Cal was strapped in the back, a suitcase next to him. On top of that was the brightly colored Kung Fu Panda carry-on bag he planned to wheel to the plane and put in the overhead locker. He’d not flown before, but I’d told him all about it the previous night in lieu of a bedtime story. Cal had the same auburn hair as his mother, the same eyes. In fact, there wasn’t much immediately obvious about his looks that confirmed he was mine. But he definitely had my temperament – patient and calm, but vicious when riled.
“So you looking forward to the trip, little man?” I called to Cal over the noise of the road and the wind and the powerful engine. “I know I am.”
He nodded. I saw him in the rear-view mirror, a big smile across his face, baby teeth gleaming.
“What you looking forward to most, Cal?”
He thought for a moment, forehead wrinkled. Then hollered: “Catching fish!”
I glanced over to Becky and we both laughed. I turned back and saw the pickup truck on the wrong side of the road coming straight for us. And I knew immediately that this was the end. I could feel Becky freeze beside me, watched as the ugly great vehicle covered the distance between us. With each vanishing yard, I felt my life … our lives together … drain away.
Chapter 11
I DON’T REMEMBER the impact … no one ever does, do they? The horror began when I started to open my eyes. But at first, everything was blurred and I was stone deaf. I just saw colored shapes. Then my hearing came back … but I couldn’t make out a single human sound. Instead, a loud, shrill whine, the engine free-wheeling in neutral.
I felt a drip, drip, drip on my face.
My car had rolled and ended up driver’s side to the tarmac. I could see a shape close to, almost on top of me. Gradually my vision cleared enough to make it out. Becky’s face. Her dead eyes open, staring at me … droplets of her blood falling onto my cheek.
I tried to scream, but nothing came out. I couldn’t speak, just produced animal noises in my throat. Tried to pull away, horrified, I turned my head slowly. A pain shot down my spine. I could just see Cal in the back. He’d slumped to the side, body contorted.
I managed to twist in the seat and had the presence of mind to feel for Becky’s pulse. Then I saw the cut in her neck. She was almost decapitated.
I felt vomit rise up and I spewed down my front. I thought I’d choke and a part of me wished I would. I could visualize the new life if I were to survive. A life alone, my family gone … just like that.
I turned back to Cal, unbuckled my seat belt, gained enough leverage to slither into the rear of the car.
“Cal? Cal?” My voice broke. “Aggghhh!” I screamed again. Another stream of vomit welled up and out. I started to cry.
“Cal?” I pulled him up. His head lolled, blood trickling from the side of his mouth.
I thought I saw his eyelids flicker. “Cal?” I shouted again. I got his wrist, pulled it up, tried to find a pulse. His arm wet with blood. My fingers wet with blood. No pulse.
“CAL … CAL.” I shook him.
I reached for my cell, pulled it from my jacket but it fell to pieces in my hand.
There’s a gap in my memory after that. Next thing I knew I was clambering through the passenger window. The buckled window frame and remnants of glass were cutting me open, but I didn’t care. I landed on the road, guts churning, blood in my eyes diluted by tears flowing down my cheeks. I groaned … a primordial sound.
There was a revolting smell … petrol, rubber … I managed to get to my knees, leaned on the car and pulled myself into a hunched, twisted figure, feeling like an octogenarian suddenly. The front of the pickup truck stood ten feet away, hood crumpled, windshield smashed. I could see the top of the driver’s head above the steering wheel.
I shuffled over. From far off came the sound of sirens.
The door of the truck fell away as I yanked on the handle and I just managed to step back before it landed at my feet. It was an old, screwed-up wagon. The driver hadn’t been wearing a belt. His face smashed in, spine snapped. A vertebrae protruded from his shirt back.
I leaned in, caught the smell of alcohol. Then I saw the can of beer on the floor of the passenger side. It lay in a puddle of foaming liquid.
The fury hit me in a way I’d never experienced before or since. It was pure, all-consuming. I grabbed the guy’s hair, yanked his head back. His features were just recognizable. He was maybe twenty-five, blond, little goatee.
I felt the vomit rise again, but this time I held it down, lifted my fist, smashed it into the dead driver’s face. I hit him again and again. “BASTARD!… AAGGGHH!..MOTHER-FUCKER!