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Brian would be late to his own funeral. His family and friends had always told him so, and now he would prove them right.
What really made his heart race faster than the car he was driving was that it was his daughter’s wedding he would be late for. His only child, getting married. And he would be sneaking in late, trying not to be noticed.
Except everyone would notice. He was supposed to be giving Ingrid away to Trent, and hadn’t looked forward to the spectacle of walking up the aisle. Brian had planned to be early, but when he was dressed and ready to go, his car surprised him with a flat battery. Of course, he couldn’t wear his best suit while changing the battery, so he had changed it wearing only his underwear. Sweat poured down his torso as he connected the battery, and regardless of his experience with cars, it had still taken longer than he had expected. Then, as if he was tainted with bad luck, he needed to change a flat tyre as well, his anger making it hard to concentrate on the task at hand. Ingrid was going to be livid when he rocked up late.
He had promised to be on time. Early even. Unusually early.
Once again, he had broken his promise.
Despite Ingrid’s many pleading requests, he was still going to let her down.
He watched the clouds of dust billow behind his speeding car, feeling the tyres slip on the gravel road. High above the horizon, the sun shone, baking the earth below. Brian drove through the swirling shimmers of heat as they rose from the dirt road he knew well. Lines of skinny trees stood sentry on either side of the road, branches out as if feeling for nonexistent rain. Dodging the potholes in the road was almost second nature, but in his rush, they came up more quickly than he remembered.
He was too far out of town for phone reception, so he planned to ring closer to the venue, although he doubted whether anyone would answer if they were on time to begin the ceremony.
The dogleg turn in the road approached, and Brian, glimpsing a dingo in his path, braked on the loose gravel. The car fishtailed, sliding as it tried to fight a lack of friction. He turned the steering wheel, hoping to correct the turn, and felt the car tilt on its side.
There was a moment in time where he knew he had made a massive mistake, and hoped it wouldn’t be fatal as time seemed to slow down. Leaning against the tilt, Brian held on to the wheel, foot heavy on the brake. The car began to roll and Brian felt the seatbelt dig into his body as gravity threw him towards the roof. Thunderous noise echoed through the car as the roof slid on the gravel and down the embankment, while a menagerie of wedding presents and rubbish fell to the ceiling. A spider web of fractures spread across the windscreen. The window beside him exploded in a flurry of glass. Brian’s hands flew towards the ceiling as he fell, his body cradled painfully in his seatbelt.
Once the car had come to rest on its roof, Brian peered through the cracked windows, looking for the dingo among the dense bushes and straw-like grass. If it had survived, it had not followed him down the declivity.
Brian’s body hurt on the right side, like a thousand needles digging in to his skin. His two limbs were the epicentres of pain, and he hoped they weren’t fractured, or worse—broken.
With clumsy fingers he unbuckled himself and fell in an awkward heap on the roof, his body collapsing on his bent neck, causing an uproar of pain. Grimacing, Brian moved so he was lying on the roof. He could feel the pebbles of broken glass beneath him, and thought it was worse than the Lego he used to step on in Ingrid’s room when she was younger. The mobile phone he kept in the centre crevice lay outside the car, bent and shattered. It would be of no use to him.
He crawled out through the window into the red dirt, dry and dusty as it plumed from his touch. His neck burned in the sun, his white dress shirt sticking to his skin.
Dragging his right limbs, Brian wormed his way to the warm shadows of a nearby tree. It offered a little protection from the summer sun, but it was much better than the blazing midday heat. Pretty soon, the car would feel like an oven, even with the broken windows. As he sat propped against the thin, spiky trunk, he licked his parched lips. He regretted bringing no food or water with him, thinking only of rushing to the wedding. He was lucky to have remembered to pack his suit and tie in the back seat of the car, where they now lay with the rest of the jetsam on the ceiling.
Thinking back, he had been surprised to hear his daughter was getting married, particularly after being stuck between two feuding and spiteful parents. Brian supposed she had as good a chance at making marriage work with Trent as anyone else, perhaps even better. He seemed decent enough. A little timid and feminine, but he seemed to genuinely love Ingrid. It was better than some creep on Tinder.
And no matter what choices Ingrid made, Brian would be there to support her.
Except today, on one of her most important days.
Tears began to fall down his cheeks and he wiped them away, embarrassed. He hadn’t cried since he was a boy. Even when his life broke down after divorcing his witch of an ex-wife, his eyes remained dry, his heart hard as rock.
His stone heart was beginning to crumble. The land around him was quiet; the air still. Normally he enjoyed the solitude that encompassed his house; land he had bought to escape his depressing life and reconnect with nature. He never saw anybody unless he chose to make the long trip into town to collect his mail or pick up his groceries.
Nobody usually came to visit, yet a strange part of him liked that. He could see cars approach from a great distance, and knew he’d never have Jehovah’s Witnesses or sales people come to annoy him. Brian could finally be himself without fear of judgement, something he could never do in his fifteen years of being married.
Fifteen long, arduous, torturous years.
But, hurt and in need of help, he wished there were more people around. More of some kind of semblance of civilisation.
A rustling noise brought him back to the present. His dry lips were sticking together, his eyes itchy and sore as they searched around him.
A brown snake was slithering towards him, its curving body gliding over sticks and stones. Brian looked around for a stick. He knew the snake was venomous, and one bite would be fatal. He needed it gone!
There was a snakebite kit in his car, but it was no use in his current predicament. There was no time.
Reaching up with his left hand, Brian grabbed a branch and broke it off, straining to hold the weight of his body until the wood snapped. It was dry and brittle with a leafless network of twigs at the end, but it was hopefully enough to fend off the approaching serpent.
Brian stabbed the branch at the snake, pushing it backwards. Momentarily. Still the snake slithered more slowly towards him, only a metre away.
He tried again, this time clubbing the snake, watching as the twigs broke around the snake’s advancing body. With each hit, the branch became shorter and shorter, until all that remained was the thicker length of wood. The snake was now only an arm’s length away.
In a last ditch effort, Brian used the thick end to stab the snake. With repeated thrusts, Brian slammed the branch down on the snake, until its middle section was a bloody pulp. The snake writhed, only inches away.
With his left arm, Brian wiped away the sweat on his face, the white cotton sleeve soaking it up. Then he used the stick to push the snake’s wriggling carcass away, just in case it was still alive and able to bite him.
Brian watched as the blood dried quickly. His thoughts turned to the big bottle of cold water sitting in his fridge at home. The saltiness of the sweat on his lip only increased his thirst.
A howl whistled through the air and, as Brian looked up at the road, he saw the dingo that had caused the accident. It stood at the edge, watching Brian and licking its chops as if it could sense his weakness.
If he stayed under the tree, the dingo would have an easy dinner. Brian’s stick would be more useful with a functioning dominant hand. He felt weak and clumsy using his left hand.
Keeping the weight off his right foot, Brian began trying to stand up. He held the branch loosely in his right hand and used his left to help pull him upright. Hopefully his height would make the dingo more wary. Unable to walk, Brian began hopping away from the dingo, away from his car. The trees on either side moved past slowly, sagging in the heat.
The dingo followed, body rigid, keeping a safe distance. Its eyes never left Brian, intent on the kill.
Focussing only on continuing to hop forwards, Brian ignored the dingo. Until it howled once more, sounding closer. Turning on his good foot, Brian held the stick out in front of him, ready to go down fighting. He wasn’t sure how much damage he could cause, but maybe enough to scare it off. Maybe he could still make it to the wedding reception, if he could keep moving.
If he could kill the mutt, then he could try it for dinner. It couldn’t be any worse than his ex-wife’s cooking, he thought. Brian rested his right foot on the ground, applying enough pressure to steady himself, a small wave of pain spreading through his leg.
Still the dingo approached, its pink tongue licking the drool on its jaws. It howled again, creeping forwards.
Using the branch as a sword, Brian jabbed forward, yelling as he did.
Still it continued forward.
Brian took a limping step backwards, swinging the branch back and forth, using it as a shield.
The dingo stopped, sniffing the air. With one last look at Brian, the animal turned and scarpered into the bush on the other side of the road. Brian breathed a sigh of relief, wiping the grimy sweat from his forehead.
Until he saw why the dingo had fled.
In the distance, over to his left, Brian could see his car rolled down the embankment. Small flames burned under the bonnet, sending dark grey smoke billowing upwards. The fire had spread to the dry bracken around it, clawing up towards the towering gum trees in the bush nearby.
“Shit!” Brian muttered through dry lips, unable to look away as the flames jumped up, hanging on to the overhanging branches. Within seconds the fire had engulfed the tree and was climbing over its neighbours, free and unchallenged. The wood crackled as it burned, a wall of dark black smoke rising above.
Throwing the stick down, Brian turned and jogged, ignoring the pain thundering through his limping right leg. He breathed through gritted teeth, his mind repeating every swear word he knew in an effort to divert his attention from the pain. With a glance over his shoulder, Brian saw a tsunami of fire coming towards him. Smouldering panic burned within him. There was no way he could outrun this fiery monster.
He stepped into a pothole, his right foot instinctively trying to stop him falling, bringing only pain. Brian began to tilt forwards, his arms outstretched to protect his body. He tumbled, more pain grazing its way into his skin, his breath knocked out of his lungs.
Watching the smoke darken the sky above, he lay, his body registering the overwhelming pain. His throat burned as he tried to regain his breath.
Slowly, he looked up at the flames towering high above, fuelled by many years of drought and dusty dryness. The fire had raced ahead, and now encircled his prone body, stealing the oxygen from the air around him.
Every breath was a burning struggle, and he felt the energy drain from his muscles, realisation dawning in him.
He wouldn’t make it out alive.
As the flames began to engulf him, Brian smiled at the irony. His body would be barely intact and it would take them some time to identify him, charred beyond recognition.
The fire would make him late to his own funeral.