Something wet.
Cold.
It was damp.
Mist was rolling in front of the missing windshield.
Snow. It was snowing out of season.
Cheryl.
He noticed that Cheryl wasn't in the car with him.
Don't panic, he thought, she must be nearby.
He reached down to release the safety belt. Head pounding.
It was daylight…
Good God.
Had he been there that long?
"Cheryl! Where are you?" his voice echoed round the hills.
A wave of terror began to rise within him. She wouldn't have left him in the car. She might be hiding. He checked in the foot well. He checked under the blanket on the back seat. He went to the boot. It had already popped open with the impact.
The crash had been severe. The car was a wreck. The hood squashed like an accordion against the barrier. The front wheel was obscured by buckled metal. He was lucky to be alive. Nausea began to accompany the rising tide of terror within him.
Where the hell is she? he panicked.
All that was left was her schoolbook with a drawing of him in it.
"Cheryl! Where are you?" Desperation had crept noticeably into his voice as it rang hollow into the mist. Harry could make out some houses in the distance. Why had no one called an ambulance or the police? He started to move towards them when he heard a child's footsteps in the mist. He froze, trying to discern where the footsteps were coming from.
Suddenly, a little further along the road, she was there. She turned to him and smiled then walked off into the mist.
"Cheryl? Where are you going? Hey wait...Stop! You come back here right this minute!"
No response was forthcoming. He ran. The houses became clearer. Picture book with white picket fences just as he'd imagined. He had no time to enjoy them now.
There she was. On the corner of a dirty alleyway. She saw him and disappeared giggling.
"Cheryl wait! This isn't a game!"
She didn't come. He passed through a gate where a rusty 'Beware of the Dog' sign was half hung up. It was damp and dirty inside. Cheryl had turned the corner up ahead. As he jogged to catch up he noticed something on the floor.
"Jesus! What is that?"
A body. It seemed to be stripped of skin. No eyes or sockets. No nose and no mouth.
What in the hell happened here?
A siren sounded in the distance. Like an air raid siren.
The sky began to darken above him. Slowly at first and then faster and faster, blacker and blacker, until Harry couldn't make out his hand in front of his face.
Was it a fire, smoke obscuring the sky?
Too dark.
An eclipse?
Harry fumbled in his pockets for his lighter. A memento from his time as a smoker. He moved the wheel against the flint. A flame emanated from it and caught the gold plated casing. It cast enough light to see a couple of feet ahead. He left the company of the mutilated body. The light fell on an old wheelchair, with faded chrome supports and spots of rust. He ignored it, Cheryl had to be near.
Through the sunless air he saw a hospital trolley, covered with a sheet. 'What's this?' he thought, 'What now?'.
There was a body. Was it his daughter playing hide and seek? No. A little too big. He approached and reluctantly pulled back the sheet. It was burnt. Recognizable human features but charred beyond identification.
Harry felt the nausea again. He couldn't control it.
Vomit splattered the floor of the alley as he leaned on its grimy wall. His head was spinning. This couldn't be happening. It had to be a nightmare. He wanted to wake up.
But Cheryl was missing.
He wiped his mouth, composed himself, and moved forward. There was another body, skinless and featureless like the first, on the fence before him. Arms outstretched like a horrifying Christ. It even had a crown of barbed wire.
Before he had the chance to be sick again, he noticed something shuffle towards him. It was small, but moving too strangely to be a little girl. As it emerged from the surrounding inky blackness, it became evident it was not alone. They were furry like animals, yet walked on two legs. Ugly though, and snarling. Harry turned back. Where was the opening? There was just fence behind him. The creatures were close. Vision limited by the range of the lighter he moved along. He followed the fence as quickly as he could. His knees felt weak. It was becoming difficult to run. His pursuers were still close behind. He strained every sinew, but it was like wading through deep water. He reached a dead end. No gate. No choice. He had to go past them. He tried to move between them but his leg was caught. He looked down. They had claws. About a foot in length and as black as the scenery. Pain suddenly shot up his thigh. Through his body. The edges of his vision darkened. His legs buckled. He lay helpless on the floor as they began to gorge on his flesh. He was going to pass out. Almost relieved at the impending unconsciousness, he gave in.