Nick’s van had run out of fuel at a very narrow stretch of the road; dense woods lined the right hand side, and deep ditches filled with rainwater, ran along the left.
It was still raining but not as heavy as it had been over the past few hours, and the wind had died down to a few blustery gusts. Nick and Jill were walking the final one-hundred yards to the van, which, luckily for Nick’s overworked lungs, was downhill.
Looking further along the road, about quarter of a mile beyond the van, they saw the lights of a vehicle bobbing erratically on the bumpy surface, and heading their way. Jill, immediately understanding the situation, took the gun from the rear of her jeans and made for the security of one of the watery ditches.
‘Get in here, Nick,’ she urged.
Nick stood still when he saw the vehicle. ‘But they might be able to help us,’ he said, pointing.
‘Nick, there can only be two types of people who use this road, those who are lost, and those who fucking eat them. Now, do you really want to ask them which category it is they fall in to?’
Nick looked at Jill, and then at the lights of the nearing vehicle, and without further ado, and, after taking out his gun, he too made for the ditch. Both of them, for the second time that morning, were now waist deep in brown, muddy water. Nick allowed the red plastic fuel container to sit by his side floating on the surface.
Concealing themselves behind the long Deer-grass, they held their heads low, but kept the two vehicles in view all the time. As the vehicle neared, it slowed before coming to a stop at the back of Nick’s van. It was a red 4X4, which, after a few seconds of doing nothing, revved its engine and began to shove the van out of the way.
‘What the fuck’s he doing?’ said Nick, starting to climb from the ditch ready to raise hell with the driver.
Jill gripped him by the hem of his jacket, pulling him back down. ‘Don’t be so stupid, Nick. If they see you we’re both dead.’
Nick was incredulous as to the actions of the 4X4’s driver. ‘Can you not see what they’re doing to my van?’
‘The van will be fine, Nick. If they were people type people, they wouldn’t just ram it out of the way now, would they? Can’t you see that?’
Nick had to concede to Jill’s statement of logic. She knew he didn’t like it, but she’d convinced him it made much more sense to stay quiet and out of sight until they’d left.
The driver of the red car carried on pushing the van until he’d created a big enough gap for the 4X4 to pass. And by the time he’d got through, the van’s front fender was pushed hard against a tree. The red car spun its four wheels as though in triumph and sped off, disappearing over the hill.
After climbing from their ditch, Jill and Nick went over to check the damage the 4X4 had caused to Nick’s van. The rear doors were pretty much dented, and the driver’s side headlight was busted when it hit the tree, but other than that the van was fine.
‘You know what,’ said Jill, once again wringing out the poncho’s corners. ‘When Gregg hears that car turning into the street, he’s going think it’s us and open the shutter.’
Nick was tipping the fuel container, emptying out the last few drops. ‘We should get a move on and get back to help him, then.’
‘They’ll be getting there any minute now; we won’t make it in time.’
‘Well what else can we do?’
‘Can’t you fire one of your rockets, if he sees it he’ll know we’re still out here, and-?’
Nick tossed the empty container to the floor. ‘I don’t have rockets,’ he said, before wrenching open the twisted doors. ‘Here, take a look.’
What Jill saw inside the van was something she’d never seen before. In fact, nothing in there bore any resemblance to what she would regard as being even close to a firework. All they seemed to be missing was the word “BOMB” painted on them in white.
‘They’re not meant for use by the general public!’ he explained. ‘You have to obtain an NFPA 1132; it’s a license that gives you authorisation to use them.’
‘Nick, that’s very interesting,’ she said, trying not to sound condescending. ‘And I’d love to hear more, perhaps over a beer when all this is over. But right now, it’s not helping Gregg’s situation.’
Nick closed the doors, pushed his glasses along his nose, dipped into his pocket, and pulled out his keys. ‘Let’s get going then!’ he said.
They climbed in and fastened their seatbelts, and after a few uncertain turns of the key, the engine fired up. Nick manoeuvred the van back onto the road, and they too were on their way back to Martinsville.
