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I stop the car in the last lane of the carriageway, leaving the blues on. Another unit comes in behind us and there are more sirens echoing in the distance.
‘Traffic,’ I tell Sacha, pulling my reflective jacket from my kit bag in the boot. I shrug it on over my utility vest and zip it up. Sacha does the same with hers, then conveys the message to those arriving that they need to stop any more traffic from getting through. There’s plenty of room to keep the one lane moving, but not while debris and tyre marks are spread over all three lanes and we need to find out what happened.
So far, I can only see one vehicle. It’s the right way up, but all the panels, from the doors to the roof to the boot, are caved in, which tells me it’s rolled. In the place where it’s come to a stop, the front nearside wheel has landed in the ditch off the side of the road so the whole thing tilts up a few inches at an awkward angle. The debris is everywhere. I’m walking towards the wreckage, knowing what I’ll find. No one could survive that.
I radio in that CIU is required on scene, and Control confirms the Collision Investigation Unit have been informed and are already preparing to despatch. ETA imminent.
It’s a Fiat, the badge in the road tells me, though hard to tell which. Bigger than a 500. Perhaps a Punto. There’s no reg plate on the back, it’s gone, so has the boot lid, but ridiculously the rear lamps are immaculate; not even a crack. Chaos unfolds behind me. Sirens and engines and shouted orders. But the closer I get to the car, the further away that chaos recedes, until the only sound is that of my boots on the tarmac. It’s like someone’s turning down the volume. Or maybe I’m just tuning it out.
The instructions from the radio go in – units attending to divert traffic from the slipway; fire, ambulance, CIU on route – but even that comes from down a long tunnel somewhere and gets filtered along the way so I only catch what I need to. I glance once down the carriageway ahead of me, eerily silent at that end of the motorway, empty of vehicles and anything or anyone else.
I’m just a few steps from the wreckage now. No time to think or brace or hesitate. I reach inside my jacket for the flashlight on my vest and shine it onto the rear seats. No baby or child seat this time, thank god. Only glass and bits of trim, the seat cushion torn, like a blade has sliced right through it, its stuffing spewing out. The passenger door is inverted, but I’m looking past that to the figure behind the wheel. All I see is hair. Thick, dark, long. No movement. A strong smell of fuel.
I turn and call Sacha, who comes running over. ‘Check the area,’ I say before she gets to me. ‘Just in case.’
She agrees and waves to another officer to help. She knows what I mean. The windscreen is out and there’s a chance any passengers might have gone through it. It’s quite something, how far an object can travel when propelled at speed.
I retreat again into the silence as I come around the wreck to the driver’s side. The window has gone here too, but it’s left a lethally jagged edge close to the front door trim. The woman isn’t moving. Her chin is tipped to her chest, seatbelt on and locking her in place. The deployed airbag has deflated and a thin mist of powder hangs in the air, though most of it will have been sucked out through the windows. I reach in and pull her hair aside, touch my fingers to her neck. I still myself to differentiate her pulse from my own, detect instead the faint rise and fall of her chest. She’s breathing.
The noise of the chaos comes back in a rush as I look over the top of the car’s roof for a paramedic. But all that’s there are the blues of our own cars and more lights further down amid the waiting traffic. Into the radio I stress the urgency for medical assistance, one female casualty. I try the door.
‘Hello?’ I call to the woman. ‘Hello, can you hear me?’
The door won’t budge, it’s jammed. Something under the crushed bonnet hisses, though the engine is off. There’s no point trying the rear doors, there’s not much left of them, but the passenger door opens once I put my boot to it. I drop one knee onto the broken glass on the passenger seat, the metal shell groaning beneath me.
‘Hey. Can you hear me?’
The woman’s head tilts my way with the movement of the car, and also because she’s trying to lift it.
‘It’s okay. Take your time. You’re alright.’
I avoid shining the torchlight directly at her while I try to assess her injuries. I don’t want her to panic at what she might see.
‘How you doing there?’ My voice is calm, like this is somewhere we meet every Wednesday night.
She groans, eyelids flutter. Blood seeps from her forehead into a thin streak down the side of her face. Spots of it have landed on the dress she wears, but not in any significant amount. She stirs some more, so I run the torch quickly over the space between our two seats to shed some light on the lower half of her body. But I see nothing, only that the impact has pushed the steering column over her knees. There’s only an inch or two of her thighs before the rest disappears under metal and plastic.
‘My name’s Steve. I’m a police officer. Got yourself in a bind here, but you’ll be alright now.’
‘Steve,’ a voice behind me says. I turn. Sacha shakes her head; there are no other casualties. She peers around me to the driver, as surprised as I am that she’s still alive.
‘Paramedic,’ I say, urging her with my eyes.
She looks at the traffic backing up. ‘I’ll go see where they are.’
Her footsteps retreat quickly as I search the interior for anything that might give me a clue who this girl is. But likely if she has a bag, it’s either be out on the road somewhere or in the passenger footwell, the one buried under the front end of the car.
‘Hey, can you hear me?’ I try again, drawing my other knee onto the seat to get closer. I touch my hand to her forehead and watch her eyelids twitch. ‘Come on now. How about a name at least, so I know who I’m talking to.’
Give her a chance. Please god, just give her a chance until the paramedics get here.
The eyelids part and a glimmer peeks from beneath them.
‘Well, hello. That’s better. Good of you to join me.’
I keep my voice calm, imagining what she sees, how all this must look.
‘It’s alright. You’re okay. I’m PC Fuller. Steve. You’re safe.’
Her breath is shallow, and growing faster as her situation emerges, the picture becoming clear. A soft whine seeps through her throat. Her eyes land on mine, somewhere between petrified and pleading. It’s a look I’ve seen so many times, and never get used to.
‘It’s okay, darling. You’ll be alright. We’ll have you out of here as quick as we can. Why don’t you tell me your name?’
Her hand shakes where it lies in her lap, the other does the same by her side. I take off my jacket, lay it over her up to her shoulders. It’s long enough to cover the bottom of the steering wheel in its wrong position.
‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’
Her chin trembles as she speaks. ‘Anna,’ she says. A whisper. And then, perhaps because she’s addressing an officer, she adds, ‘Anna Johnson.’
‘Well, Anna. Try not to worry. Help’s coming and we’ll have this sorted before you know it. But I want you to do me a favour and try to keep your head still, okay? Do you feel any pain?’
She takes in her surroundings, eyes roaming all around, but coming back to me with nothing. Voices blare from the radio. I turn down its volume.
‘Do you remember where you were going, Anna?’
She looks beyond the empty windscreen, perhaps catching sight of the state of the car, perhaps unsure whether any of this is real or if she’s asleep.
‘Or where you’d been?’ I ask, drawing her attention back even as my own is distracted by the rapid thump of boots on tarmac behind me. I glance over my shoulder, my heart falling through the floor. It’s not the paramedics.
‘Two seconds, Anna. I’ll be two seconds and right back. Understand?’
She blinks, which I take to mean yes and climb out to speak to the fire crew.
‘Steve. What’ve we got?’
Despite my desperation for a crew in green, the capable presence of Fire Incident Commander Graham Humphreys is more than welcomed. He pulls on his gloves as he approaches. All business. Ready to go. His men behind are already unravelling the hose while they await instruction.
I wait until we’re close to explain. ‘One female casualty, Graham. But I couldn’t say for how much longer.’
He’s looking at the damage, and can guess the rest. He’s seen enough of these, same as I have.
‘No easy way out,’ I say. ‘The roof will have to come off, at least. But you know better than me.’
‘Paramedic?’ he asks, looking behind him, but all we see are the two fire trucks, a row of police units, and the articulated lorry holding back the traffic.
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
Graham nods to his boys to examine the area for spilled fuel and other substances while I radio Control for an ETA on the paramedic.
‘We’ll make the scene safe, then assess where to cut,’ Graham says, and moves away to instruct his men, adding, ‘But we need that paramedic.’
Control tells me there’s been some trouble on one of the estates in town that’s sucked in some of their resources, but assures me a crew is on their way from another area and will be with us imminently.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ I seethe. Imminent could be anywhere from immediately to thirty minutes or more. And we’ve got to get her out of there now.
I climb back in the car. ‘Anna. Anna!’
Her closed lids peel open.
‘Stay awake, love. Stay awake and talk to me.’
She jolts her eyes right, at the quick movements of the fire crew, the drag of the hose over the ground.
‘Don’t worry. They’re making sure the car is safe, that’s all. They’ve got it covered.’
Head still against the headrest, she looks back my way. Her eyes are wider than they were before, and under the glaring lights from the fire truck, they’re a very soft blue. A tear slides down her cheek. She’s just a kid.
‘You’re doing incredibly well, but we want you out of here, okay?’
Her lips are pale and dry. ‘I’m scared.’
‘Of course you are. But right now you have all the best men and women of Newport at your feet. All you have to do is sit here and keep me company while they do their work.’ I smile like there’s nothing to worry about. ‘How old are you, Anna?’
Her voice catches in her throat when she tries to speak. She coughs and tries again. ‘Nineteen.’
‘Local?’
‘Rogerstone.’
‘Not far from home, then. Is that where you were going?’
Half closed lids flutter as her mind trudges through the fog looking for an answer. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you do? Are you a student?’
Her skin is as pale as chalk. Or maybe it only seems that way because her ebony hair is in such contrast to it. ‘Training to become a veterinary nurse.’
‘Really? Could have done with you when my son went through his home aquarium phase. Never could keep the little buggers alive. We stick to dogs these days. Can’t go wrong with a dog.’
‘Fish are tricky,’ she says, with a quiver in her lip.
‘Bloody right there. Cost me a fortune. Had to replace them when he was at school. Did you know that no two goldfish look the same?’
Her throat bobs when she swallows. ‘Not many fish in the practice.’
‘That’s because they never make it that far. How do you even know when a fish is sick? No, don’t tell me. It’s green around the gills.’
A soft breath escapes through her nose. ‘Stops eating, listless.’
‘And I suppose floating on its side isn’t a good sign either.’
She wants to laugh, but the situation won’t allow for that.
‘What’s your favourite animal?’ I ask, hearing another siren and hoping to Christ it’s who I think it is. ‘Are you one of those horsey types?’
She gives the smallest of smiles, but her eyelids grow heavy with the effort. ‘Like horses. But smaller too,’ she says. Her eyes close and I glance over my shoulder, relieved as fuck to see the green of a paramedic vehicle, and yellow of an ambulance further behind but coming up quick.
‘How small, Anna?’ I raise my voice to snap her awake. ‘Dogs? Cats? Guinea pigs? Those impossibly small hamsters?’
She nods her answer.
‘Anna? Anna, look at me.’
She does, cracking her eyelids open.
‘Paramedics are here. I need you to stay alert, alright? Keep looking at me if you can. Granted, it’s not a pretty sight, but do your best.’
‘Tired.’
‘I know, sweetheart. And you’ll rest soon. But for now we need to know how you’re feeling so we can help you.’
‘Feel nothing,’ she says, eyes rolling under her lids.
Reaching over, I steady her head between my hands, keeping it straight as I gently pull it away from the headrest. The eyelids come open like one of those dolls that sleeps when you lie it down and wakes when you pick it up again.
‘Please, Anna. It’s important you don’t rest just yet. Keep talking to me, okay?’
I don’t know what she hears in my voice, but her features crumple and she starts to cry.
‘Do you want me to hold your hand?’ I ask.
She nods between sniffs. With my right hand still holding her head up, I reach under my jacket with the left to take hold of her fingers. Her skin is soft but cool, her grip weak.
‘This is Anna,’ I tell the flush-faced female paramedic who appears at the window. ‘She has a laceration to her forehead, but it’s stopped bleeding.’
I gesture with my eyes to the foot well. The paramedic looks too.
‘Hi Anna, I’m Charlotte. I’m here with Ben and we’ll have you out of here before you get pneumonia. Is there any pain, my love?’
Anna moves her head a little side to side to indicate no, her hair scratching over my hands.
‘Head okay? Arms? Legs?’
‘Yes.’
‘Righto, my lovely. Sounds as if you’re doing great. Ben here will pop this neck brace on you as a precaution. And, Officer, let’s swop places so I can take a closer look.’
Once Ben has the neck brace fitted, I let go of Anna’s hand and tell her I’ll be right back. She’s uncertain, I know she is, but there’s no time for comforting. The quicker she’s assessed, the quicker we get this damn tin can apart and her out of it.
Graham’s team prepares the cutting equipment as I return to the driver’s side. One of the men punches the jagged glass out from the door frame so I can lean my arm in.
Anna’s head has gone again to the headrest, but she turns to look for me. I find her hand again and squeeze it tight. Charlotte undoes the top two buttons of Anna’s dress so she can attach the monitor pads. She wears a thin gold chain around her neck, and in its centre her name in gold letters lies clinging to her skin.
Charlotte glances to the footwell, but she’ll only be seeing the same thing I saw, the plastic of the dash and twisted shards of metal. When I look to Anna, her eyes are closed.
‘Anna.’ I squeeze her hand.
‘Anna, wake up, darling,’ Charlotte shouts, as if she’s addressing a geriatric. ‘Stay awake, my love.’
Anna’s eyes open, but Charlotte’s retreating quickly from the car. She runs towards Graham. He nods and they hurry into action.
‘It’s alright, Anna.’ I lean in through the broken window. ‘Time to get you out. You ready?’
She looks terrified, but nods once. Then says, ‘I don’t know.’
Graham shouts to his team that they’ll start with the door, then the A post – the one holding the windscreen, before moving through each post in sequence to remove the roof. They don’t say what comes next, but it’ll be her seat, and that’s where things become more complicated.
‘I’m coming back in. I won’t leave you, I swear. Okay?’ I grip her hand and wait for her to acknowledge me. When she does, I let go and run to the other side.
Charlotte puts a hand on my arm to stop me. ‘I need to monitor her.’
‘I can do that. Just tell me what to do.’
Her lips press into a thin line.
‘Charlotte, she trusts me. That goes a long way, doesn’t it?’
I don’t wait for her answer, there’s not enough time. I return to kneeling on the seat, ignoring the shards of glass that dig into my calves, and take hold of Anna’s hand again. My jacket has slipped from her shoulders and I tuck it in place, tell her to focus on me. When she does, I explain what will happen. I say there’ll be some noise but that I’m staying here with her and all she needs to do is keep looking at me and keep talking and she’ll be fine. We’ll get her out of here, she’ll be fine. I say it again and again, until even I believe it.
