Page 44 of 59 Minutes
FRANKIE
The mist is lifting fast. As Frankie fumbles her way on cold, socked feet, the outline of Otis’s car grows clearer.
The bonnet is open and bent, the front grill hanging off from where it hit the truck.
The windscreen is impossible to see through, cracked and bubbled.
She sucks in a breath, holds her aching stomach and moves closer. The girl hovers uneasily behind her.
‘Otis?’
There is no movement, and no reply. She is by the passenger side now and presses her face to the window.
Otis is sitting in the driver’s seat, pulled forward as usual.
She cries out for her old lady boyfriend with his sweet careful driving.
He is motionless, his head supported by an airbag she didn’t dare hope this old Mercedes had.
As it shrinks, his head slumps forward with it but his seat belt holds his body rigid. His chest rises and falls.
‘Oh my god, Otis, you’re alive!’
The internal light pops on as she climbs into the passenger seat and reaches towards him.
He has burn marks on his face, that same smell of burning rubber in here as in the truck, but there’s no blood.
She reaches for his shoulder, shakes it gingerly.
His eyes are still closed, his mouth falls open.
‘Otis, please wake up. We’ve got to get inside.’
The dashboard clock says 5.43 p.m. They have seventeen minutes to find shelter and now she’s responsible for this girl too.
She climbs back out of the car and looks around.
The girl’s face is blank with terror, her school coat still on.
The mist is clearing fast but it’s pitch-black outside of the truck’s hazard lights.
No house lights are beckoning them and she can hear no other cars. No siren now.
‘Do you know where we are?’ she calls.
‘Somewhere near Chagford,’ the girl says, her voice nearly lost to the wind.
‘Is there anywhere else around here, another village or a … I don’t know. Any houses?’
‘I don’t know,’ the girl says.
‘You live round here, you must know. Which is the quickest way to get to a house? Come on, think.’
‘I don’t know,’ the girl cries, visibly shaking. ‘It all looks the same in the fog, I couldn’t see where we were going!’
Frankie looks down at her own body and realises she too is violently shaking.
Despite that, she feels like she’s burning up.
It’s the adrenaline, it must be. Her teeth chatter as she makes her way to the driver’s seat and pulls open the door.
The skin on Otis’s face and neck goosebumps as the cold air hits him but he doesn’t stir.
‘Otis, please. Oh god, please wake up.’
She strokes his face, but he’s unresponsive. She picks up his arm and it droops like a weed, heavier than she realised. She feels for his pulse. Fast. Very fast. What does that mean?
Frankie unclips him carefully and tries to slide her arms under his body, as if she could scoop him out and carry him to safety. But Frankie can’t even get her arms under him. She starts to pull him towards her, but he is a deadweight and will fall to the floor, maybe injuring himself more.
‘Come and help me,’ she calls to the girl who walks tentatively nearer, repeatedly looking back at the truck.
Frankie turns the key in the ignition. If they can shunt him across to the other seat, she could drive them back to Chagford and all three might stand a chance.
The key clicks but nothing happens. She pulls the handbrake on, pulls out the key and puts it back in, closing her eyes as she tries again.
Nothing.
‘Please, please wake up, Otis. We have to find somewhere to shelter.’
From inside the truck, Ashley makes a groaning noise from the driver’s seat.
‘They’re awake,’ the girl hisses, grabbing Frankie’s arm and pulling on it. ‘I can’t let them get me again.’
‘But Otis, my boyfriend—’
‘You don’t understand, you don’t know the Curtiss family.’
‘But—’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t stay here, I have to get to my mum!’
The girl runs. Her legs fly in the direction they just came, coat flapping behind her. She doesn’t look back, doesn’t wait for permission, she just runs. Sixteen minutes to get to Chagford, with youth on her side? Maybe.
Frankie looks down at her socked feet, filthed by mud and grit. Abolutely zero chance.