THE fatality happened with no hope of reprieve. One moment Marianne was pulling down the sun visor to check her lipstick in the vanity mirror; the next she’s crawling free of wreckage, knowing Sean is dead because her husband’s eyes have pupils wide and black as the Kewpie doll’s tied to the dash.
The spinning tyre of the front offside nearly scraped her own eye out as she blundered past it. Marianne spat blood from her bitten tongue, wincing at the pain in her right knee. She stared stupidly at fingers jittering like palsied claws. The stink of gasoline had her scrabbling across the dirt track, inhaling hot engine, her guts clenching with fear. Sean hadn’t even cried out, nor shouted a warning.
The Cherokee has hit a Maple tree, its front end smashed into a Rottweiler snarl, the innards of the engine buttressed against a splintered windscreen smothered with her husband’s blood. With the illogical way of miracles, she’s escaped with minor injuries. With swimming head her stomach rejects breakfast. She retched miserably thinking…what just happened?
‘Sean?’
She got to her feet painfully as an arthritic pensioner.
‘Sean!’ He doesn’t respond, of course, because the impact broke his neck and his lungs are crushed. Marianne limped to the driver’s side then tried to open the door. It's frozen shut. Through the window, she touches him, her heart out of synch with her logic. His arm feels warm and muscular, just as it always does, and she’s sure, so sure, she can feel a pulse at his wrist.
Hobbling to the passenger side, Marianne rooted wildly for her bag squashed beneath the caved footwell, frantically twisting until it comes free. She dials 911 on her cell. No signal.
‘Goddamn West Virginia,’ she yelled, shaking the phone, the tears starting. ‘Fucking redneck backwoods!’
Holding the mobile over her head proved useless. She glared around at the soaring wilderness of Mingo County cursing her husband’s Irish ancestry right down to the failed potato crop that precipitated the Delaney’s migration to these parts.
‘Bringing me out here,’ she sobbed, ‘and for what? Driving for days and it all looks the same and we could be home in England but for you and your stupid ancestral goose chase!’
Marianne clutched the cell phone to her breasts and cried even harder. Mucous ran from her nose and her mascara, supposedly waterproof and costing thirty dollars in Williamson, hung in clumps from her lashes. Slowly, she rallied. She knew they were somewhere between Matewan and Red Jacket but Sean insisted on what he’d called the ‘scenic route’; the almost deserted road that ran north of their destination, the famous Hatfield Trail. Not content with that, he’d driven off the tarmac onto a winding dirt track that led them God knows where. She’d been too busy berating him about his speed as she tried to apply lipstick to notice where they were going.
She stared at the trail then back up at the timbered rise in front of her. How many miles would she have to limp to reach a house? The climb through the trees seemed the only feasible option and she’d surely get a signal up there. Another rummage in the Cherokee produced a full water bottle along with a first aid kit she knew held painkillers. She quaffed down a couple of paracetamol, then stuffed both items into her bag.
It was exactly twelve noon as she set off beneath a blazing sun and azure sky. The shade of the trees felt blessed even though the terrain was rough on her feet. Halfway up the rise she realised the summit was further than it looked. Sixty minutes later she stood atop the ridge then took out her phone. No signal.
‘You piece of unmitigating shit!’
She shook it relentlessly, checked the battery, made sure the settings were sound but still the signal failed. Marianne began to feel mounting desperation. Both their phones had been working fine before the crash. At a clutch of rocks she folded into a heap of tears, calling her husband’s name over and over until it became nonsensical to her. Through her grief she suddenly became aware of a crippling headache. The air felt like a suffocating vacuum, thick with humidity.
He’s gone, she thought wildly. Killed himself and me too. I’m dead and in hell, I know it!
Her jeans, ripped at the knee, revealed the nasty graze that still bled. Marianne pulled out the first aid kit then broke open a bandage. She doused the wound with antibacterial gel, hissing as the fluid bit; then bandaged it as tightly as she could.
How still it was up here; airless and silent. Not a sound or even birdsong. She sat in the lee of a rock cleft, and the odour emanating from the cave behind her smelled damp and rank. It felt unnatural and creepy too…and the atmosphere? It seemed to shimmer and undulate like mirrors about to shatter; a horrible sensation akin to motion sickness. Marianne closed her eyes then breathed deeply. Shock? Something in her ears began to hum, a frequency so deep and resonant it was barely discernible. It vibrateed to her bones, and her solar plexus fizzed and burned until she felt nauseous. With one hand to her stomach and the other to her mouth, she sat frozen, willing herself not to vomit. Then the buzzing sensation stopped, and when she opened her eyes, the view into the valley was back to normal. With a juddering sigh she got to her feet swiping at her eyes. The tears wouldn’t stop. She stumbled down the hill a weeping mess. As the ground levelled out, she gazed around shaking her head and muttering, 'The fuck is this?'
She’d fetched up on a trail, but not the same one she’d left. It was narrower, and more overgrown with no sign of the Cherokee. But she’d gone straight up and down that rise; even backtracked through the crushed undergrowth made by her own feet!
Marianne cast about in agitation. ‘Sean!’ she wailed. Then louder, ‘SEAN!’
Her voice echoed around the valley. Something rustled behind her. She swung round, sure it was a bear or cougar. They roamed free here, didn’t they? For the first time in her life she wished she owned a gun.
There was nothing for it but to follow the meandering trail and hope she found help before the sun sank. With agonising slowness she limped forwards, swallowing two more painkillers; trying to ignore the ache in her tongue, knee and heart.
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