Walking After Midnight by Malcolm Richards

Author:Malcolm Richards [Richards, Malcolm]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Storm House
Published: 2016-12-08T00:00:00+00:00

11.47 PM

The driver door was open. An airbag plumed from the steering wheel like a limp parachute. A mess of papers and empty food wrappers were scattered across the backseat. There were no passengers. Where was the driver? Turning on her heels, Norma scanned the moorland, cutting through the darkness with the torch. Two small eyes glinted like glass as a hare bounded behind an outcrop of rocks.

She began a slow walk around the car, pointing the torch down at the ground in front. She stopped. The grass at the rear of the vehicle was black and wet, as if night had come down and tarred each blade. Crouching, she brushed her fingers through it, then held them under the light. The wetness was not black, but deep red. Grimacing, she wiped her fingers on her uniform. How much of other people’s blood would she have to wash out if she ever got home tonight?

A nasty, uneasy feeling grew inside her chest. Judging by the condition of the car, the driver was almost certainly alive. Injured perhaps, but definitely breathing. Where had he gone? Was he wandering the moors in a concussed daze? Had he found the road and was now ambling along it? She hadn’t passed anyone, which meant he was possibly heading in the other direction. Or perhaps another driver had already picked him up.

Norma looked from one wrecked vehicle to the other. She spun around and stared into the darkness of the countryside.

“Hello?” she called out. “Is anyone there?”

The wind rustled the grass. An owl screeched overhead. Shivering, Norma turned and headed back to her car. Climbing into the driver seat, she picked up her phone from the dashboard. There was still no signal.

“What do you expect, Norma? You’re in the middle of the moors for crying out loud!”

Sliding the key into the ignition, she checked her wing mirror for oncoming traffic, then the windscreen mirror. Norma caught her breath. Someone was sitting in the back seat.

She froze, each limb petrifying like branches of ancient trees. From the shadows came laboured, ragged breathing. A thick, coppery odour teased the air. Then came a voice.

“Sorry for the intrusion. I…suddenly needed to sit down.”

In silence, Norma fixed her eyes on the silhouette in the windscreen mirror.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” the voice said, then broke into a fit of coughs.

Fighting the paralysis, Norma turned and stared into the darkness of the back seat.

“Were you in that accident?”

A pause, a wheezy in-breath, then the man said, “He came from nowhere.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Hit my head.”

Norma swallowed. Images of the dead man in the diner filled her mind.

“I’m going to turn on the light.”

Reaching up, she flicked the overhead light switch.

The man in the back seat shielded his face. When his eyes had adjusted to the glare, he lowered his hand, and Norma quickly inspected him. A small, raised gash coloured his right cheekbone. Bruising circled his eye. Drying blood streaked the centre of his forehead, and looking closer, she saw a swollen wound protruding from his hairline.

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