Smokeheads by Doug Johnstone

‘A Port Charlotte?’
    ‘Which one?’
    ‘PC6?’
    Roddy tilted his head. ‘I don’t know how you do it, it’s a fucking gift.’
    ‘Don’t patronise me, you fathead prick.’
    ‘I was paying you a fucking compliment.’
    Adam chucked the flask into Roddy’s lap. ‘If you think I’m such a bloody expert, why don’t you put your money where your mouth is and back me up?’
    ‘There’s a big difference between telling Caol Ila from Lagavulin and running your own business, trust me.’
    ‘I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you.’
    ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
    ‘You’re nothing but a self-centred jerk-off, looking out for number one.’
    ‘Of course I am, you’re the same, everyone is,’ said Roddy, glancing back. ‘The difference is, at least I’m fucking honest about it.’
    ‘I’m nothing like you,’ said Adam.
    ‘Yeah, you’re a fucking hypocrite,’ said Roddy. ‘You’re only upset because you didn’t get your own way back at the distillery. You’ve always been like that, a spoilt little arsehole with delusions of moral superiority.’
    Adam was surprised to see his own fist moving fast towards the front of the car, clumsily catching Roddy on the side of the head somewhere behind his left ear.
    ‘Shit,’ said Roddy jerking forward and making the car lurch. ‘What the fuck?’
    He looked round and swung his left arm wildly behind him, missing Adam but catching Ethan on the nose.
    ‘Ow,’ said Ethan, holding his hands to his face.
    ‘Jesus …’ said Molly.
    ‘Watch out, man,’ shouted Luke, bracing himself against the glove compartment.
    They all turned and saw a large ram too close in front of them on the road, a sharp bend just ahead. The car swung violently as Roddy grabbed the wheel and lunged for the pedals, trying to regain control, but it was too late. They felt a huge jolt as they smashed into the ram, the car pitching sickeningly out of balance, spinning and skidding then tipping up onto its side, all in a blur, each of them trying to brace themselves for the impact, then suddenly they were upside down and tumbling, crunches, rips and screams filling the air as the car crumpled down the cliff side, Adam briefly noticing the thick, grey wall of cloud rolling in from the sea before he felt a sharp crack to his head, a white flash of incredible, burning pain, then everything went red then violet then black.

17
     
     
    Soft, wet snowflakes landed on his face. How could it be snowing in the car?
    He opened his eyes and felt a jabbing pain at the back of his head. He rubbed it with his hand, which came away sticky with a trickle of blood.
    The sky above him was thick, grey and heavy with snow. Fat flakes fluttered casually down towards him, and he blinked as one landed on his eyelash.
    He pushed himself up on his elbows. He was lying in spongy brown heather, and could smell the peat buried a few feet below. His body ached, a jarring stiffness greeting every muscle twitch. He gingerly moved each limb then rolled his neck, his actions only met with grumbles, nothing sharper.
    He looked round. Behind him was a sheer rocky cliff, occasional mossy tufts poking out from pockets of scree. It was at least 150 feet high. In the other direction, the sea was shushing against the shore 100 feet below him, down an incline peppered with boulders and craggy outcrops.
    He sat up further and saw he was on a shelf in the cliff, thirty feet of flat gorse and heather. He stood up. No sign of the others. He walked to the edge of the shelf and saw the Audi down below, mangled and upside down at a sharp angle, almost at the water’s edge. The front end was crumpled into nothing, the left-hand side of the frame missing to reveal the skeletal chassis underneath. He couldn’t see from here if anyone was still inside.
    He looked at his watch. The face was smashed and the display blank. He pressed the button for the heart-rate monitor. Nothing. Serenity now.
    He pulled out his mobile