Flare

Chapter 6

The truck had slewed across the road, the huge trailer toppling and blocking all three lanes. The cab itself was embedded in the central reservation, mangled shards of steel and concrete sticking out in all directions.

Jerry pulled to a stop a dozen metres away, peering through the windscreen to see if there was room for us to squeeze past on the hard shoulder.

“What do you reckon?” He asked.

“I reckon we should see if the driver is still alive,” I said, climbing out of the car. The guilt I felt after our earlier conversation was too strong, and I couldn’t bear the thought of the driver lying trapped in the cab while we drove past.

“Malc, wait!” Jerry scrambled out and hurried after me, the thin beam of his torch illuminating the wreckage.

I ignored him, approaching the cab carefully. The heated metal of the engine was still ticking as it cooled, and up close the damage was even worse than it had looked from the car.

It had hit the reservation at an angle, presumably when the weight of the trailer pulled it off balance, and the driver’s side had crunched into the concrete with horrific force.

As I got close, I could see a fat, pale arm glistening in the moonlight, black streaks running from elbow to wrist where it had punched through the window and now lay against the grill, the rest of the body still hidden within the cab.

“Hello,” I called, “can you hear me?”

The wind picked up and I shivered. I’d dressed warmly for the time of year, jeans, hoody and a light jacket over the top, but the total absence of sound from anywhere made me feel colder, somehow.

I’d never realised just how much sound pollution there was, the constant thrum at the edge of my hearing that signified the rest of the world going about its business, even in the dead of the night. Instead, all there was now was the soft whistle of the wind and the occasional bark of a fox from somewhere in the distance.

I turned to see Jerry at my shoulder, his face pale.

“Is he alive?” He asked nervously.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

I walked up to the cab, still canted at a dangerous angle, and gently took hold of the door handle. It refused to budge.

I grabbed it with both hands and tugged, feeling the lock disengage, but the door itself was bent out of shape and it wouldn’t open.

Placing a foot up against the cab, I hauled with all my strength and suddenly the door flew open, spilling three hundred pounds of dead flesh on top of me as the body of the driver came free.

I collapsed, feeling my right ankle buckle with a sharp tearing pain that made me cry out as I hit the road, small pieces of broken glass and concrete digging painfully into my back.

I came to rest with the driver’s sightless, staring eyes inches from mine, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. Panic welled up inside me, a knee-jerk response to the horror of having so much dead, corpulent flesh covering my own body.

I lashed out, kicking, punching and clawing as I screamed in fear, doing little except to wobble the fat on the body as my panic grew worse.

His chest pressed down on my own, feeling like someone had dropped a car on me. My lungs laboured to breathe and black spots danced in front of my eyes as I came perilously close to blacking out.

At the very edge of my perception I was aware of Jerry, his stick-thin arms striving manfully to pull the dead weight off me before I was crushed.

Between us, we managed to roll the body just enough for me to scramble out from underneath, my chest heaving like a bellows as I sucked in huge lungfuls of air.

I lay there for several minutes, my breathing gradually slowing until I had control of myself again, suddenly embarrassed by the panic attack.

“Thank you,” I said to Jerry, “I, uh, well, thanks.”

He offered me a hand and I took it, using it to haul myself to my feet. My right ankle buckled immediately and I nearly sprawled on top of the corpse. Jerry caught the strain, keeping me steady while I lifted my right foot and gritted my teeth until the pain had passed.

“Do you want me to take a look?” Jerry asked, shining the torch at my trainers.

I shook my head. “No, not yet. It’s not bleeding, and other than that it doesn’t make much of a difference if it’s broken or sprained, either way we need to keep moving. We can check it out when we stop.”

He nodded in agreement and tucked an arm under my shoulders, helping me back to the car. He eased me into the passenger seat before getting in himself and starting it up, pulling onto the hard shoulder and squeezing past the end of the trailer by dint of putting two wheels up onto the verge.

“Can I make a suggestion?” He asked as we pulled back onto the road and began to pick up speed.

“Go on,” I said, peering down into the rubbish that littered the footwell as if I could see the swelling in the dark, unable to shake the dead driver’s face from my mind as I did so.

“No more stopping to help.”

I nodded in agreement. “Yeah, sure. Sorry.”

He shrugged and slowed the car as we passed another wreck, this one a pile up with five cars wedged together and spread out across two lanes, two lifeless bodies lying tangled in the road nearby.

“No need to be sorry, I’d just rather get us to Manchester in one piece, that’s all.”

I looked at the bodies, one a man in a business suit, perhaps a late commuter on his way home, the other a young woman with long brown hair matted thickly with blood.

There was no sign of the other drivers, and after our recent experience I had no wish to stop and find out if they were ok.

My ankle was beginning to feel uncomfortably tight, and as I reached down I could feel the swelling pushing at my trainer, rubbing at the bloated flesh as the joint filled with fluid. I could only hope that it was a bad sprain, not a break, and that the fluid wasn’t blood.

The pain was excruciating, bad enough that every bump in the road jarred it and sent pins of agony up as far as my knee.

“How is it?” Jerry asked, seeing me lean forwards.

“Not good, but I’ll survive,” I said, straightening, “I think it just needs strapping up.”

“I’ve got a first aid kit in the boot, we can strap it when we stop to rest. I was going to get you to share the driving but now…”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll be fine once it’s strapped.” I tried to sound cheerful, burying the worry that it might be broken. If it was, even if we did get to Melody without further incident, I couldn’t be sure how much use I would be in keeping her safe when I could barely walk.

The thought wasn’t much comfort as we drove on into the night, and I tried to put it from my mind as I watched the ruins of the world I had known flash past outside the window.