brandi. (zombiephile) wrote in daiquiri, @ 2012-02-19 20:52:00 |
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Somehow, they'd ended up in the middle of nowhere. But, really, what better place to test how fast The Rust Bucket could really go? Hugh was behind the wheel, his foot heavy on the gas pedal. Mark was still teaching him to drive, but that was definitely something he'd picked up on: more gas meant more fun. "Woo! This baby is flying!" Mark shouted, leaning his head out the window with a whooping shout. Hugh laughed and pressed down harder on the gas pedal, urging the car to go faster. "We should have asked those girls to come along!" Hugh shouted over the grumble of the engine and the wind roaring in through the open windows. "They'd be all over us!" Mark agreed, pulling back into the car. The seatbelt on his side was torn, so he wasn't bothering, though Hugh had buckled his own on the driver's side. He hadn't really been sure why he wanted to, and Mark had given him all sorts of shit over it when they took off, but Hugh left it on anyway. The headlights flickered, then blinked out. There was no moon overhead, only stars, and the abandoned road they were on had no lights. "Aw, fuck. Piece of shit," Mark groused, hitting the dashboard with the heel of his hand. Which, of course, did nothing. "Hey, there should be a switch over there on the right side of the dash, backup lights or something like that. I think the salesman was talking about something like that." Hugh took his eyes off the road -- wasn't much to see, anyway, without the headlights, but they were in the middle of nowhere anyway -- to look for the switch Mark was talking about. He hit a few buttons, but nothing happened. The idea of taking his foot off the gas and stopping the car didn't occur to either of them. Finally, Hugh found the switch for the headlights and flipped it a few times. On the third toggle, the lights finally flickered back on. "Huh, must've been a short in the wiring, or something," Mark said, looking back up and out the windshield. "Oh, shit, Hugh. CURVE!" he shouted, bracing his hands on the dashboard. Hugh's head snapped back up and he saw the curve looming ahead, a sharp left curve that came out of nowhere. He slammed his foot on the brake and turned the wheel hard, but the curve was too near, too sharp, and they were going too fast. The car left the road and flipped over, momentum sending it rolling through the field, finally coming to rest on its roof. At some point in there, Hugh's head made contact with the steel frame of the car, and he was knocked out. He wasn't sure how long he was out before he came too. His head was swimming, and his wrist throbbed painfully. He was hanging upside down, the seatbelt holding him in place. Slowly turning his head (and fighting back the urge to vomit), he looked for Mark. He wasn't in the car. Moving slowly, he found the buckle for his seatbelt and unlatched it. He tried to catch himself as he dropped, but his right wrist collapsed under his weight, and he hit his head. That extra hit was just enough to be too much, and Hugh threw up. His head was swimming, and he was having a hard time focusing his eyes. His right wrist was probably broken, and he'd probably cracked his head, too. He slowly tried moving his arms and legs, wiggling his fingers and toes. Everything else seemed to be in working order. Favouring his right wrist, he crawled out of the car and tried to get his bearings. "Mark?" he called out, his voice raw and scratchy. "Hello, anyone?" He saw Mark lying a few yards away. Maybe he'd just gotten knocked out, too. With his head swimming, it was a slow process, but he crawled his way over to Mark. Who wasn't breathing. Hugh frantically searched for a pulse at Mark's wrists and throat and found none. Struggling to his feet, he looked for the road. His head swam and he felt like he was either going to throw up again or pass out again, and he collapsed back to the ground. "HELP! SOMEONE!" he shouted. "ANYONE! PLEASE!" But it was late at night, they were in the middle of nowhere, and they'd been driving down an abandonded stretch of road. Perfect for someone who was just learning how to drive, nobody around to accidentally run into. Horrible when you needed emergency help. Hours passed. How many, Hugh wasn't sure. He kept slipping in and out of consciousness, yelling for help as much as he could when he was awake. Finally, he saw headlights on the road. Struggling back to his feet, fighting against his swimming head, he waved his arms frantically and stumbled toward the road. "STOP! HELP!" he shouted. Miraculously, the car stopped. The driver had a car phone, and he called for an ambulance, then stayed with Hugh until help arrived, trying to keep the teenager conscious. The ambulance arrived, and the paramedics set to work helping Hugh. He could hear them confirming a broken wrist, and he heard them mention a concussion. There was no help they could give to Mark, though. He had died hours before, when he was thrown from the car and broke his neck. Hugh would be fine. Physically, anyway. Mentally, he was torn up. His best friend was dead. And it was his fault. |