Not having much of a penchant for adhering to traditions, Gil and Sara wandered, hand in hand, through Stratford-upon-Avon on the afternoon of the forth Thursday in November. Having finished with their presentation at the biological sciences conference in nearby Warrick, they had opted to spend their afternoon visiting one of their bucket list destinations. After exploring Shakespeare's birthplace they were walking back down Henley Street towards the island, talking softly and murmuring their favourite lines from Romeo and Juliet. Sara let out a peal of laughter when Gil turned suddenly, twirling her around with him into a quiet nook. She grinned as he pressed her into the wall and kissed her, gently and softly, his hands running lovingly through her hair and caressing her face and neck.
"I love you," he murmured, his forehead pressed to hers, "more than anything." Her eyes sparkling with happiness, Sara kissed him back adoringly.
"I love you too," she whispered in his ear. They resumed their walk, slipping and slithering on the icy, snowy ground underfoot. They were halfway across High Street, heading for the book store, when Sara suddenly gasped and yanked Gil backwards, her feet skidding on the ice. They slithered to a stop by the curb as a large van carrying used wooden pallets and scaffolding hurtled down the street, the driver wrestling for control on the poor road conditions. The truck hit black ice and jack-knifed, its tires squealing as it slammed into the coach crossing the roundabout. For a moment time stood impossibly still, the silence ringing with the air of impending destruction. Then, in what seemed an impossible move, the truck and bus smashed together with a grating crash and spun away in opposite directions. The coach hit the island and crashed over onto its side with a grinding crunch of metal that Gil felt with every bone of his body. The van wiped out two passenger cars and then ploughed into the Barclay's bank on the corner, crushing another car between it and the wall. The crunch of broken brick and stone, and the scream of protesting metal rattled through Sara, making her cry out in horror. As one they bolted for the scene as the dust from the building began to settle. Sara saw the emergency door in the roof of the coach burst open and a bloody, dishevelled woman slide out. When she turned and started to help others out, Sara and Gil turned to the two smashed cars in the middle of the street. Gil wrenched open a door and reached for the driver, his fingers probing the man's carotid.
"Dead," he said grimly, as Sara performed the same service for the teen female in the passenger seat.
"Same," she choked as the girl's unseeing green eyes bored into hers. They abandoned the car and hurried to the next. A woman and her three boys; all under ten. The woman was unconscious, but alive and with the engine smoking, and the gas tank ruptured, there was no choice or time. Together they carefully lifted the mother out of the car and carried her across the street to the side of the road, where a few locals had started to appear. Leaving the woman in their care, Gil and Sara sprinted for the wreck again. They were twenty five feet from the car when the gas tank ignited and the car exploded, knocking them both back several yards. They landed in a painful tangle in an icy snowdrift. Gripped with horror, Gil staggered to his feet, coughing as smoke filled his lungs, and hauled Sara up. Skirting the car they could no longer evacuate they hurried to the van. The car between it and the wall was impossible to access, and the driver of the van was incoherent and covered in blood. The car consumed in fire was throwing off plumes of thick black smoke, making it difficult to breathe. Sparks jumping in the air settled on the van's load of timbre, catching and setting it alight. Gil fumbled with the seatbelt as Sara tried to free the man's trapped legs, her fingers slipping in his blood. The heat emanating from the back of the truck was intense as the wood went up in flames. Gasping and choking Sara and Gil eased the driver out of his seat; he didn't so much as protest when they jarred his dislocated hip, and Sara had to suppress the urge to vomit when she saw the rusted safety bar that had come loose from the back of the truck and smashed through the seat into his back, leaving a gaping hole as they lifted him down. He was undoubtedly paralysed from at least the waist down. Staggering under his weight, they half carried, half dragged him to the side of the road. His breath rasped; blood gurgled in his chest.
"Brakes failed," he forced out, "accident."
"We know," Sara assured him. "We saw it happen."
"Accident," the man repeated unsteadily before slipping into unconsciousness once more. Seconds later Sara felt his last breath drain from his chest and Gil felt his pulse still. For a long moment they didn't move, kneeling in the snow next to the still warm corpse of the man they had tried to save. Gil felt cold and empty, bitingly so, as a single tear trickled slowly down Sara's cheek to land on their victim's collar. The wail of sirens brought them back to reality, looking around. Sara leapt to her feet and ran to the first car, miraculously so far untouched by fire, but still in danger.
"What are you doing?" gasped Gil as she pulled the dead girl from the wreckage before the fire could get to her.
"So their relatives have bodies to mourn," she said fiercely, trying not to think of the three children. Gil reached for the man and dragged him out too; they cleared the radius not a moment too soon, as that car was also engulfed in the blaze.
...
Hours later they curled together in each other's arms in bed. The police had taken ages to question and reconstruct the scene with them before escorting them back to their hotel. Exhausted, both emotionally and physically, they held onto each other tightly.
"I love you," whispered Gil, "always and forever. I am so thankful to have you in my life." He felt Sara kiss his shoulder. "I love you too, more than anything. Each and every day, and especially today."