Blood at the Premiere: A Day One Undead Adventure by RR Haywood Page B

messages being passed by eyes narrowing and heads inclining, while in the distance people scream as they die and suffer. One noise becomes clearer than all the others. The engine they heard revving is suddenly closer and closing the distance. Their heads snap over to look down the straight road to the point in the bend that sweeps the road out of view.
    Henrietta’s senses are already ramped up from taking in every nuance Dolan was displaying and that hyper awareness switches as she gains directional hearing to the sound of the diesel engine stuck in low gear being funnelled down the high-fronted buildings towards them.
    That heightened vigilance notices the bend in the road is tight but the sound is of an engine approaching at speed and something is wrong. The engine is stuck in a low gear but speed is being applied. She stares at the bend gauging the width of the road, the high step of the kerb and the two flashing bollards on the narrow strip of central reservation of the pedestrian crossing. The engine is diesel. Diesel engines are used by larger commercial vehicles and larger commercial vehicles don’t do well in corners when they’re going fast. A hundred or more variables translate from vision and hearing to send a message to her brain.
    Her left hand shoots out hard to grab a fistful of Dolan’s collar and already she lunges right to body slam Bennie away while dragging Dolan with her. The two men yelp in alarm at the suddenness of the motion, at being grabbed and yanked and now propelled across the road.
    Light floods the bend. Headlights on full beam. The engine screaming as the van comes barrelling into the bend with a snatched glimpse of the driver with blood smeared on his hands and face. She sees the wild, panicked look in his eyes as he tries to turn the wheel but the speed is too great. The van is too high-sided. The centre of mass is too distorted from the unbalanced load of tools and heavy equipment in the back.
    A combination of events. The front wheels turn to navigate the bend but the van is too long and going too fast to allow the turn to be completed. The front driver’s-side wheel hits the first flashing bollard in the narrow strip of the central reservation and enough force is generated in the impact to shunt the van over a few inches into the path of the lamp post embedded into the concrete of the central strip. The metal stem of the lamp post is shorn off at the root, pinging the stem out in front of the vehicle with a speed greater than that of the van. It flies ahead swooshing through the air into the space vacated by a grabbed and yanked Dolan. The van hits the second bollard, shunting it over another few inches. The back end slews round, hitting the high kerb and forcing the vehicle to bounce back into the road as the driver pulls on the steering wheel too hard. It starts to fishtail with the driver fighting to straighten the wheels, but he oversteers and the momentum of swing forces the passenger-side wheels to leave the ground. The van seemingly holds on two wheels with a second of perfect balance. The load in the rear shifts, forcing the centre of mass to ruin the perfection of poise held by the Transit and with a huge thud the van slams down onto its side. Sheer momentum forces the vehicle to continue the journey with hard metal screeching over hard tarmac that sends plumes of bright sparks shooting out behind. The noise is awful, like a wounded beast wailing from the pain at being felled. The engine still runs, the driver keeps his foot pressed down in panic that forces the wheels to keep turning. That tiny friction gained slews the heavy rear end out and through metal railings that ping off one after the other, smashing through plate-glass windows of shops and buildings and all the time the horn trumpets out, adding to the cacophony of sound.
    The van slides gently past Henrietta, who is still holding the other two in a tight grip, and as it comes to rest so the horn ends, the engine