Chapter Thirty

 

From the outside Jenny Plover had it all. On this Monday morning she was driving down the road in her sports car, top down and hair flying, on her way to her high-powered job.

Inside the car however, she was suffering. Two co-codamol hadn't touched her headache and she planned to take two more when she got to work. Her throat was sore too – why did she only smoke when she drank? At least she'd had a shower this morning so hopefully work would be none the wiser.

The bloke from last night though, he might be more of a problem. What had he been? Builder, roofer, even someone who worked on the roads? Whoever he was, he'd definitely been a bit of rough. She was, unfortunately, used to this morning-after combination of hangover, sore throat and shame.

She decided to enjoy the weather and the feeling of wind in her hair, even if she'd have to brush it again when she got to work.

As she passed under a bridge, there was a falling blur and a loud thump which disturbed her reverie. She instinctively jammed on the brakes. The car, travelling at nearly seventy, bucked and started to slide under heavy braking. Something wet landed on her head so she shut her eyes, steered for the hard shoulder, and hoped for the best, bracing her arms. All around her she heard strange thuds and other wet noises as more things landed on the car.

There was a bang and the car left the hard shoulder and bounced over some gravel. The wheel was wrenched from her hands as she tried to steer back to the right. Finally she came to a stop.

Silence. Not quite silence; she could hear the traffic to her right, slowing down with a few blasts of horns. She was wet and cold, with something dripping from her hair. Something sticky. There was a horrible smell, a mixture of metal and something else she couldn't identify. Her shoulders, arms and hands ached from wrestling with the steering.

Cautiously, she opened her eyes, wiping something from her face to see clearly. Blood. Was she injured? Nothing was actually hurting but there was red sticky liquid everywhere.

There was an arm resting on top of the windscreen. As she watched, its balance shifted and it fell, bounced off the steering wheel, and came to rest on the dash, between the wheel and the screen. Its hand was up, fingers slightly curled, as if it was asking for something.

What a stupid, dangerous joke, she thought. Fake blood and a rubber arm. She could've been killed. Kids today were so irresponsible! As she calmed down, she saw a scar on the forearm, nestled among the ginger hair. And it had dirty, bitten nails. Just how realistic could a rubber arm be?

She identified one smell – the blood – coppery and acrid. Then another smell hit her – vomit. As if someone had been sick in her car. With a horrible sensation the truth dawned on her – the grey, red, slippery mess all over her car was someone's body and the intestines had split open.

Unbelieving, she looked around. There were unidentified bits of body all over the car, hanging off the bonnet, the mirrors. Blood coated everything. A leg was perched on the seat next to her.

With shaking hands, she released her seat belt and gingerly eased out of the car. She tried to avoid touching anything as every surface was slick with blood. But then, so was she, it was all over her.

She looked back the way she'd come and wished she hadn't. There was a long slick of blood and entrails leading to her car. There was a bridge that she'd just passed under, with a plastic barrel hanging off it. Drips of blood were still falling from the lip.

She stood there in the sunshine, buffeted by the traffic going past at speed. Finally, a lorry stopped on hazards and gave her a respite from the noise of the cars.

She was shaking uncontrollably. She turned away from the bridge but there was a head lying on the hard shoulder. It looked at her, the eyes staring blankly out from under a mop of curly red hair. He was battered and bruised and utterly dead. He looked like a young lad. The head of a young lad, she corrected herself. And the arms, legs and internal organs of a young lad.

Still shaking she stood there as her brain tried to block the memories – blackness came down and she didn't see any more.