My first thought was that it was another ambush. That the men in the Peugeot had brought in reinforcements and come back for a return match. I strained for the sound of gunfire, realising with a sick dread that the thin canvas tilt sides of the truck would be sliced like butter in a firefight.
Figgis managed to bring us to a jerky halt, but Todd had been following too close and not paying attention. I saw him rise in his seat as he stamped hard on the brake pedal. Smoke puffed from the offside front tyre as he locked it solid. For a moment I thought a collision was inevitable. When he finally wrestled the truck to a standstill his front bumper was less than half a metre from the tailgate. I could look straight into his startled eyes.
It was only once we’d all stopped that I heard the frantic voices. A man and a woman. It took a few seconds to tune out the panic and latch on to the vocab. I caught it in snatches. Accident. Mobile phone. Ambulance.
I pushed out of my seat and scrambled over the tailgate, just as Todd jumped down from his cab. As we ran forwards I was aware of other people following.
The couple who’d flagged Figgis down were elderly. Both were talking at once, gesturing towards the edge of the road. The woman was crying.
We’d stopped just before a sweeping left-hand bend. As corners went it was a beauty. A long continuously curving entrance and a tightening fast exit. It slanted towards the inside like a banked circuit. A corner designed for speed. And misjudgement.
To the outside, slightly past the apex, was a lay-by just about wide enough for a single vehicle to pull off the road. Indeed, it was where the old couple had stopped their Westfalia camper van. The road surface broke up there into gravel that had been scraped and scuffed towards the safety barrier in a long ominous twin gouge.
Beyond the barrier was nothing. Open space.
Because Todd stopped to find out from Figgis what was going on, I was the first to reach the barrier and lean out over it. There was a rocky drop on the other side that went down almost sheer for twenty metres before it levelled out into a stream at the bottom, and then away into the trees.
I suppose, if I’m honest, I already knew in my heart what I was going to see down there.
But it still came as one hell of a shock.
Alongside me I heard Declan whisper, “Holy Mary, Mother of God.”
I don’t know just how fast Blakemore had been going when he hit the barrier, but his trajectory had taken him fifteen metres or so out from the incline. He’d landed a little way from the bike, on his back, with his torso half-submerged in the stream. From this height I could see the current creating whirlpools and eddies around this unexpected obstruction to the flow.
His body was bent and twisted, his limbs contorted inside his leathers. A good set will keep you together, but that doesn’t mean it will keep you whole. The darkened visor of his helmet stared up blankly at the sky.
Shards of plastic debris were scattered around his body, splashes of harsh colour against the grey rocks. The faring of the Blade had detached itself in the crash and splintered into fragments, leaving the aluminium box frame exposed.
I was certain he was dead, and then I saw the flutter of one gloved hand.
I’ve seen dead bodies twitch before, little more than the nervous system shaking out the last few drops of life, but this was different. A controlled movement. A weak signal.
I turned. The two instructors were still trying to get sense out of the elderly couple. “It’s Blakemore,” I shouted, cutting them short. “And he’s still alive.”
Todd reached my shoulder first and stared down at the drop. “You’re fucking joking,” he muttered, stepping back, shaking his head. “Forget it, Fox, nobody could have survived that fall.”
I glared at him, then inwardly recoiled. Blakemore had suspected somebody of being responsible for Kirk’s death. It might be rather convenient for Todd if Blakemore never came out of that ravine alive. Too convenient, perhaps . . .
Figgis came up on Todd’s other side in time to hear that last remark. He threw Todd a disgusted glance.
“Let’s find out for certain, shall we?” he said and climbed over the barrier.
Todd didn’t try and stop him from going. Maybe he was as surprised as the rest of us by the driving instructor’s actions. Figgis crabbed across the face to an area where the incline of the rocks was at its most mild. From there he half-climbed, half-slithered his way down, sending a rash of pebbles skittering in front of him like a bow wave.
His agility surprised me. He made it look easy, but no one else volunteered to follow him down.
At the bottom we watched him pick his way across the rocks and reach Blakemore. I couldn’t imagine that the unarmed combat instructor looked any better close up. However strong and fit you are, you’re never going to win in a straight fight with inertia, gravity, and impact.
Figgis stepped round the other man’s blasted limbs and crouched in the stream alongside him. Carefully, he flipped open the visor of his helmet, but didn’t attempt to remove it. He undid the velcro cuff on Blakemore’s left glove and pulled it off with a gentleness I wouldn’t have given him credit for. Then he pinched the inside of his wrist, looking for a pulse. He seemed to take a long time to find one. Long enough for me to suspect I’d imagined that feeble wave.
Finally, he stood up and looked back up to the road, shielding his eyes. By this time we were all hanging over the safety barrier, staring down. I hoped briefly that the force of the FireBlade slamming into it and catapulting over the top hadn’t weakened its foundations or things were going to get crowded down there.
“He’s still alive,” Figgis’s voice floated up. “We need an ambulance – now.”
“They’re on their way,” Todd shouted down, “but we’ve got some ropes in the trucks. We can use one of the tailgates as a stretcher and haul him up ourselves. It’ll be faster.”
“I wouldn’t move him if I were you,” Figgis called. He glanced back at Blakemore for some sign that he had any sense of cognition, but he was patently oblivious. When Figgis spoke again his voice was calm, devoid of emotion. “I think his back is broken.”
People’s reaction to this piece of news was interesting. Some pressed forwards more fully, stretching their necks for a better look. Declan went and perched on the front bumper of the lead truck and lit a cigarette with hands that weren’t quite steady. I was one of those who moved back from the barrier. I’d seen enough, and grisly voyeurism was never in my line.
Elsa turned away, too and belatedly realised that we’d been shuffling our feet across the gravel where Blakemore’s bike had skidded off the road.
“Get back,” she said sharply, waving a hand towards the road surface. “The police will need to investigate the scene and all of you are destroying the evidence.”
Todd snapped his head round, moved in until he was crowding the German woman. “And just what evidence are you expecting them to find here?” he demanded with a quiet vehemence. “Blakemore’s been riding his fucking bikes like a lunatic with half a brain for years. We all of us knew that sooner or later it was going to catch up with him.” He registered the startled looks, swallowed down his anger and shrugged. “Today was the day, that’s all.”
Elsa edged away from him, uncomfortable. Jan moved up to her shoulder, glaring at the phys instructor, but his attention was already elsewhere.
“Dumb bastard,” Jan muttered under her breath. “Of course the bloody police are going to want to investigate the scene. What does he think they’re going to do?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Elsa said, but giving her a grateful smile, nonetheless. “He is upset.”