by Wendy Hudson
She’d make a fresh pot of coffee and take a minute to stand over it to inhale the beautiful aroma. She’d savour a cup before languishing in a shower. Alone. Where the powerful stream of water would make her groan in appreciation, and her toothbrush was the best invention in the world after finally getting rid of terrible hospital breath.
But still there was the odd day where no matter how good the coffee, how hot the shower, or how minty fresh her breath was, she still needed a sign that the whole world wasn’t shite.
Today was one of those days. She had gone from the high of a great first couple of weeks back at work and making plans with Darcy, to the low of Darcy cancelling their date at the last minute. The weekend stretched before her with nothing in it but to wallow in self-pity. Books couldn’t hold her attention, TV offered no respite, and there was only so much social-media scrolling she could take. Even Sam couldn’t save her tonight; his date was still on.
She’d tried the exercises, taken the pills, tried to wait it out. She’d cleaned and organised and changed bed sheets, moved pictures around, and thrown away trinkets that were meaningless now Claire was gone. She’d scrubbed and brushed and wiped and polished. She had half-heartedly replied to texts from friends who were long overdue her attention.
Yes, she was okay. No, she wasn’t surprised about Claire leaving. Yes, they would make plans to catch up soon. She had even called her mum for a rare blether about nothing and everything, forcing her to make half-hearted promises to visit. But the anxiety still simmered under the surface, continued to pick at her fears and stop her cold with an irrational dread that wouldn’t shift.
So now she wandered the darkened streets looking for kindness and light. For a sign, a conversation, a moment that would ease the panic and let her know it would be okay. If only it were that easy. The brashness of a Friday night in town came at her from every angle. Everything wrong jumped out at her. It made her flinch and cringe and want to cower away. The parent swearing full volume at their crying child. The teenager dropping litter in the street. The group of drunken men, rambling and swearing. The graffiti and the boarded-up shops. The strangers bashing shoulders because neither were willing to relent in their chosen path. The music blaring from an open flat window. The dog incessantly barking.
It was all too much.
The world started to spin around her, and the urge to flee took over. Her legs broke their sedate pace, finally giving in to what she needed. To run. To hide. To get away. She followed the river and headed out of town, towards the quiet. To the lanes beyond the houses, to the fields and the moonlit sky. Most of all, towards the blessed calm.
Her trainers broke through the dirty slush gathered at the edge of the lane. Each icy puddle she thumped through slapped her legs with cold until they were numb. They moved of their own accord, keeping rhythm with her breathing, propelling her further in to the darkness of the countryside.
She had no idea how far she’d come, was unaware of when the landscape had changed into one that was now unrecognisable. A car came around the corner, and she hopped on to the verge for safety. It didn’t stop her being splattered with the filthy remains of the last snowfall. She tried to catch a glimpse of a familiar landmark in its headlights, but nothing stood out.
Finally coming to rest, she breathed out heavy clouds of air. The frost was biting, and her clothes were soaked. Her shoulder ached in a way it hadn’t for weeks; she rolled it, trying to loosen off the throbbing clench of muscle around the joint. If the running had helped take her a step forward mentally, it’d taken her two steps back physically.
She spun around on the spot, trying to place where she was while waiting for another car to pass and light her way. Why the fuck hadn’t she taken her phone? She turned to head back in the direction she had come; there was bound to be a village or brown tourist sign. This was Inverness—there were brown signs everywhere.
A screech in the distance snapped her head back around. She heard the gunning of an engine and the unmistakable sound of cars speeding. It was distant but approaching fast. She leapt on to the verge again and craned her neck to see past the hedgerows. If it was bloody boy racers out there, in the sludge and ice, buggered if they’d have consideration for an idiot jogger in the middle of nowhere.
She saw the headlights veer around one bend and head towards the one she stood a few feet ahead of. It showed no signs of slowing. The second car was a corner or two behind but gaining.
Eilidh braced herself for the car to turn and spray her head to toe on its way past. She had all her favourite swearwords ready to cuss its retreating bumper.
But it didn’t turn.
The lights veered, left, right, left again. Tires squealed, Eilidh screamed, and the car straightened but too late to take the corner. It kept its line and ploughed over the verge, touching down at an angle.
Everything slowed as the dark mass began to rotate, once, twice, three times. It smashed into the frozen earth of the field, the grinding crunch of glass and metal cutting through the frosty night.
Eilidh winced and slammed her eyes shut, not daring to look again until she heard the ominous thump of the car finally coming to rest.
Chapter 21
Anja maintained control as her car skidded to a stop. Her head slammed back against the headrest, and the seatbelt caught her as she flung forward again. As her head snapped back up, the shadow of Darcy’s car disappeared over the verge. She saw the rear lights flash high in the air, streaking through the darkness as the car catapulted itself into a spin.
“Darcy,” she screamed before she yanked off her belt and tumbled out of her own car. “Fuck. Oh fuck.” The urge to run to Darcy, to help her, to save her, gripped her heart in a vice, but the fear that sat solid in the pit of her stomach held her back. She spun around, looking for other cars in the distance, for a sign anyone else was around.
A dark shadow darted over the verge, and Anja’s headlights caught the reflective strips of a running top. “Oh shit.”
“Help,” the shadow screamed in her direction, and Anja froze. She ducked back into her car, where she slammed and locked the doors. She gripped the wheel in an attempt to ground herself while her mind spun. Her love for Darcy battled with self-preservation, threatening to render her immobile and fucked either way.
Darcy needs you, Anja. She’s fucking crashed her car and she needs you right now.
But what if they say it’s my fault? What if she tells the police everything? Says I chased her and caused the crash?
You’re meant to love her and would do anything for her. Fuck everything else; you need to help.
She hit her forehead a few times with the palm of her hand.
Think. Think. Think.
Anja restarted the engine and rolled closer to the verge, lowering her window. “Is she okay?” she called out to the runner, now crouched by the driver side window. “Have you phoned for an ambulance?”
A torrent of swearing came back. “Who’s there? Get your arse down here, I need your help. Please. I think she’s really hurt.”
Anja thought she might vomit. With the state the car was in, she could only imagine what it had done to Darcy. Her Darcy.
“Hello?” the voice called out again. “Did you hear me?”
She swallowed back the bile. “I’ll call an ambulance.”
There is someone with her. They will help and then an ambulance will come. Darcy will be okay. She has to be okay.
But Anja had to get out of there.
She made the call, leaving only the location and a hoarse plea for them to hurry. With one last glance towards the shadow of the stranger, she made a U-turn. She had to get back to the cabin and remove all trace that she was there that night. No one could know. Her whole life was over if Darcy told anyone.
In her rearview mirror, she watched as smoke began to plume from the car. She prayed the stranger had gotten Darc
y out, that she’d be okay, and this whole night could be forgotten between them.
“She’ll be okay. She’ll be okay.” Anja kept the mantra going as she raced around the cabin. She replaced her robe with clothes and hung it back in place. She cleared wine glasses and bottles, left the fire to dwindle, and binned the remnants of their dinner. Tears coursed over her cheeks the entire time, and she had to constantly gulp the panic down.
“She’ll be okay. She’ll be okay.”
She surveyed the cabin one last time, satisfied every trace of their evening had been removed. Darcy had been surprised, that was all. They’d only ever been friends, so of course it would have been a bit of a shock, but Anja knew the feelings weren’t one-sided. Darcy felt something, of that Anja was certain. She was just afraid of admitting it.
Anja would take care of her and prove to Darcy that she was worth it.
One day, Darcy would see her. One day, she would know the whole truth.
Chapter 22
A burst of white exploded in front of Darcy, crushing her chest and battering her face. It combined with the tooth-cringing groan of metal on metal and the musical shatter of glass. Pressure built rapidly in her head; it felt close to implosion, as her body strained against gravity.
The blood, cloying and sticky, attracted her hair and smothered her face. Her eyes wouldn’t open. Her legs wouldn’t move. Her mouth failed to form anything coherent, only panicked bursts of screaming.
While every sense was assaulted with chaos, the stranger’s voice drifted through and offered her something to grasp on to, something real to believe in, as everything else around her twisted in confusion. It was a tether to the world that was attempting to destroy her.
It was muffled at first, and the initial few words were expletives. “Shit, shit, fuck.” Followed by reassurances Darcy was sure were meant for both of them. “It’ll be okay. Help is coming. You’re going to be okay.”
She became aware of banging near her head, but when she tried to turn towards it, her body refused to comply. The stranger’s voice cut through again, and Darcy grabbed it, focusing on something she could make sense of while all around the fear closed in. “I’m going to smash the window. If you can hear me, cover your face.”
She wished she could.
Eilidh’s instinct screamed at her to get the woman out of there, and for a second time she cursed not bringing her phone. She craned her neck. Where the fuck had the other car gone? What were her chances of help anytime soon?
The woman hung limp, upside down, the seatbelt straining against her neck and torso. She was almost ghostly, wrapped all in white, and Eilidh couldn’t tell if she was awake. The roof was semi-caved, the windscreen a spider web of cracked glass, as was the window Eilidh peered through.
She scrabbled around in ice and dirt, feeling for something big and strong enough to do what she needed. Her hand finally wrapped around a good-sized rock, and she gripped it tight.
“I’m going to smash the window,” she shouted. “If you can hear me, try to cover your face.”
Eilidh paused, waiting for the woman to move. When she didn’t, Eilidh took a breath, drew her arm back, and swung the rock against the window with everything she had. It didn’t budge. She tried again. Three times, four. It finally relented, and her arm shot through the shattered pieces with the rock. She gasped as the glass tore at her arm, but the pain was quickly forgotten when she heard a groan escape the injured woman.
She used the rock to bash away the remaining shards, then leaned through the gap and pressed her fingers to the woman’s neck. It was slippery with blood, but she managed to hold still long enough to feel it—the faint pulse of life. The woman was still with her. Barely.
Sharp sprinkles pricked Darcy’s raw flesh, telling her the stranger had done as they’d said. She could feel movement, feel the stranger close to her. But the pain tore through her until blissfully the world went dark.
She wasn’t sure for how long, only that the stranger was once again shouting. This time, the words were confusing and didn’t seem meant for her.
How many people are out there?
The original voice became soft, muttering, “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” on repeat. Then it was comforting, despite the quiver, despite the obvious fear. “Okay, I’m going to get you out of there. Then we’ll decide what to do. All right?”
The stranger didn’t wait for a reply.
They pressed up tight against her and began to fumble around, looking for something. “I’m so sorry if this hurts. I’m so sorry. But I need to unclip this to get you the right way up and out of this car.”
Darcy tried to prepare herself for whatever might happen next. It seemed an age. The cursing was in full flow, laced with a note of panic. Without warning, her body was mercifully released, her head striking something solid as it crumpled. She tried to cry out, but the smoke had taken over and choked the screams in her throat.
The woman’s face was a mask of blood, and her body weight combined with the cave in the roof pressed her chin against her chest. Eilidh could make out a dark patch blooming across her torso that seemed to be growing. She pulled aside the robe as best she could, but there was no injury that she could make out.
Then blood dripped on to the back of her hand, and she traced the source to a steady flow that was seeping from one of the woman’s legs. It was jammed above her, twisted at an awkward angle. Her arms were flopped either side of her head, and her left wrist looked all kinds of wrong.
Eilidh didn’t know what the fuck to do.
Right, what are my choices?
Try and move her or run for help.
There didn’t seem to be a right answer. She wondered again where the fuck the other car had gone.
“Is she okay?” a voice called out from the road.
It made her jump, and she split her head against the sharp edge of the window frame.
“Who’s there?” she yelled back. “Get your arse down here, I need your help. Please. I think she’s really hurt.”
Eilidh waited for a response but all she could hear was the idling of the other cars engine.
“Hello?” she called out again. “Did you hear me?”
“I’ll call an ambulance,” the voice finally replied.
Eilidh heard the engine rev and saw a flash of headlights as the car pulled away. “What the…”
The injured woman groaned, pulling Eilidh’s attention back to the situation. She had a decision to make and needed to make it fast. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Okay, I’m going to get you out of there. Then we’ll decide what to do. All right?”
The woman groaned again, but Eilidh was sure she hadn’t understood a word. She reached through the window, fumbling to find the seatbelt socket. “I’m so sorry if this hurts. I’m so sorry. But I need to unclip this to get you the right way up and out of this car.”
When she got no response, Eilidh angled more of her body inside and braced her other arm and shoulder under the woman’s torso in an effort to control her fall once the seatbelt released. She took a breath and pressed.
Nothing.
The belt stayed snapped in to place. She tried again, then yanked the clip with everything she had. It still didn’t give.
Then she smelt it. Smoke.
“Oh shit. That can’t be good.” She squeezed her eyes closed and offered up a silent prayer.
Unclip this fricking belt and help me get her out of here.
She jammed her thumb against the button again, it popped, and the woman slumped on top of her. The smoke was stronger, filling her nostrils and choking her throat. Eilidh gradually pulled herself from under the woman’s body and tried to ease her around so she lay sideways along what was the roof of the car.
“Oh my God.” She surveyed the mess of the woman’s leg, one foot clearly snapped in the wrong direction and a bone protruding from her shin, t
he source of all the blood. “This is going to be painful, but we need to get you away from the car.”
Careful of her mangled wrist, Eilidh hooked both hands under the woman’s arms and tugged. She braced her feet against the window frame initially, making slow but steady progress.
“C’mon, sweetheart. We can do this. We’re getting you out of here. It’s going to be okay.”
So much smoke. And heat. And pain.
Firm hands hooked under Darcy’s arms, and the blood rushed the other way as her limp form untangled and her legs flopped uselessly to the side. That’s when the numbness started. When the cold began to take over.
“Oh my God.” Even the terror in the stranger’s voice could only evoke a groan from her. Another type of fear kicked in knowing she was completely at the stranger’s mercy. Anxiety, futile and infuriating. Darcy wanted to help, but not an inch of her body would comply.
“This is going to be painful, but we need to get you away from the car.”
She knew she was moving. Start, stop. Start, stop.
The stranger was crying. Tears that seemed born of frustration, rather than fear, and Darcy wished she could return the favour. To tell them it was going to be okay too.
The air became thicker, oppressive. Was it the blood or smoke that stopped her lungs from filling? She couldn’t tell. Only that heat scorched her face and the stranger’s tugs had become more aggressive and urgent. She could hear the laboured breathing of her saviour and wanted to tell them, Leave me, it’s too late, my body has deserted me. Whatever this is? Wherever we are? Save yourself.
Eilidh’s eyes stung with tears. Was it fear, frustration, or the smoke that was becoming ever thicker? She needed a little distance from the car that seemed ready to blow. Then she could reassess, try to make her comfortable, and run for help if the ambulance showed no sign of appearing.
The woman wasn’t heavy, but the frozen ground proved her nemesis, her trainers offering little resistance on the icy grass and slowing her progress. The smoke billowed dark against the twilight, and flames had fully caught hold, licking the sides of the bonnet.