Farewell Tour of a Terminal Optimist by John Young

Author:John Young [John Young]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781782504498
Publisher: Floris Books
Published: 2017-03-22T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Crash

“What the hell is that?” I shout. The tumult woke me from a nightmare about giant kangaroos, so I’m a bit hazy about what is real and what isn’t.

Skeates pulls on his shoes and jacket and dives out of the tent. I slept fully clothed so I crawl after him towards the noise of metal crunching against metal. It’s deafening. It doesn’t stop. I imagine bloody carnage as I push through the branches. Skeates is already out and I run into him. He’s stopped to gape in horror at the scene of destruction before us.

Two cars and a tanker, impacted so hard that it’s difficult to tell them apart. The middle car has been crushed so completely that it looks like a go-faster stripe. A string of other vehicles have rear-ended each other behind the initial crash. Further back we can hear the screeching of tyres from others attempting to stop.

“We’ve got to help them!” Skeates shouts, pointing to the mush of cars in front of us with their wheels spinning and smoke blowing about. I look at the back of the pile-up. “They’re OK,” Skeates shouts at me, “these guys aren’t.”

The lorry looms over a smoke-filled car like a shroud. Screams of panic and agony inside are muffled by the smoke and clamour of ripping metal as the top of the lorry swings down as if on elastic.

A gap in the smoke reveals a driver conscious and terrified, upside down and struggling, his female passenger dead or unconscious. Smoke bellows from a broken window. The lorry cab springs back on its bungee, ripping more metal each time, coming closer to the passengers below. While I stare in horror from the sidelines, Skeates is rushing around the car trying to open doors.

“Give us a hand!” he shouts up and I edge closer.

The lorry makes a twisting, crushing racket and the top again hovers over the roof. I step backwards but Skeates remains fixed on the door of the car.

“Hurry up!”

The man screams again and I tighten my courage belt to limp over, staring at the recoiling lorry all the while. I retch at the smell of oil and stare in horror at the fire that’s likely to ignite the car soon – and us with it.

“Connor, I can’t keep the door open and get in. Hold it and I’ll grab the guy, OK?”

I nod, just wanting to get the hell out of there. The noise and heat is terrifying, but I force myself to focus on the task. Skeates has dragged the man halfway out but he snags on the seat belt. Skeates climbs in head-first and tries to release it as I jam the door open with my back, coughing at the thick smoke even though I’m outside. Skeates and the pair in the car must be choking. The man looks in bad shape, elderly too.

“Here, pull.” Skeates has hauled himself out and flicks open a knife.

I’m surprised he has a knife, but really I shouldn’t be – I saw him take it from Soapy.

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