FIVE
P.C Williams buttoned up his completely redundant coat against the storm which again threatened to knock him off his feet. The coat, which was already damp from his last trip out to the docks had been completely soaked through in just the ten steps or so which had taken him to get from the warmth of his police car to that open area at the back of the derelict building.
The strangely dry phenomena he had encountered earlier was now thankfully gone as the area was now drenched through as it should be, and Williams even allowed himself the comforting thought that perhaps it had just been from a lightning strike after all and that the poor girl he had found wondering in the road had been so close to the impact that it had temporarily knocked all sense out of her. Yes now that he stood here piss wet through it was easy to convince himself that he had witnessed something strange for sure, but natural never the less.
Still, his training told him to give the immediate area the once over, just in case. So he took out his torch and let the light sweep over the crates, old discarded lobster pots and stinking fishing nets that were strewn all around the place. Now that he studied the debris more closely this time he could see blackened and charred patches here and there, which although long since extinguished would lend credence to a lightning strike. Williams made a mental note to have a word with the local fishermen about just abandoning their crap down here.
Although he hardly thought it possible the rain began to come down even heavier. “This isn’t rain,” he said out loud to the heavens. “This is a vertical sea with slits in it!” That was when a pile of crates and old ropes that had been stacked up against the building collapsed. “Jesus!!” Williams exclaimed and then laughed. Fine night for a fucking heart attack he mused. He shone the torch over to the still shifting pile of trash.
An arm forced its way through the tangled mass of ropes and reached up to the sky. “Fuck me!” Williams sprinted across the dock and over to the back of the building. As he got closer he could see a figure buried in the debris.
Williams slipped the torch into its loop on his duty belt and began to frantically pull at the crates and clutter that were on top of the figure. He grasped a hold of the hand which gripped his own tightly for a moment only to slip from his grasp a second later, his hand came away slick not with water but with blood. “Jesus,” Williams wiped his palm on his coat and finally managed to get most of the clutter off who he could now see was a man who was all but naked, what was left of his clothes were chard and almost completely burnt away, his body was absolutely covered in watery blood.
Bloody spittle bubbled up from the man’s mouth as he let out a strangled moan.
“It’s alright,” Williams told him. “I’ve got you.” As gently as he could Williams pulled the man free of a length of tangled rope and out onto open ground. Clumps of fabric came away in his hands as he laid the man down. He took off his coat and wrapped it around the prone figure, he could smell a mixture of burnt clothing and the coppery tang of fresh blood as he did so.
Williams picked up the man in his arms with the sudden strength only a massive surge of adrenalin could give you and began to stagger over to his police car. Once at the vehicle he rested the man on the bonnet before opening the back door and then somehow managed to get the man onto the back seat. “Hold on mate,” he said and checked the man’s pulse at his blood slickened neck, it was there but very weak. “Just hold on,” he told him. “Going to get you some help.”
With that he jumped into the driver’s seat and sped away. He keyed his shoulder mic whilst fighting with the steering wheel. “Suzy! Suzy, it’s Ian. Do you copy over?” At first he got nothing but static, then after a moment was rewarded with a familiar voice.
“Ian? Yes this is Suzy. You’re damn faint. Where are you? Over.”
“Coming back from the docks. Are you at the lifeboat station, over?”
“Yes, I’m here with Doctor Patten, Mayfield’s on the mainland, over.”
“Okay, that’s good. Now listen. I’ve got an injured man with me. Looks like he’s been struck by lightning. Tell Patten to get ready, he looks to be in a bad way, over.”
“Will do Ian.” Munro replied.
“Okay, should be there in ten. See you soon, Williams out.”
Then the enormity of the situation threatened to overwhelm him. He held up a blood soaked hand which was shaking violently and just looked at it. “Fuckin’ hell,” he whispered, his voice trembling. A moment later the feeling of utter helplessness passed, replaced by one of urgency. He dragged his concentration back driving as fast as the conditions would allow.
He chanced a glance to the man laid curled up under his ruined coat on the back seat. In the near darkness of the car it was hard to make out any real detail, but he did notice that despite losing most of his clothes to the strike, strangely the man’s matted hair seemed intact, plastered to his bloody face obscuring his features.
“Shit!” The car clipped the curb and the steering wheel spun out of his sleek hands for a heart stopping moment. Heart pounding fit to burst through his chest, Williams returned his full attention back to the road ahead. He corrected the car’s line and stepped on the accelerator. He knew these roads like the back of his hand and just needed to trust his instincts as he drove.
After what felt like miles he finally pulled the car onto the long dirt road that led alone the coast line and up to the lifeboat station. He eased off the gas a little, the road could be treacherous at the best of times and driving too last in this shit weather was bordering on the suicide. He needed to get this poor bastard to a doctor fast, but in one piece. Crashing now would add half an hour or more to getting him medical help and that could be fatal.
Out of nowhere tears glistened in his eyes and he had to bite back a sob. “Fuck,” he cursed as it hit him. Avoiding this type of situation was exactly why he had taken the post here on Widow’s Bay. Precisely because nothing ever happened here. P.C Ian Williams was thirty eight years old, he had been a policeman for coming up to fifteen years and until recently he had spent the majority of his service on the front line in cities such as Manchester and some of the shittier parts of London. The things he had seen during those years had turned his hair prematurely grey and had on more than one occasion nearly broken his will and with that his sanity.
He had wanted to retire early and fuck his pension, but his Superintendent at the time had suggested sleepy little Widow’s Bay. The place is literally in the middle of fucking nowhere, he had said. With a mixture of old folks who had retired there and a few dozen students who wanted to change the world. An easy gig. No more murdered children dumped in wheelie bins. No more rape and abuse of the most horrendous kinds. Humanity at its most bland. It had seemed like heaven to P.C Williams, and it had been for the three years he had been here. Until tonight.
Williams’ thoughts of half-forgotten atrocities fled his mind like a coward as the man in the back suddenly began to convulse and by the sounds of it he started choking on his own blood. “Shit,” the awful gagging sound brought bile to the back of Williams’ throat. He calculated he couldn’t be more than five minutes from the lifeboat station. But that was five minutes too long for this poor bastard if he didn’t do something fast.
He took his foot off the gas and tapped the brakes as gently as he could slowly letting the car come to a halt. Experience had taught him not to simply slam on the brakes on this type of waterlogged dirt road. A second later he was back out in the raging wind and rain and scrambled over to the back door and pulled at the handle. The wind was hitting it hard which meant it took him a few agonizing moments before he could get it open.
He ducked in the back and let out a howl of pain as the wind caught the door and it slammed hard into the back of his legs. “You fucker!” It seemed like everything possible was conspiring against him tonight. Completely missing this poor bastard on his first sweep of the docks, to now nearly breaking his legs in the car door.
Williams crawled over the prone man in the back who had now ominously fallen silent. “Oh, no. Come on, come on mate. Hold on.” He felt for a pulse in the man’s neck but got nothing. He pulled off the coat and pressed his ear to the man’s bare chest, which was quite still. “Shit!” He hammered hard on his chest, then again but still nothing. He interlocked his hands and using the ball of his right hand began to perform CPR.
“C’mon!” He continued the practiced motion for what felt like minutes, then pressed his blood soaked fingers to the man’s neck once more. Nothing. “God damn it!” Williams sat there panting from the exertion feeling utterly useless. He looked down into the man’s face, into his now sightless eyes. “So sorry,” was all he could muster.
After what could have been hours, Williams’ mic burst into life, it was Munro, she sounded a million miles way. “Williams? Ian this is Suzy, do you have an ETA for us, over?”
He checked his watch in the near darkness and waited for the luminous numbers to come into focus. No he thought grimly. But I do have an estimated time of death.