SURVIVAL INSTINCT

It's well known that Oscar Blaketon dislikes displays of human weakness so I thought it would be interesting to write a story where he is forced to quite literally place his life in the hands of someone else

CHAPTER 1

The blizzard was at its zenith and the wind was like a knife. Sergeant Oscar Blaketon dragged himself across the snow, trying to avoid the pain and the trail of blood that he was leaving behind him on the virgin snow. Alone on Colby Moor, he cursed vehemently. He wished he had not gone after the robbers, Bellamy had passed on the tip-off that they were headed in that direction but no evidence had suggested that they were armed. Blaketon had driven in a patrol car, which had got stuck in a snow drift, and had thereafter pursued them on foot. He had found them but been able to call for backup. He had, somewhat foolhardily it seemed now, attempted to arrest them but one of them, a sinister looking fellow with a scarred face, lank greasy hair and a silver ring in his left ear, had shot at him. Blaketon had fallen and managed to feign death until they drove off in a black Hillman Minx.

Now Blaketon was stranded, injured and alone in a blizzard. His only hope was to try and make it to the patrol car and radio for help.

The cold wetness of the snow seeped through Blaketon's clothes to his very marrow and each movement caused him pain. Visibility was severely limited and the snow stung his face.

His survival instinct had kicked in and he was determined to reach a source of help or die trying. How long realistically could he hope to survive out here in a blizzard when he was losing blood and lapsing into shock and hypothermia?

"What a way to die!" He thought.

District Nurse Maggie Bolton was thankful that she had secured snow chains to her jeep although the snow had been light when she had set out from Aidensfield just after lunch to visit a mother and newborn baby on the other side of Colby Moor. Now it was getting dark.

Blaketon gritted his teeth against the pain and the bitter cold. He felt so weak and exhausted but did not dare rest in case he never got moving again. The robbers were far away from here by now, thinking he was dead, He prayed to a God in Whom he wasn't sure he believed, that help would come. He even felt that he would be pleased to see the bane of his life, Claude Jeremiah Greengrass. Blaketon wished he had a loving woman waiting at home, one who would alert his colleagues and help to mobilise a search and rescue party. He tried to comfort himself by imagining a woman's warm arms around him but in truth it had been so long since he had experienced this that he had forgotten what it felt like. He kept pushing himself forward, gritting his teeth and feeling the pain increase with each movement he made.

Maggie's engine shuddered to a halt. She cursed. What a time to run out of petrol! She wondered if there was a can in the back of the vehicle and she was in luck. She found a two thirds full can. She decanted it into the vehicle and resumed her seat behind the wheel. The engine choked and spluttered but refused to turn over.

Blaketon heard the choking engine and drew a painful breath. if he could make it to the vehicle perhaps the driver could help him. His throat was sore and dry from dehydration. It had been an hour, maybe two, since he had forced himself to eat a handful of snow to try and hydrate himself. He felt he couldn't move another inch but what was the alternative? Lie down in the snow and allow shock and death to claim him? Not an option. Blaketon was not a man to give in easily. He would find help or die trying. He decided to rest for just a moment. The pain was becoming unbearable.

Blaketon settled himself against a rock, his breathing was shallow and ragged and although he was freezing cold his skin was clammy. He knew he had to stay awake but it wasn't going to be easy. How much blood had he lost? He felt in his pockets, looking for a sweet, anything of interest to try and occupy his mind. He found a standard police issue tin whistle. He had no idea how it had got there but maybe, if he could blow it, the driver of the vehicle whose troubled engine he had heard might hear him. he lifted the whistle to his mouth and blew hard. It made a shrill but reasonably loud sound. He blew it again, trying to ignore the knife like pain in his chest as he did so.

"Control to Delta Alpha Two one Control to Delta Alpha Two one. Come in." Alf Ventress once again transmitted over the radio but still no response.

"No news Alf?" Phil Bellamy asked.

"No. I can't raise Blaketon."

"It's freezing out there." Bellamy said.

"Aye." Alf tried to transmit again.

"Control to Delta Alpha Two one Control to Delta Alpha Two one."

But the silence persisted.