Everything happened in slow motion. Chuck had not anticipated it. He who habitually monitored every noise and movement, hadn't noticed the two powerful headlights illuminating them as they conversed. The conviction that everything was lifeless, out of order, broken, had ultimately blinded him.
Chuck's mind raced as the man continued barking orders and dove off the side of the road. In the distance, the beams of the flashlights on the road scattered in all directions, an ominous prelude to a deadly encounter.
As Chuck's eyes followed the erratic movement of the flashlights, he soon realized the source of the chaos: an immense tanker truck, hurtling at breakneck speed, was bearing down on them. In the panic, everyone started talking at once, turning the quiet forest into a cacophony and masking the approach of the monster on wheels. On this desolate back road in Vermont, one couldn't anticipate what lay beyond each bend. Chuck knew all too well that the width of the road didn't always suffice to correct the wayward trajectories of vehicles, especially ones of this size. The truck was barreling towards them like a raging bull, with the semi trailer blocking its path.
It was old, a rusty and dusty truck, but Chuck didn't have time to examine its original make. Instead, he focused all his attention on the glaring headlights of the monstrous truck, which were rapidly approaching. The sight sent a chill down his spine.
The tanker truck barely avoided the black pickup parked on the side of the road, at the exit of the long curve. Unfortunately, Chucks truck occupied too much of the roadway, and the distracted driver of the mastodon couldn't assess the situation in time. Chuck was well aware that a trucker's endless hours of driving to make deliveries on time could ultimately lead to disaster. He braced for impact, knowing his fate hung in the balance.
The infernal truck let out a violent honk, then tilted suddenly onto its side, rolling over and over. It had tried to avoid the semi-truck, but at that speed and in the darkness, the surreal scene leaving the driver with no choice but to make a brutal swerve of the steering wheel.
Chuck instinctively threw himself over Julia, and Ron jumped into the ditch on the right. But Bryan wasn't so lucky. He had strayed further away from the group, heading towards the man across the road, while the others with him had stopped their approach to understand the stranger who remained at a distance.
As the tanker truck passed, it hit Bryan hard in the back, flinging him in the air. The group further down the road, save for the corpulent man who had been fortunate enough to move away at the last moment: they watched, horrified, as the truck losing pieces of metal and disintegrating in their direction.
The tanker fell apart with an ear-splitting noise. The shredded machine, whose light was still spinning through, eventually came to rest on the stunned onlookers. Upon impact, the heap of scrap metal and the mysterious contents of the tanker caused a massive explosion, pulverizing the immobilized vehicles and their drivers.
The forest was illuminated by a blinding flash, turning the sky red for a fleeting moment, as if it were the entrance to the underworld.
Chuck released Julia, leaving her on the ground, still in shock. He ran towards the inferno and the pile of metal, followed closely by the man who had warned them. It didn't take long for Chuck to realize the extent of the damage. The intense light of the flames hurt his eyes, the suffocating heat and toxic fumes made him cough.
"Where's my wife?" the poor delegate barked in panic. "Mary, where are you? Mary!"
"The pregnant woman..." Chuck remembered, horrified. "Tell me where she is!"
The weeping man fell to the ground, pointing to a vehicle ten feets behind them. Chuck sprinted towards the vehicle, staggering and almost collapsing into the fiery furnace. As he stood up, he saw a dark shape at the back of the burning car. A dark shape of a person, with a round belly, completely charred on the seat in a unnatural position. She was still burning, trapped in an infernal blaze that showed no sign of stopping. The flames engulfed the entire cabin, and a terrible smell of burning flesh emanated from the car.
Chuck was stricken with fear. A primal, nearly inhuman cry escaped his lips. It was a ghastly lament of rage and despair, that reverberated through the eerie landscape before him. As he bore witness to this dreadful sight, images of carnage, bloodshed, and devastation flooded his mind. Memories of chaos, of explosions that something or rather, of ravenous flames billowing heat, something about his skin probably. Chuck plunged him into a haunting abyss of despair.
He fell backwards, wracked by indescribable anguish. It was as though the death of this woman embodied all the lives he could've saved, but didn't. He was tormented by his time in the army, repressed memories of the souls he'd failed to rescue surging upwards, and the weight of their fates bore down upon him.
The flames grew more intense, accompanied by ominous cracking sounds. A dangerous plume of black smoke rose from the tank, spreading its lethal tendrils far and wide. A voice cried out, sounding like it came from a great distance.
"Chuck! Come back, don't stay there!" Ron shouted.
But Chuck paid no heed to Ron's warning. He remained caught between the sight before him, the miasmic heat, the scent of burning fuel, the blackened body, and the sights he'd seen before this, with the many bodies that had come before. The lone survivor, who still searched desperately for his wife amidst the debris, rushed towards a smoldering wreck of a red car. It was then that he was confronted with the ghastly sight of another woman's charred corpse, lying just a few feet away from him.
"Mary, nooo!" he bellowed, charging like a madman towards the remnants of his beloved. Kneeling besides the flames, thick black smoke rising to veil the night sky, the freshly minted widower shouted at the top of his lungs.
Chuck emerged from his trance, consumed by a fit of coughing. "Come here!" he roared. "The tanker's going to explode, we have to go!"
"No, I can't abandon her, I won't..." said the corpulent man in tears.
"She's dead!," Chuck yelled, regaining his composure. "For the love of god, come with me."
Insufferable heat seared Chucks face. A sudden hand on his shoulder yanked him backwards, and he fell heavily to the ground.
IIn a flash, another part of the tank detonated, propelling the man and his wife's body aloft like wisps of straw. Splayed on the asphalt, Chuck felt the scorching tempest engulf him. Ron, who had performed a miracle, extricated himself laboriously.
"There's nothing we can do for them! We need to move!"
"Holy Shit..." Chuck murmured, stunned.
Chuck relived the explosion. Scarcely an hour had transpired since that waking dream, and that abominable imaginary scene had been wrought into actuality. He felt strangely responsible for it. Ron hoisted him up and led him to the semi-truck. Chuck bolted into the cabin.
Ron asked, "What on earth are you doing?"
Chuck gulped his coffee-whiskey, then descended back down, offering the container to Ron. A little ways off, Julia was weeping, lying atop Bryan's motionless form.
"Bryan, can you hear me? Please, my love, answer me!" Partly fortified by the Jack, Chuck was seized with a craving for vengeance: the furious need to make amends, stem the tide of destruction. And the wounds...
With alacrity, he joined Julia. "In the military, I worked in the paramedic corps," he confessed. "I possess certain aptitudes in this field... Allow me to take a look."
Ron kindly ushered Julia aside, leading her away.
"What's wrong with him?" she asked, agitated.
Chuck endeavored to discern the injuries upon Bryan's body, illuminated only by the red glow of the fire, flickering and shifting. The profusion of blood and the paucity of light, however, rendered the undertaking all but impossible.
"Does anyone have a flashlight?" Chuck inquired. Because of the terrible accident, the flashlights had been misplaced. "Damn... He sustained a mighty blow!"
Ron approached with his lamp. Julia wept, consumed by fear. Ron seized the flashlight and shone it upon Bryan's countenance. Pain contorted his expression, eyelids fluttering, and Chuck's concern spiked.
"Hold on, he's coming around! Bryan, can you hear me? It's Chuck, the trucker!"
The young man gradually opened his eyes, but they swiftly rolled back, showing white as he started to convulse.
"Ron, help me roll him over. I need to see the back of his head... He was flung onto the road by the truck, it looks bad..."
They turned him to his side, careful not to move his spine. Chucks face immediately twisting in revulsion. Julia noticed his expression at once.
"Will he survive?" She screamed
Chuck cradled Bryan, who spasmed uncontrollably, sharing an anxious glance with Ron. The poor lad's skull was palpably shattered, either from the impact of the truck, or the way he'd hit the ground. Or both. He'd been flung like a puppet upon the asphalt. Blood flowed copiously, through his hair, down his face, his neck. All head wounds bled a lot, as Chuck knew well, but this was far too much.
"Oh my God..." murmured Ron, pointing at Bryan's arm. "Look!" The victim's elbow was also fractured. The ulna protruded from the forearm from the rear.
Chuck followed the line of his finger, horror and nausea churning his gut. He could taste bile in the back of his throat.
"Damn," Chuck repeated, looking at the shape of Bryan's elbow. A compound fracture, his ulna protruding through already swollen, purpling skin.
"This is far beyond my skill... The damage is too severe and if he keeps convulsing, he'll die. He needs a hospital to have any chance of surviving..."
Chuck rushed to find the first aid kit and took some bandages. Returning to the injured man, he carefully wrapped cotton bandages around Bryan's head. The wound was deeply troubling. It was an ugly sight, and the trucker wondered if the man would make it. The former soldier turned his attention to the second problem: the open wound on the elbow. His concern only deepened. The bandages would not be enough this time. Nothing in that cursed kit would suffice! Chuck had an idea.
He removed his belt.
"I'm going to fashion a tourniquet for him, until we can find a better solution!"
"Sweetheart, hang in there..." Julia muttered. "We'll get you through this!"
Bryan continued convulsing. A sort of white foam escaped from his mouth. Chuck fashioned a rough tourniquet with the belt to slow down the bleeding from the compound fracture as much as possible. The pressure would also help keep the swelling down, helping to prevent compartment syndrome. He hoped it would be enough. Time to find help... But how? And, where? He still had no idea.
Bryan's convulsions stopped, the young man falling back into unconsciousness.
"I know a grocery store not far from here." Ron suddenly remembered. "I think we should go there. Perhaps a telephone will work and we can call emergency services..."
Chuck knew well critical situations like this. He'd experienced it many times before while on missions abroad in the military. Rescuers would probably never arrive. The place, now a veritable purgatory, was too dangerous. They had no choice, they had to leave. But with Bryans injuries, it was going to be more complicated to move. Desperate times, desperate measures, thought the trucker to himself.
"Okay," Chuck yelled, "we're going to that grocery store! If we have any chance of alerting the rescue services, we need to take Bryan there without delay before he loses too much blood. Help me lift him up!"