Ghostrider
Tenerife, Canary Islands, Spain.
Tenerife´s Autopista del Sur is one of the grimiest highways in southern Europe. Threading its way from Los Cristianos to Santa Cruz de Tenerife, it is flanked on one side by the Atlantic ocean and on the other by old lava flows, cactus and lizards.
Lots of water, lots of cactus and lots of lizards.
It has two lanes of traffic on each side but there is no illumination whatsoever.
In spite of the high ripples of frozen lava, the highway had blasted its way through the quasi-lunar landscape with high-yield explosives.
It is neither flat nor straight. It is devious, rich in slopes and devilish curves.
And if all that isnt enough, there is the wind.
Its blowing from the ocean with unrelenting power. There is no obstacle in its path to soften its energy before it comes sweeping the highway.
Among the drivers, the native Canarians dont pay much attention to the impressive scenery while the tourists cant help but feel small and exposed.
In the darkness of the new moon, the black Porsche was speeding, piercing the night with powerful headlights.
Under the starlight, Angelo was heading towards Santa Cruz.
In spite of having his system loaded with drugs, he was all too aware that he was on his way to hell. ¡Stupid bet! He thought...
Fear was trickling down his back. It also tightened a cold hand around his throat and set his eyes on fire. There was a forlorn spark in them. He looked very much like a fanatic..
He had made a bet with death herself...And now...
He found himself speeding on the fast lane... On the wrong side of the road...
Angelo was riding the ghost, tonight...
He was the Ghostrider.
He had entered the highway at the San Isidro intersection. His first choice of destination was Guimar, 35 kilometers away, if he managed to get out. He was neither allowed to change lanes nor to brake.
He was a missile set on a collision course, and all he could do was to squeeze the accelerator. And pray.
He was praying out loud, believing that somehow it would make his litany more efficient.
Padre Nuestro que estás en el cielo...
His blood was racing through his veins.
Sanctificado sea tu nombre...
The Porsche´s headlights were on high beam mode.
Vénganos tu Reino...
The cars were flying past like in a video game, hurling themselves to his face like a pack of wasps.
The speedmeter was stuck at 160, Angelo´s hands were whitening on the steering wheel.
En el nombre del Padre...
The Posche was roaring. It seemed to be thoroughly happy, driven by some mechanical instinct that told it to attack the asphalt with vengeance.
Amen...
Angelo shot a quick glance to his right, where the watchcar was riding, right beside him, on the safe side of the highway.
His mouth twisted into a bitter smile and... Squeezed harder the accelerator.
The Porsche leaped forward like an elegant predator onto its prey, and immediately, the squalid shape of the big BMW watchcar mimicked the movement, albeit more heavily.
Hes got balls, doesnt he? Said the burly driver.
They grunted in response, morbidly transfixed by Angelos move.
Big money was at stake, but Angelo would only see a tiny part of it... If he survived.
Ten kilometers behind, twenty-five to go.
Angelo was creating havoc in his wake. Lights were gyrating wildly. Tires were screeching. Klaxons were blaring. Angry faces showed for an instant from behind windows.
He thoroughly ignored them.
The highway was now introducing a new show. It was embedding itself in lava, as if the earth had split open to swallow the car and its presumptuous occupant.
Angelo was now a meteor streaking between huge walls of rock. It seemed endless.
For a while, the traffic abated a little.
Then the black ribbon seemed to twist and turn, and to behave like a snake. The curves became tighter and tighter...To Angelos bloodshot eyes, the highway became an entity, evil, dangerous, lethal.
Fear came back to him.
A deep moan took form in his throat and his teeth emitted a strange, unpleasant noise, like a piece of chalk on a blackboard.
Oblivious of himself, Angelo associated the noise to the movements of the curves. He imagined a black dragon brought back to life after centuries of immobility. His hands tightened harder around the steering wheel. He could almost feel the steel core of the wheel through the rubber now.
He had a glimpse of his face in the mirror. The green, fluorescent light of the instrument panel gave him a sickening look. What he saw was a corpse destined to haunt the lives of the living flesh.
Fifteen kilometers behind, twenty to go.
He was almost at midpoint.
His body was shaking now. The drugs effects were at their fullest. The lane curved upwards and slightly to the left. It was a long black ramp blending the asphalt with the night in the distance.
Out of the nothingness appeared a powerful white glare that reverberated onto the electric cables of an aerial power line. There was a car coming. Beyond the slope, there was no way the driver could have guessed that the Porsche´s beams were coming towards him from his side of the highway. The slight curve prevented it quite effectively.
Above the slopes apex, the beams of the cars were now crossing each other as if to seek an enemy plane in the night sky.
The occupants of the BMW shared a rictus and the driver said:
Thats it Luis, youve lost.
Not yet. Said the man called Luis.
Their eyes went back to the Porsche and the homing death.
Something seemed strange, though... The incoming lights were very strong.
A truck! It must be a truck! Man! What a raw deal! They were almost salivating... The peak of the curve was meters away...
Then the truth dawned on them, but it was far too late.
It wasn´t a truck... There were two cars coming... Side by side...
One of them was on the wrong side of their lane...
Surprise, horror and disbelief crisped their faces. The driver had only time to say:
"Hijoeput...!!!"
The impact was deafening.
Angelos mind went blank.
All of a sudden, four cars struck each other at an added speed of 360 kms per hour. An instant later, the fuel tanks collapsed and a massive explosion thundered.
The darkness was torn apart.
A huge, orange fireball reached for the sky, illuminating the bare landscape. Debris and shrapnel flew in every direction, driven deep into the concrete separation of the highway.
When finally, the smoke began to clear from the debris, the last torn pieces were falling to the ground.
Three hours later, at six oclock in the morning, the highway was still blocked on both sides. From the military helicopter, the TVE2 reporter was commenting the scene while a cameraman zoomed in on the accident.
There was an ominous mark, forty meters in diameter, blacker than the asphalt. The remnants of the cars could hardly have been recognized by their own manufacturers. Some parts were dug in so deep into the concrete that a team of torch cutters had to be called to help.
The highway would eventually heal. But it would take a long time.
And this loss of lives stirred a sad thought:
They were damn fine cars...