Ahead of his Time, Adrian Cousins [short story to read .txt] 📗

good few seconds before Martin as his reactions appeared slow. Three young lads on bikes careered out of the cut-through lane, which leads down to the City School. They didn’t check their surroundings as they bumped down the kerb and swerved out onto the road.

Paul didn’t see them as he was facing Martin gripping the shotgun, and Jess’s view was blocked by Paul. Martin reacted at the last possible moment and avoided ploughing through the lads, who all sported surprised expressions as the Cortina headed straight for them. Ripping the steering wheel to his left, Martin steered the car away from the frozen-in-time cyclists. The car’s speed resulted in us careering across the road in a nanosecond and successfully demolishing a bus stop shelter leaving crumpled metal and shattered glass in our wake as the front of the Cortina met with a large oak tree.

The tree, which had presumably resided in that position way before the Broxworth estate was built or even planned, had probably been planted during Queen Victoria’s reign, and didn’t waver in this new event in its long life. The Cortina crumpled and now shortened to the length where the wheel-base would be more fitting for a Ford Anglia.

It appeared I hadn’t moved as I was still sat in the rear seat, still holding Jess’s hand. However, my nose which had previously been broken by the monster sitting in the passenger seat throbbed, and I could taste the blood that now flowed down it. I can only assume I’d been flung forward, smashing my nose on Martin’s seat and then catapulted back as the large oak halted our path. Jess and I looked at each other; her face was almost identical as the blood flowed from her nose.

Martin and Paul were not sitting. Their bodies were positioned through the car windscreen stopped in mid-flight as if they were diving into a swimming pool. Paul’s body was slightly further through the ‘dive’ as Martin’s progress towards the oak had been halted by the steering wheel, which appeared to be embedded in his chest. Without a word, Jess and I opened the rear doors. Jess’s opened as expected, mine I had to put my shoulder to as the crash had reshaped the door frame.

Martin’s head was turned towards me as I approached the front of the car. He stared directly at me, but I knew his eyes could see nothing. At the age of forty-two, I’d never seen a dead body close up until now. Although I had no medical training, I knew my work colleague and fellow time-traveller was dead … again.

“Fucking hell, man, that’s awesome!”

I turned to see the three lads who’d quickly recovered from their near-death experience with the front of the Cortina, standing with their bike frames between their legs and gawping at the front of the car.

“That one’s got a windscreen wiper stuck through his neck! Fucking gruesome!” exclaimed another one of the lads, as they took in the horror in front of them.

I glanced from Martin to Paul. He did, in fact, have a windscreen wiper protruding out the back of his neck and was fully impaled on it with what appeared to be gallons of blood pumping from him which poured across the now crumpled car bonnet. Jess stood on the other side of the car, transfixed by the sight of Paul Colney in front of her. Ignoring the sight-seeing cyclists and leaving them to take in the scene, I slowly made my way around to Jess. Grabbing her hand, I squeezed it to bring her out of her trance.

It was only a week ago when Jenny and I had argued about my wish to replace her car with one that had rear seatbelts, plus my annoyance that she never wore her seatbelt when driving. We’d watched the ‘Blunders-family adverts’ on TV, which showed the nightmare-driving-family causing havoc. That particular advert showed a man, not dissimilar in appearance to Martin, travelling through his yellow MK3 Cortina windscreen after encountering Mrs Blunders woeful driving.

I stood with Jess staring at our own real-life road-safety TV advert as two cars stopped and two men and a woman rushed over to the scene.

“Bloody hell! What’s happened here!” called out the first guy who’d run over from where he’d abandoned his car a few yards away. Within less than a minute, the road was blocked as half a dozen vehicles had slowed or stopped. Many drivers jumped out of their cars to see if they could assist, whilst others stayed in theirs and gawped at the scene.

I tugged Jess’s hand and stepped back, pulling again to get her to react. Fortunately, this non-verbal communication worked and, as the crowd of onlookers closed in on the gruesome scene, we moved behind them.

“Come on … quickly.” I held her hand and tugged Jess across the road, stepping into the cut-through lane, so we were out of sight of any onlookers.

“Jess, you okay?”

She nodded, although I could see she was starting to violently shake as she fumbled for a tissue in her coat pocket and then applied it to her nose. I took a moment to deal with my face with the corner of my coat. I could feel my neck stiffening, and I suspected we both would suffer severe whip-lash.

“We need to get out of here. Paul was holding that shotgun and, when the police arrive, there will be a bundle of questions I don’t fancy answering.” She nodded as I took her hand, and we nipped down the lane to the school playing fields.

The first phone box we came across, a hundred yards down from the school on Eaton Road, I phoned George. Within half an hour, we sat in Don’s kitchen, whisky in hand as George and Jenny attempted first aid to our noses.

47

5th February 1977

Hamleys

Jess was okay about sleeping at Martin’s, as there was no more room in Don’s. I, as predicted, had a very stiff neck in the morning. When we