Simon Beckett - The Restless Dead

I swore and stopped the car. There was no room to turn around, and I didn’t relish trying to reverse all the way back up the winding lane. I told myself to stay calm as I stared at the rapidly flooding causeway. The creek wasn’t very wide here, and over on its far side I could see the T-junction with the road I’d intended to take. It was agonizingly close. The water covering the causeway was still shallow, and I couldn’t see that it would be any different from driving along a flooded road. But it wouldn’t stay like that for long; if I was going to cross I’d have to go now.

So what’s it to be? Go or stay here? There wasn’t really any decision to make. Putting the car into gear, I drove down on to the causeway.

Shingle crunched under the tyres, then was muted by the hiss of spray. I kept my speed slow but steady, not taking my eyes off the barely visible strip in front of me. In places it disappeared altogether, and I had to keep the car straight and trust there were no bends. My knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as water sluiced up on either side like a bow wave. But the opposite bank was drawing closer, and as I passed halfway I allowed myself to relax. Almost there, I thought, and then the car jerked as a front wheel dropped into a submerged pothole.

It wasn’t very big, but it didn’t have to be. The car’s front end dipped down, slapping deeper into the water, and as quickly as that the engine cut out.

‘No!’ I said, hurriedly reaching to restart it. ‘No, no, no...’

The engine wheezed for long enough to give me hope, then died. I turned the key again, holding it as tight as I could as though that would make any difference.

‘Come on ...!’

The engine whined before dying once more. I tried it again, and then again, but there wasn’t even a murmur. I sat in the sudden silence, stunned by this new disaster. The far bank couldn’t be more than a few car lengths away. I stared at it, and then flung open the car door and jumped out. The water was bitingly cold and came almost to my knees. It poured over the sill, soaking through my boots and trousers. The pull of it surprised me, and I recalled Lundy telling me the tide came in faster than a man could run.

Not that I was running anywhere. The driver’s window was still open, so I quickly closed the door on the water and reached inside to steer with one hand. Then, putting my shoulder into it, I began to push. The car shifted forward and then stopped. The wheel was still stuck in the pothole. Swearing, I dug my feet into the shingle and heaved against the car. Again, the wheel caught on the pothole, but this time I’d been expecting it. As the car rolled back I heaved again, using its own momentum to bump it free.

Yes! Sluggishly, the car began to move forward. I kept pushing, water sloshing up to my knees as I struggled to keep it going. The causeway was becoming difficult to see as the tide covered more and more of it, but I kept the bonnet aimed at where it emerged on to the far bank. The water tugged at my legs as the rising water flowed past. It was becoming harder to push the car as it deepened, but every yard I managed was that much closer to dry land. I was getting into a rhythm when the car suddenly lurched to a halt. I clutched on to it as I lost my balance, realizing straight away what had happened. The back wheel had caught in the same pothole.

‘Don’t do this,’ I breathed, trying to rock the car free again.

This time I wasn’t so lucky. I strained against the car, my feet skidding and sinking into the shingle, but it didn’t budge. Gasping, I abandoned the attempt. The car wasn’t going anywhere unless I could clear away some of the shingle. By now I was soaked to my thighs. Taking off my coat, I put it on the roof and pushed back my sleeves before reaching into the freezing water, groping for the hole the wheel had sunk into. Sharp stones and shells scratched at my hands, cutting into my bloodless fingers as I tried to scrabble them away.

It was a waste of time: the wheel was too firmly held. I banged the side of the car in frustration, trying to think of something in the boot I could use to dig with. The lid from the cool-box would make a poor shovel, but it was better than bare hands. Hugging the side of the car so as not to slip off the causeway, I splashed around to the back. But even as I did I knew it was no use. The water was rising too quickly. It was already so deep that I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to push the car through it. It wouldn’t be safe to stay out here much longer.

I wasn’t ready to give up just yet, though. The water hadn’t quite reached the boot. I opened it up, ignoring the bin bag containing the waders that I didn’t have time to put on, and pulled the cool-box towards me. I was about to take the lid off when I heard a noise. Faint, but unmistakable: the sound of an engine. Looking out from behind the boot, I saw a flash of grey streaking behind the hedgerow that ran along the creekside road.

A car was coming.

I couldn’t see it clearly through the bushes but it was travelling fast. Water sloshed around my knees as I hurried to the front of my car. As the deep growl of a diesel engine grew louder, I frantically began waving.

‘ Hey! Over here!’

The car was close enough now to see it was some kind of 4x4. There was no way it could miss me: the road would take it within a stone’s throw of where I was stranded. It was a Land Rover, a gunmetal-grey Defender, and as it drew nearer I saw a face inside turn my way. The car slowed.

Then it speeded up and carried on.

‘ No! What’re you doing ?’

I stared after the Land Rover in disbelief as it continued down the road. How the hell could the driver not have seen me? Then, just when I thought it was going to keep on going, it pulled up. For a few seconds it just sat there with its engine running, until with a rising whine it quickly reversed up the road. It went past the track leading down to the causeway, but only far enough so it could turn into it facing the creek. Then it bumped down the track and drove straight into the water. Spray shot up as it ploughed towards me, stopping a few yards away. Its engine chugged, exhaust venting from a vertical pipe by the cabin. A snorkel, I realized as the wind whipped the fumes away.

The door opened and a man jumped out into the creek. Indifferent to the water that darkened his jeans to the knees, he waded round to the back of the Land Rover and opened the rear door. Reaching inside, he took something out before returning to the front.

‘Here.’

He threw a length of coiled-up rope to me, holding on to one end so it unravelled in the air. It slapped into the water a few feet away. I hurried to grab it as it began to sink and turned back to my car. Reaching into the cold water, I felt for the tow point under the bumper and tied the rope as best I could. By the time I straightened the man had already secured his end of the rope to the Defender’s half-submerged tow hitch.

‘Make sure you stay on the causeway when I start to back up,’ he shouted. ‘If you go off the edge I won’t be able to pull you out.’

I looked at the rippling water; the pale strip of shingle underneath had all but vanished. ‘I can’t see it.’

‘Just aim for me. I’ll flash my lights before I start.’

He turned away and climbed back into the Land Rover. I reached through my car’s open window and took hold of the steering wheel. It would have been easier to steer from the driver’s seat, but if I opened the door now the inside of the car would be flooded.

The Land Rover’s engine suddenly revved and its lights flashed twice. The rope came out of the water as it took up the slack, shedding droplets as it snapped taut. For a second nothing happened. Then the rope quivered and with a lurch my car started moving. I kept my eyes fixed on the Land Rover as it reversed slowly out of the creek. My hands hurt from gripping the steering wheel as the 4x4 backed up on to the bank.