wrong?" Rachel asked , feeling the air in the car tighten.
"Not hing, John's just being over cautious," Charlie assured her.
"Are you going to say that when we get jumped by some inbred cannibal waving a machete?" John replied.
Charlie thumped his brother in the arm. "Thanks, way to put her at ease asshole." He turned back to Rachel, forcing a reassuring smile. "Sometimes the motorways can be dangerous, especially the further away from London you go. There are police check points ever fifty or so miles but in between you get gangs and local authorities hijacking cars. Don't worry we're only jumping on to get to the services and they're pretty well protected. It'll be fine."
"That's what you said last time," John murmured.
"Jesus Christ, will you shut up. And it was alright. We're still here aren't we?"
"Give her a gun."
Charlie threw his hands in the air. "John, she doesn't need a gun."
"I'm not sure I want a gun," Rachel added.
But John wasn't about to budge. Maybe, Rachel thought, he knows I've killed one man he thinks I can do it again. Maybe I can, she realised.
Charlie conceded and handed her a small black snub nose from the glove box. She took it gingerly and then stuffed it into her jacket pocket. It felt too heavy for her.
"She needs lessons first," Charlie grumbled.
"Lesson one," John said. "Point the barrel at whatever you want to die and then pull the trigger." He pressed his foot down on the accelerator and started to match the speed of the cars ahead.
"Lesson two, keep i t clean and functioning. There, what more do you need?"
"You're in a great mood today," Charlie snapped.
John sneered, which was usually a sign they wouldn't talk for a while.
Rachel settled back in her chair and looked out of the window. In the distance smoke billowed from the hard shoulder. The air smelt acrid and sickly sweet. As they neared she could make out a vehicle smouldering on the sidelines of the road. The contents of the car had been ripped out and spread over the dusty tarmac. Clothes hung from the braches of the surrounding trees. Underwear. Jeans. A dress. Children's clothes. Rachel tried to look away but she couldn't. She stared at the black lump of metal as they went past. The driver's body smoked alone in his motor coffin. She gasped and turned away. Her fingers seeking comfort in the snub nose in her pocket.
"Nearly there," Charlie said, his voice barely able to hold any confidence after what they had just seen. They didn't talk about it. What was there to say when they all knew what dangers stalked the bushes around them?
2
John pulled off the motorway sharply. The landscape slowly opened up and a large square building awaited them. There were petrol pumps outside and an empty car park surrounding the structure. A spattering of white lights lit up the entrance to the building, but otherwise the place looked deserted.
"Let 's make this quick," Charlie said. "I don't want to hang around here any longer than we need to."
They pulled up at the pumps. As John opened the door a nother light inside the service station came on. An old man sat in a small checkout booth watching them through the protection of a glass screen. Rachel could just about make out his cold beady eyes in the early morning light. His thick white beard hid his other features, making him ageless.
Another man came out of the main entrance. He was younger, a tall man with broad shoulders and a vague look about him – clearly the muscle of the setup, with very little else going on behind the eyes. He carried an automatic rifle casually, as though just having it was enough to ward people away, and wore an armoured vest, but it was too small for him so he had to leave it open.
"They look nervous," Charlie said. "I guess they've been having some trouble. I'll go tell him we come in peace and everything should be fine."
With difficulty he got out of the car. Charlie had been stabbed in the back, causing severe nerve damage to his
"Not hing, John's just being over cautious," Charlie assured her.
"Are you going to say that when we get jumped by some inbred cannibal waving a machete?" John replied.
Charlie thumped his brother in the arm. "Thanks, way to put her at ease asshole." He turned back to Rachel, forcing a reassuring smile. "Sometimes the motorways can be dangerous, especially the further away from London you go. There are police check points ever fifty or so miles but in between you get gangs and local authorities hijacking cars. Don't worry we're only jumping on to get to the services and they're pretty well protected. It'll be fine."
"That's what you said last time," John murmured.
"Jesus Christ, will you shut up. And it was alright. We're still here aren't we?"
"Give her a gun."
Charlie threw his hands in the air. "John, she doesn't need a gun."
"I'm not sure I want a gun," Rachel added.
But John wasn't about to budge. Maybe, Rachel thought, he knows I've killed one man he thinks I can do it again. Maybe I can, she realised.
Charlie conceded and handed her a small black snub nose from the glove box. She took it gingerly and then stuffed it into her jacket pocket. It felt too heavy for her.
"She needs lessons first," Charlie grumbled.
"Lesson one," John said. "Point the barrel at whatever you want to die and then pull the trigger." He pressed his foot down on the accelerator and started to match the speed of the cars ahead.
"Lesson two, keep i t clean and functioning. There, what more do you need?"
"You're in a great mood today," Charlie snapped.
John sneered, which was usually a sign they wouldn't talk for a while.
Rachel settled back in her chair and looked out of the window. In the distance smoke billowed from the hard shoulder. The air smelt acrid and sickly sweet. As they neared she could make out a vehicle smouldering on the sidelines of the road. The contents of the car had been ripped out and spread over the dusty tarmac. Clothes hung from the braches of the surrounding trees. Underwear. Jeans. A dress. Children's clothes. Rachel tried to look away but she couldn't. She stared at the black lump of metal as they went past. The driver's body smoked alone in his motor coffin. She gasped and turned away. Her fingers seeking comfort in the snub nose in her pocket.
"Nearly there," Charlie said, his voice barely able to hold any confidence after what they had just seen. They didn't talk about it. What was there to say when they all knew what dangers stalked the bushes around them?
2
John pulled off the motorway sharply. The landscape slowly opened up and a large square building awaited them. There were petrol pumps outside and an empty car park surrounding the structure. A spattering of white lights lit up the entrance to the building, but otherwise the place looked deserted.
"Let 's make this quick," Charlie said. "I don't want to hang around here any longer than we need to."
They pulled up at the pumps. As John opened the door a nother light inside the service station came on. An old man sat in a small checkout booth watching them through the protection of a glass screen. Rachel could just about make out his cold beady eyes in the early morning light. His thick white beard hid his other features, making him ageless.
Another man came out of the main entrance. He was younger, a tall man with broad shoulders and a vague look about him – clearly the muscle of the setup, with very little else going on behind the eyes. He carried an automatic rifle casually, as though just having it was enough to ward people away, and wore an armoured vest, but it was too small for him so he had to leave it open.
"They look nervous," Charlie said. "I guess they've been having some trouble. I'll go tell him we come in peace and everything should be fine."
With difficulty he got out of the car. Charlie had been stabbed in the back, causing severe nerve damage to his
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