Disclaimer: Primeval does not belong to me, this is fan fiction, not for profit.
Any references to people, places, businesses etc is entirely fictitious.
A/N: A collaboration with Mijo54.
8.7- A Bump In The Night
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They were south of Lyon when something hit the bottom of the Renault with a loud thump. The green minivan shuddered. Claude gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to force the vehicle to stay in its traffic lane.
"What was that?" asked Becker.
Jess and her cousins had been awakened by the noise and the erratic motion of the minivan. From the front passenger seat, Hank was bending down, pulling something out from under his chair. It looked like a vest, thought Becker. It was rather odd; a glow in the dark type vest.
"What made that noise?" asked Jess anxiously.
The hazard lights started blinking, flashing double lights. Claude pulled over into the breakdown lane, pulling the car completely off the road. Becker heard Claude muttering. The engine turned off. Hank handed his older cousin the vest and Claude slipped his arms through as he opened the front door of the minivan. Straightening up for a moment, he adjusted the vest.
At that moment, another car passed them on the motorway at a high rate of speed. The second car's headlights flashed on Claude's fluorescent vest as they roared on down the road. A horn blared loudly as the car flew past Claude. The tall thin man glared at the passing car and said something rude about speeders, shaking his fist in their general direction.
Becker tried to open the tailgate to get out, but it wouldn't lift up. Hank, who had stepped out from the passenger side, came around to the rear of the minivan. He opened the back letting Becker out.
From the front of the vehicle, Claude was shouting "Rentrez, rentrez." He motioned with his hands as if to sweep Becker and Hank back inside the Renault. Claude continued talking.
"Hil," called Jess "Get back inside please, you don't have one of those reflective vests… it's not safe."
"But I need to see what hit underneath the minivan," protested Becker.
Claude straightened up from where he had been looking underneath the front of the Renault. He said something else that Becker didn't understand.
"You can check it at the next rest area," replied Jess.
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At the rest area, everyone got out of the car. Claude lifted the hood up on the engine compartment. There were shredded chunks of stiff blue plastic visible on top of the battery and wedged in the spaces between engine parts.
"Qu'est-ce?" asked Geneviève.
Becker echoed her "What is it?"
Claude was shaking his head and muttering something under his breath.
"I think it's a bin," Jess whispered to Becker "or what used to be a bin."
"You're probably right," he agreed.
Claude had already started to pull the offensive material out of the engine compartment. Hank joined him from the other side. He grunted with the effort.
"Ugh! This piece is really wedged in there," Hank exclaimed.
Becker knelt down on the pavement near the front of the car. The large blue strip of plastic was dangling down below the engine, almost touching the ground.
"Maybe I can pull it down," suggested Becker as he reached underneath the Renault. "You push."
Some time later, the three men decided that they had removed as much of the blue plastic as they could possibly get. Claude and Hank's hands and forearms were dirty, streaked with oil and grime. But Becker, who had ultimately lain down and crawled under the car, was by far the messiest.
"Go," shooed Jess, pointing the men towards the restroom facilities. "Wash up before you get in the car." Behind her, Geneviève and Catherine nodded in agreement.
The men rolled their eyes, but headed for the restroom. When they got there, there was no hot water, and the soap dispenser was empty.
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The engine turned on and ran, somewhat noisily, but it ran. Claude gave a small grin as he put the hood down. Geneviève had called her parents, who were already at Grand-mere's, to let them know the group arriving from Paris was going to be arriving later than expected.
Between departing late, traffic and now this… it would be well after midnight before they arrived at the little village nestled in the hills between the Route de Muy and the Route des Arcs.
"The Route des Arcs?" asked Becker looking at Jess with a grin.
"It's not the same," she protested, chuckling "not at all."
"Some people don't believe in coincidences," Becker replied as he helped Jess into her seat.
Hank was watching the pair. "Do you want to sit up front?" he asked.
Becker looked at Jess. "No," he replied "I'm fine back here."
"Well then get in," ordered Hank "so I can push the tailgate down."
At the front of the Renault, Geneviève and Claude appeared to be discussing something. Claude was shaking his head again, but Geneviève appeared to disagree. She held out her hand. He shrugged and handed her the keys. Claude climbed in the back seat with Jess and Catherine. He yawned, and before Geneviève had even pulled out on the highway, he was asleep.
Becker whispered to Jess. "Can she drive in France?"
"Of course she can," replied Jess with "She's got dual nationality, French and Canadian, she and I both learned to drive at Grand-mere's."
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Sometime after they passed Marseille, Geneviève pulled the car over at another rest area. It was overheating. After a bit of a wait, Claude deemed it okay to drive again, but he insisted on driving.
They stopped at every rest area from Marseille to the turn off just before Le Muy.
The sun was starting to come up as Claude turned the Renault off the smaller secondary highway onto a tree lined country road. The stately white trunks soared above the road, the leaf lined branches meeting in midair, creating a living archway.
"Plane trees?" said Becker in surprise.
"They're not just in England you know," replied Jess as she stretched her arms out. She ran her hand through his dark hair.
"Hey now," Becker protested mildly "I'm trying to make a good impression when I meet your grandmother… won't do to have my hair a mess." He pulled a small black plastic comb from out of his pocket and started to straighten his hair. The comb snapped in half. He looked at the broken pieces in dismay.
Jess looked at him appraisingly. The black eye and bruising on his face gave him a decidedly rakish air. The black denim and button down shirt that had looked so smart when they started their trip yesterday morning was now rumpled and stained from the same grease and grime that streaked his hands and forearms. He didn't appear to be his usual impeccable self. She chuckled.
"Grand-mere will love you," she said reassuringly.
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