Smokeheads by Doug Johnstone Page B

looked down at his shoulder. ‘Oh, fuck.’
    ‘Yeah.’
    Roddy gazed at the spike sticking out of his shoulder, then touched the blood around the wound. He looked at Adam.
    ‘What happened?’ he said through gritted teeth.

    ‘We had a crash.’ Adam looked up. ‘Came down that cliff.’
    Roddy and Molly followed his gaze.
    ‘Jesus Christ,’ said Molly.
    ‘What about this?’ said Roddy, pointing at his shoulder.
    Adam looked inside the car. The front windscreen frame was buckled and torn, bits missing. ‘I think it’s a bit of the car frame.’
    Roddy winced. ‘Fucking bullshit Audis. I knew I should’ve brought the Beemer.’ He sat up carefully. ‘Fucking help me up, then.’
    Adam leaned in on his left side and lifted him. ‘Don’t you think we should get that out of you?’
    ‘Fuck that,’ said Roddy. ‘If the pain I just felt when you pulled it is anything to go by, it can stay in there for-fucking-ever.’ He tried to stretch a little and doubled over with pain, holding his arm. ‘Fuck me.’
    Molly and Adam looked at Roddy then at each other. Roddy righted himself, breathing heavily. He walked over to the car and looked inside. He gave the chassis a kick then cringed with pain. He turned and looked around.
    ‘What happened to the other two?’ he said.
    ‘Good question,’ said Molly.

18
     
     
    Molly and Roddy tried their phones. Nothing. Adam looked up at the snowclouds then out to sea. It was starting to get dark.
    ‘What time is it?’
    Roddy looked at him. ‘Your pulse gizmo fucked?’
    Adam nodded and Roddy smirked. ‘How are you going to cope without knowing how stressed you are?’
    Molly looked at her phone. ‘Ten past four.’
    ‘Shit, we were unconscious for over an hour,’ said Adam, trying to ignore Roddy. ‘Ethan and Luke could be in a bad way.’
    ‘We should split up and look for them,’ said Molly.
    Roddy leaned on a rock, then slid down onto his arse. ‘Think I need to rest for a bit.’ He fingered his shoulder. ‘Feeling a bit dodge.’
    ‘Should one of us try to get help?’ said Adam.
    Molly shook her head. ‘It’s freezing, the snow could get worse and it’ll be dark soon. We need to find Ethan and Luke before we do anything else. Adam, you go left and I’ll head right. After a couple of hundred yards head up the slope then work your way back along. I’ll meet you up on the ledge if we haven’t found anything.’
    ‘OK.’
    ‘I’ll hold the fort here,’ said Roddy, trying to laugh through laboured breaths.
    Adam and Molly headed off along the beach. It was rough terrain, boulders and rocks everywhere, slippery kelp draped over low-lying stones.
    Adam scrambled over the rocks as best he could, slithering around puddles and pools. He shouted for Luke and Ethan and heard Molly and Roddy doing the same, then as he cleared a large shelf of stone he spotted something. It was a body face down in a rockpool twenty yards away. He recognised the Berghaus fleece.
    ‘Ethan,’ he yelled, clambering over. He turned round briefly. ‘Molly, over here, I’ve found Ethan.’ He waited to see Molly wave in acknowledgement and change direction, then he clambered over to the body.
    Something was badly wrong. The left arm and head were at impossible angles to the torso, which was slumped in half a foot of water. Adam turned him over, then staggered back with the force of lifting him. He sat next to the pool and looked at Ethan’s face, one half of which was bloody and collapsed, the skull crushed, exposed empty eye socket glaring back at him.
    He vomited into the water. His body shook as he heard Molly shouting to him. He looked up at Ethan again and winced. He edged towards the body and held Ethan’s wrist with his own shaking hand. Freezing cold and no pulse. Fucking hell. Fucking, fucking hell.
    ‘Oh, Christ,’ said Molly behind him.
    Adam dropped the hand and scuttled backwards.
    Roddy appeared behind Molly. ‘Holy fuck,’ he said, turning away.

    Adam sat on