Blindsided. D. White E.
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flashing his lights?
No other traffic, the rain was hammering down now, and the shadowy forms of tree trunks like cage bars on the high banks either side of the road. It wasn’t like she was going exceptionally slowly … Forcing herself to stay calm, she navigated the two sharp bends, before she noticed movement in the back. Milo’s legs were waving in the air as he nosedived into the boot, clearly in search of food.
‘Milo! Get back to the seat and strap yourself in,’ she yelled.
‘I’m just getting …’
‘No! Sit down.’
She risked another glance. He was climbing back now, bag of sweets firmly clasped in one hand. She should pull over … But the other driver was still so close. She even thought he was flashing his lights again – once, twice. Did he want her to pull over? Was there something wrong with the car, or was this just a ploy to get her to stop? On this lonely road in the darkness, there was no fucking way she was stopping unless she had to. Maybe she should call the police. A wave of fear ripped through her body, made her gasp, but again she forced herself to calm down. She was just tired, stressed out. It was only some fuckwit who wanted to get home quicker. There was no way of overtaking in this tiny lane. He could just wait. It was bound to be a man …
Milo landed back in his seat with a thump. ‘My seatbelt’s all twisted.’
‘Well, untwist it.’ She shot out from the tree cover and accelerated along a straighter bit of road. There was a long drop on one side now, which eased the claustrophobic feeling, but the car behind stayed on her tail. The lights seemed to flash again, making her blink. They were going around corners at speed, and the headlights of both vehicles were slashing through the shadows, bouncing off the blackness. She slowed a fraction to take in another hairpin bend. At any moment he was going to touch her bumper. But she didn’t have her hands-free kit with her, and she wasn’t going to stop and get carjacked or worse.
Carefully now, considering the options, she reached over and eased her phone out of her bag, placing it between her knees. What if this was more than some idiot trying to race home? What if the driver behind succumbed to some kind of road rage and actually tried to bump her car?
Holly risked another quick glance at Milo and slowed. To her relief, the other car drew back a little, but she kept the phone where it was. As she wondered if she was actually freaked enough to call the police, it beeped again and the screen flashed up another message:
You aren’t fit to be a mother, bitch.
The abusive tone was exactly the same. Why would he send her something like that? Holly shivered, swinging round the next corner, wincing as the driver behind kept pace, his headlights almost blinding her. Her windscreen wipers whined as she turned them up to max, trying to clear the torrent of rain. Desperate now, her shaking fingers were fumbling with her phone, trying to press the buttons.
Lights blinded her in an eerie white flash as another vehicle approached at high speed, from the opposite direction. She thought it was a van, and the driver was making no effort to pull over to his side of the road, but continued to aim straight at Holly. She hit her horn, hard, driving as close to the side of the road as she dared. The wheels crunched on grit and she felt the pull of mud on the tyres, as they swung off course. She yanked the wheel, her phone tumbling into the footwell as she straightened the car. Missing her by a hairsbreadth the other vehicle stormed past, away and up the hill, red brake lights flashing before it vanished. Holly slowed again, shaking.
The car behind hit her with a bang. The force of impact jolted her violently forward, before flinging her back against the headrest.
‘Milo? Are you okay?’ They were still moving, slowly but she didn’t dare stop. Her neck was twanging with pain.
‘Mum, what’s happened? Did we crash? Mum!’ His voice was sharp with fear.
Holly’s heart was racing, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, and her head was pounding. What the fuck was going on tonight? She glanced back at her son, opened her mouth to say everything was fine, and at the same time tried to kick her mobile away from the accelerator pedal where it had fallen.
Milo screamed out a warning, high-pitched and terrified, ‘Mum, stop! There’s a deer!’
A dark shadow plunged across the road, its eyes briefly illuminated by her headlights, before Holly hit the brakes as hard as she could. The car swung from side to side, before it aquaplaned across the road, and for the second time, she felt the impact of the car behind. She was yelling for Milo, hands locked on the wheel, still fighting with the vehicle, as they slid off the road, and the car began to tumble down the long slope to the woods below.
It was a kaleidoscope of pain and blurred shadows. She screamed at Milo to get down, and ducked her own head, closing her eyes. There was a sharp pain, and then a bang in front of her, and after that nothing but darkness.
***
Holly opened her eyes. The steady drum of rain on the windscreen, the stench of wet earth and trees, the stillness and the cold, took a moment to sink in. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious. Her face was sticky and wet. She licked her lips, blinking. Blood. She could taste blood, sour and metallic. The rain was pouring through the shattered windscreen. Oh dear God, she had crashed the car. She had been trying to get her phone … Guilt mingled sourly with the pain, and Holly retched. The blackness spun, sending her back into her nightmare. Milo, where was Milo?
The nausea woke her properly, and she wriggled, aware of sharp stabbing pains in her neck, her back, and her chest, but ignoring them. ‘Milo!’
There was no sound from the back of the car, and she couldn’t turn any further. Panic flooded her body, hot and vicious. It gave her the strength to wrench herself free from the space between her seat and the detonated airbag. She was half kneeling now, one leg on the passenger seat, pushing away a mess of sports bags and camping gear that had been thrown from the boot. Tears and rain were washing the blood from her face, and she was shaking with the shock and cold.
The car was battered, but at least the right way up. At some point she remembered it rolling over, surely … But apart from the bonnet and windscreen, it seemed fairly intact. Some freak of engineering meant the headlights were still on, their twin beams sending dancing white paths of light into the woods. But the darkness and the shadows gathered all around the light, overwhelming it, jostling and claustrophobic.
Both windows on the right-hand side, Milo’s side, were smashed. His seatbelt was hanging free. She could see his hand, still and pale, stretched out across the seat, but she still couldn’t get far enough to see more. Her hands were shaking, but she continued to rip away the debris. As she struggled, one foot caught the driver’s door, hard, and it opened with a bang. Abandoning any thought of wriggling through the narrow space between the seats, she squeezed frantically past the airbag, out into the woods.
The rear door was stuck fast and she hauled at it with all her strength. It wouldn’t budge. Holly screamed, and the rain-savaged woods echoed with her son’s name. She kicked viciously and uselessly at the metal like an animal caught in a trap. The smell of rotten wetness, tainted with fuel fumes brought her back. She needed to keep it together. Christ knew where her phone was. The pain in her leg and chest was excruciating, but she carried on yanking the door. Inch by inch, resisting her sweaty, bloody fingers, it finally opened, slowly and with a protesting whine of metal. There were the stabbing pains in her neck and back again, but she ignored them, panting through the pain.
‘Milo!’ She was in the car now, scrabbling for his hand. ‘Milo, are you okay? Can you hear me?’ Of course he couldn’t or he would have answered, but the sound of her own voice was a small comfort in this nightmare.
Holly wriggled further across the back seats, clinging to the headrests, fumbling in the shadows. There was a torch in the towrope bag in the boot but who knew where that had ended up. Milo was half sitting, half lying on his side. There was a cut on his head, and a small stream of blood was snail-trailing down his cheek onto the seat. His small chest was rising and falling in a reassuring manner,