Twenty

For half an hour I jog steadily down the motorway. Here a car has crashed into the central divider, its bonnet rumpled and its doors flung open wide. I crawl inside and search, but it is empty. I carry on. A mile passes, maybe more. It is hard to tell when every stretch of road looks identical to the last. Looking back, the car where I left Lisa is no longer in view. I feel a surge of loneliness.

A few cars are stopped underneath a bridge, parked at odd angles. I search them one by one, looking inside the glove compartments and under the seats for keys. No luck. Briefly I consider trying to hotwire one, but I’d have no idea where to start, and my fingers are too clumsy and numb to handle wires.

Further on I come across a silent traffic jam. I start checking cars as quickly as possible. With numb fingers I fumble at the handles. My breath comes out as clouds of mist. Car after car turns out to be empty. And then, just as I’m moving on to check another it happens.

I see the shadows skimming across the surface of the road. Then I look up and see the Creatures, swooping overhead. Three or four of them, flying in a loose formation. My heart seizes up and I throw myself into the car. As I cower there, I think furiously, they didn’t see me, they don’t know I’m here. All of a sudden I think of Lisa praying when she’s scared. Please, they didn’t see me.

It is a long while before I risk a skyward glance. The Creatures are gone, as far as I can see. I exhale a breath that it feels like I’ve been holding for hours, lean back into the seat. That is when I finally notice the keys which are hanging from the ignition.