Guy Smith: Snakes

The police car came to a halt, warning lights and flashers left on as the two officers got out. Two or three prangs, nothing more; the bad ones would be further along where the first vehicles had collided at speed.

Bazeley's mouth was dry as they put some orange cones out. This was the easy part; take your time and follow the sergeant. He's a bastard but you need him now more than you've ever needed anybody.

The constable glanced back behind them. He could hear wailing sirens. Ambulances, fire engines and more motorway patrols were on the way. Jesus, hurry up.

The rain storm was at its peak. The thunder and lightning had passed on, left the cloudburst to follow, a deluge of water that hit the officers' orange plastic jackets with force.

Then they heard the screams of pain and terror, the hysterical cries for help. Vehicles were crunched up now, these were the ones that had taken the full force of the accident at speeds of up to 70 mph.

A van, it was impossible to recognise the make, was flattened beneath the trailer of an articulated lorry. A sheet of pressed metal; the chassis would have to be prised apart if they were going to find out who was inside. Human silhouettes. Bazeley noticed a pool of scarlet fluid being diluted by the rain and tasted bile at the back of his throat. But at least he didn't have to do anything about it.

The artic had ploughed into a big carrier, which in turn had crunched a small car; it could have been a Clubman estate but the details would be sorted out later. The young officer felt something else besides fear, sheer helplessness. I can't do anything, I can't help anybody. I'm just a bystander like these ghouls the sarge was on about, except that I don't want to be here.

A car was blazing somewhere, the thick black smoke kept low by the thunderstorm, creating a dense black fog that made everything a thousand times more terrifying; shapes that moved and screamed, came at you out of the blackness and you only saw the injuries and the blood when they got close; had you stepping carefully in case you fell headlong over a corpse. There appeared to be bodies everywhere.

Bazeley kicked something, recognised it as a severed arm as it rolled away. That was when he threw up, vomited everything out of his guts in one spouting spew and hoped that the sergeant did not see him in the smoky darkness.

And then he saw the girl. Her piercing screams had his blood running cold and when she came staggering out of the darkness he almost turned and ran. Oh God, she had to be hurt bad, he didn't want to see, didn't want to have her clinging to him and bleeding all over him.

Miraculously she wasn't bleeding, in fact she did not appear to be injured at all. He stared at her with smarting eyes and wondered for a second if his brain was playing tricks on him, if he wasn't up to all this and something inside him had snapped.

She could not have been more than twenty. Long blonde hair that fell below her shoulders and a figure that any model would have been proud of. So beautiful. And naked, except for a shoe on her left foot.

She was screaming hysterically, clutching at her stomach, bent double, straightening up again, but even in her crazed agonised state she recognised a police officer, knew that he might be able to help her.

Police Constable Bazeley stared, mentally recoiled, but there was no blood coming from the girl. Maybe her injuries were internal, in which case it wouldn't be so bad for him. He would help her, stay with her until the ambulances arrived. It was a let-off, not a pleasant one, but better than tending injuries that spouted blood all over you whilst you tried to stem an arterial wound. Coward! OK, I'm a coward but I'll try and calm this bird.

He reached out for her just as she stumbled, slipped through his grasp and fell face down on the tarmac. Immediately her body was convulsing, doubling up, her toes on the unclad foot curling inwards in sheer agony. She was clutching at her abdomen.

Mark Bazeley felt her pain as he grasped her, every nerve and muscle in her lithe body at breaking point as it took the strain of the ultimate in pain, shuddering. Crazed, she tried to fight him as he rolled her over, her white even teeth clenched as though in the throes of a fit, spittle frothing from her soft red lips.

For a split second his mind shut off and he saw her as a young man sees a beautiful naked girl. The shapely thighs parted, legs wide and kicking frantically as though she had just hit a climax. Moans that he wished were orgasmic cries of delight and the two of them anywhere else but here. Her hands came off her stomach, her fists clenched and she pummelled at him crazily, those groans escalating into screams. Back to reality, she was in unbelievable pain, probably dying.

Take it easy.' What a bloody stupid thing to say. He began to smooth his fingers over her rain washed slippery flesh, probing for an injury of some kind, a swelling maybe. Anything. And all the time she rained blows on him, caught him full in the face and he tasted blood in his mouth.

She was writhing, jerking, sobbing, and in the end he caught her wrists, had to kneel on her to prevent her from twisting out of his grip. What the hell do I do now, slap her across the face? Assaulted by a police officer at the scene of the accident, attempted rape. Christ, Sarge, where the hell are you just when I need you most?

But Bufton had gone off into the rain and smoke, doing what hardened experienced officers do at the scene of motorway carnage. You're on your own, copper.

The girl was desperately trying to tug free of her captor, managed to drag a hand away and those fingers shot back to her belly just above the triangle of pubic hair. The moment she made contact with the flesh her lips parted to emit a piercing shriek of pain.

'What happened?' the policeman had to shout to make himself heard above the screams from around him and the banshee-like noises of the ambulances which were nosing their way down the slip road. 'What happened?'

She muttered something and he bent his head low in an attempt to hear, half thought that she might attempt to bite him. Her lips were moving again, frothy with saliva, grinding her teeth.

'Bitten.' She got the word out and there was no mistaking the sheer terror in her rolling eyes.

He stared at her, let the word sink in. It was nonsense.

'Bitten?' His mouth was close to her ear, shouting. 'Bitten by what, for Christ's sake?'

The expression of terror was back on her pallid features, her eyes rolling. Her head moved from side to side, and the hands which had punched him now clutched at him. Her lips were moving again, fighting the pain to get the word out.

'Snakes?'

She was delirious of course. She had to be. 'Take it easy, I'll try and get you to an ambulance.'

She groaned and her body went as taut as a steel hawser, took the strain and then reached breaking point. She came off the ground like an uncoiling spring, convulsing so that her spine was in terrible danger of snapping, a landed fish desperate to flap its way back to the water. She hit the ground, rolled, came up to her knees in a grotesque, unnatural posture, dug her fingers deep into the flesh of her lower stomach as though she were intent on clawing out some cancerous growth.

Pain and terror, doubled up yet jerking her head from side to side, peering fearfully into the darkness with eyes that bulged unnaturally. Bazeley watched, helpless. Where the fuck were the ambulances? There was one stopped about fifty yards away, some a little further down, stretcher-bearers hardly knowing who to take first.

'Hey!' he called out, but gave up. Even if they heard him, which they weren't likely to in all this din, they wouldn't be taking orders from a rookie copper. You're wasting your time; maybe if you carry her across to them they'll have to put her in one of the ambulances.