A few moments later, once his breathing was back under control, he turned and checked on his passenger. “Are you okay?” he asked her.
Lara nodded, but her skin had lost all colour. Her clothing was soaked with dark blood. She was an absolute mess. Hardly surprising considering the shock she had been through and the attack she had endured.
She’s lucky to be alive.
Nick focused on the road. The sun had now risen fully above the horizon and the shadows were shrinking away. The world seemed to be coming alive.
But it had awoken in a panic.
Travelling in the opposite direction on the main road was a police car. It was going full pelt; its sirens blaring, its lights flashing. A fire truck headed along right behind it.
“This is nuts,” Nick said. “What in Christ’s name is happening? Did I miss a terrorist attack or something?”
“M…my husband. He just went crazy.”
“It’s not just him, Lara. Everyone is acting the same. I don’t know why.”
“He…he’s never ever tried to hurt me before.”
Nick sighed. She wasn’t listening. “Your husband is sick. He wasn’t in control of himself.”
Other cars entered the main road from multiple side streets, creating a steady stream of increasing traffic. All of the drivers were exceeding the speed limit, some outrageously so. Nick had only been on the road ten minutes when he witnesses a turquoise Vauxhall Astra hurtle into a ditch at ninety miles an hour. The vehicle crunched up like an accordion. The chances of surviving such an accident seemed pretty unlikely and Nick wasn’t about to try and help someone so reckless. He drove on.
One thing had become very clear: what had happened in Nick’s neighbourhood was not an isolated incident; people everywhere were fleeing. To where exactly, Nick did not know, but his own destination was clearer. He had to make it to the hospital; talk to a doctor and find out if Deana could be helped; at least find out if they understood what was happening. Then, once he finally had some answers, he would start to face up to what he had done; start processing the fact that he had killed his own son. How he would ever come to terms with that, if at all, he did not know.
A pile-up up ahead caused Nick to slow down. A motorcyclist took it as an opportunity to overtake, but was quickly forced to decelerate as well. The entrance to the duel carriageway was choked by an overturned lorry and a crumpled police car. There was no room for another vehicle to get past and the road was a bust, but the guy on the motorbike had other ideas. The leather-clad rider obviously thought he could squeeze his chopper through the gaps and keep heading forward.
Nick stopped the car and put on the handbrake. He watched the biker trundle along at a snail’s pace, kicking the bike along manually and trying to manoeuvre it through the twisted wreckage. Just when it looked like he might actually get clear onto the highway, a female police officer ran at him from behind the lorry. She tackled him clean off his bike and dragged him to the ground. Seconds later the motorcyclist was screaming as more people appeared from the wreckage and started tearing him apart.
Nick took a breath and tried to keep his focus despite the fact that his heart felt as if it was about to beat out of his chest. He backed up the car as much as possible before coming up against the other vehicles queued up behind him. Then he performed a U-turn into the opposite lane and began heading the other way. The duel carriageway was the quickest way to the hospital by far, but he had no choice now but to take the back roads. The main roads and highways were quickly becoming too dangerous, littered with pile-ups and bewildered pedestrians.