous.
“The doctor says you’re going to be fine, love. You have a cut to your head and a few nasty grazes, but apart from that you are OK, thank goodness.” My dad takes my cup and refills it from a large plastic jug on the bedside cabinet.
“Can you remember what happened, Meg?” asks Luke. He sits down gently at the bottom of the bed and I study his face. The usually perfectly groomed hair and carefree expression he wears has been replaced by a disheveled and tired-looking appearance; he seems to have aged 10 years since I last saw him about 48 hours ago.
“I think so,” I reply, fighting images of being pulled from the car and gripping someone’s neck as they carried me back up to the bridge.
“Someone pulled me from the car,” I say.
“Yeah, the nurse told us someone rescued you,” replies Luke, before glancing again at our dad, who is still fussing around me. Although they are doing a great job of trying to mask it, both men have a concerned look on their faces, which reveals their true emotions.
“I’m so glad someone saw you down there,” adds my dad. “If it hadn’t been for them, I can’t bring myself to think what could have happened to you.” He pauses to look down at me and bites his lower lip. Dark circles shadow his kind, green eyes and his skin is pale − he too looks absolutely shattered.
“Is the person who saved me still here?” I ask hopefully. “I’d really like to thank them.”
“No,” says my dad. Finally, he stops fussing and sits down on a chair next to me. “You’ve been asleep all night, Meg. It was just some bloke who was passing by; he called an ambulance at the roadside and made sure you were attended to, but didn’t come with you to the hospital.”
“Your purse was in the pocket of your jeans, so the hospital staff were able to identify you and call us,” adds Luke.
“I’d just been to buy petrol – I’d stayed late at the office and was on my way home,” I offer, trying to ignore the overpowering smell of leaking fuel that seemed embedded in my nostrils.
Luke nods and gives my dad another worrying glance.
“Do you know who it was?” I ask.
“Who?”
“The man who saved me.” I focus my attention on my brother, then shift my weight on the bed as pain shoots down the length of my left leg. I wriggle it under the covers to try and dull the discomfort.
“I’ve spoken to the paramedics who dealt with you last night,” answers Luke. “They had to rush you here and they didn’t get a name from the guy.”
“You were lucky he was passing on that bridge and saw your car at the bottom of the ravine,” adds Dad.
“I would like to have said thank you,” I whisper back thoughtfully. I turn to look out of the hospital window, now able to stand the light coming through, which isn’t as bright as I had first thought. The weak morning sun filters through the orange leaves on the trees, leaving a pattern on the empty hospital grounds outside. In normal circumstances I would appreciate the view – the perfect example of an autumnal day. Today, however, it only makes me more aware of where I am, and why I am here.
“The police have already been down to where the crash happened,” says Luke. My dad shoots him a glance as if to tell him to be quiet, but I urge my brother to continue.
“Why are the police involved? Did you call them?” I ask.
“Well, no, you…” Luke begins to stammer.
“Come on, Luke, spit it out!”
“You told the paramedics that you were run off the road.” Luke finally admits. My dad rolls his eyes at my brother.
As soon as Luke says these words, another powerful flashback hits me − a car’s lights hurtling towards me at an unforgiving speed and then the sickening rear view of it driving off into the darkness, leaving me for dead.
“We weren’t going to mention anything to you just yet, about the other car and the police. You need to get yourself better, Meg and you don’t need any added stress right now,” orders my dad.
“No, Dad, it’s alright, honest. I’m sure it would have come back to me at some point anyway.” I wave my hand to silence my dad before he has chance to speak again. “Do they know who was driving the other car?” I ask Luke.
“They think it was kids, but they’re still looking into it,” he answers. “They told us that they’ll have to speak to you.”
I nod as a young nurse enters the ward and stops at the bottom of my bed, next to Luke. She looks down at him and flushes slightly when he notices her, before bending over to pick up a clipboard and study it. Luke catches my eye and flashes me a cheeky grin before he checks out her backside and moves out of her way.
“How are you feeling Mrs Cooper?” she asks, flashing my brother another quick glance through her thick lashes.
My dad shakes his head in disapproval. My younger brother has been a flirt since his late teens and, at the age of almost 28, I have no hope that he’s about to change his ways any time soon.
I regain the nurse’s attention and smile, preparing myself for an Oscar-winning performance.
“Quite good, considering,” I answer brightly. I actually feel pretty dreadful, but my dad doesn’t need to know that, and I also want to get out of here as soon as possible.
“You were very lucky.” The nurse smiles back at me and reaches to adjust the dressing above my eye. “A little smoke inhalation, some minor scratches and a few bruises are a small price to pay for what you went through last night.”
“I know,” I admit, as the tears start and I wipe them away, watching as the water trickles down my fingers, leaving a clean space on my filthy nails.
“You need to get more rest,” she says, noticing my emotional state and I nod in agreement.
“Yes,” says my dad agreeably, taking the hint. “We’ll get going and let you sleep, love. We just wanted to be here when you woke up.” He motions to Luke, who promptly hugs me and kisses me on the cheek.
“Look after yourself, sis,” he says.
“We’ll pop back in to see you later,” says my dad, also bending to give me a hug. I pull him close and cling onto him tightly.
“Bye, Dad.”
“Oh and I’ll nip to your house this afternoon and bring you a few bits and pieces,” adds Luke.
“Thanks,” I whisper and attempt a smile. Once again, a sharp, stabbing pain shoots across my forehead, but I try to ignore it so that my dad and Luke don’t notice. I give them a wave and watch silently as they leave the small ward; I then turn my attention back to the nurse.
“We want to keep you in for a couple of days, just to keep an eye on you,” she says. I nod, already guessing as much.
“Decent guys those two,” she remarks, as she hands me some tablets in a plastic container. “They’ve been here most of the night − worried sick about you.”
“I know, they’re the best,” I admit, before reaching for the water and swallowing the tablets in one painful
gulp.
Once I’ve taken the painkillers, the nurse leaves me alone to get more rest and, tucking myself back down under the sheets, I suddenly feel exhausted and lean back into the pillows to watch the world outside. Patients are starting to emerge for some early morning fresh air.
As I close my eyes once more, I quickly drift off to sleep and thank God for the stranger who saved my life, who I will probably never meet.
Chapter 2
Will Travers lifted the chipped mug to his lips and took a sip of his second black coffee of the morning. Steam rose from the cup and stung his eyes, and he glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall, knowing full well that he had to get a move on. It was almost 8.30 a.m. and although he hadn’t slept at all in almost 24 hours, he felt noticeably alert. The adrenaline from last night must still be pumping hard.
He wondered how Megan was doing. In fact, he hadn’t stopped wondering since the moment he’d left her in the back of the ambulance last night, and he couldn’t escape the feeling of guilt that plagued him for not getting to her sooner.
She had clung onto him for dear life and, as they’d raced back up to the deserted bridge, he could feel the desperation pouring from her. She was in shock and clearly distraught − hardly surprising after what she had been through. However, she was conscious when the ambulance arrived and the paramedics seemed optimistic that she would be fine.
He had fought all night with the demons in his head telling him that he should have gone to the hospital with her to make sure that she was OK, but he couldn’t chance it. Not now.
Draining the last of his coffee, he put the empty mug in the sink, still full of dishes from the day before, and made his way upstairs. Entering his bedroom, he unwrapped the damp towel from around his waist and flung it onto the unmade bed, then bent to pull on a pair of jeans, which lay in a heap on the bedroom floor, from when he had returned late last night. There was still a faint smell of smoke from the fabric, and again thoughts of her filled his mind. Crossing the room, he opened the blinds, then halfheartedly picked out a fresh t-shirt from the wardrobe, pulling it over his pounding head. His ears were still blocked and ringing from the explosion. If he had been a few minutes later, Megan would be dead and maybe he would too.