The Age of Odin - James Lovegrove [5]
I slapped the phone shut. Slumped disconsolately into my seat.
"That's got to suck," said Abortion, bent over the steering wheel. "Your wife's turned into a rug muncher and your kid barely knows who you are. Bummer."
"Abortion..."
"Just saying, bad enough you put Gen off men for life, but now you don't even get to visit the child you fathered with her and he's being brought up in a household of dykes, which is surely going to warp him for life. Can you imagine what it's like when the pair of them are on the blob? A normal household, the dad's there to balance things out and take the flak when it's rag week, but -"
"Abortion," I growled, "shut the fuck up."
"Okay."
"Just drive."
"Okay."
I folded my arms, leant my head against the side window, and closed my eyes. At least the Astra was chugging along all right now. We had plenty of petrol, and according to the directions Abortion had downloaded we weren't a million miles from our destination. I felt the vibration of the engine through the cold window glass. The muffled crunch of snow under our tyres was oddly soothing. One thing I knew how to do, one really useful trick I'd picked up in the army, was being able to nod off in any circumstances. In the belly of a roaring Chinook, in the back of a jolting troop transport, in a bivvy bag, basha or bedroll, on bare ground under starry skies, it didn't matter. I was never bothered by insomnia, never lay awake wishing I was asleep. I could just shut myself down like switching off a computer.
Blip.
Gone.
"Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!"
Abortion, almost screeching.
And then a tremendous bounce, a brief throat-filling sensation of weightlessness, followed by an immense thundering kerrrump that shook the entire car.
My eyes snapped open in time to see the landscape veering in the windscreen, then bands of white and black switching places, ground and sky pivoting over each other like tumbling clowns, and glass shattered, shards sprayed, and Abortion was pleading-screaming, and there was a series of awesome concussions as though the Astra were a drum someone kept beating, and then we were upside down, and there was snow coming in through holes, and I was aware of blood trickling from my brow up into my hairline, and white faded to black.
Two
Coming to was a case of admitting unpleasant truths, one by one.
First, I was freezing cold. Skin numb in places.
Second, I hurt. Pain spiking outward from several sources, mainly my chest.
Third, I was suspended from the seatbelt with my head angled against the underside of the car roof, neck cricked horribly, boxed in, unable to move.
Fourth, it was pitch dark.
Fifth, help wasn't coming. Because I must have been unconscious for several minutes, maybe as much as half an hour, and if help had been coming it would have got here by now.
We'd crashed. Come off the road. Rolled down a hillside. Fetched up in a snowdrift at the bottom. That much I could figure out. And if anyone had witnessed the accident they would be down here trying to see what they could do for us. And there was no one out there, no voices, no footfalls. Outside the car there was only silence. Dead silence.
So, all in all, not good.
But I was awake, I was coherent, I'd assessed the situation. Now to do something about it.
"Abortion?"
"Uhh."
Better to use his proper name. "Carl. Carl Hill. It's Gideon. Speak to me."
"Gid?"
"Can you understand what I'm saying?"
"Uh-huh. Yeah. Jesus, what happened?"
"You tell me. What's the last thing you remember?"
"Umm, driving. Then... skidding."
"Anything immediately before the skid?"
"No." In tone that said Yes, maybe, but I'm not telling.
It didn't matter. Wasn't relevant right this moment. "Okay, Carl," I said, "first things first. We're upside down in a crashed vehicle. I don't think there's a danger of explosion. I can't smell fuel or smoke. Still, we need to get out.