Part 2 of 2
Her head snaps back to see an actual lorry, dating from WWI by the looks of it, suddenly hove into view right in front of them. She slams on the brakes and the bike does a complicated little dance on its front tire before it decides to drop back onto the road and not kill them both.
They're now slanted across the narrow road, forested mountain side to their right, sheer drop off to their left, as they watch the old truck shimmy its slow way uphill, a load of equally old scrap metal piled haphazardly in the back. Camille turns to reassure her boss that they will live another day but finds she has no air. She looks down to see two suited arms squeezing the absolute life out of her. His thighs are welded to hers too. If her heart weren't already beating fast from fright, it would be a lovely personal moment.
She reaches down to loosen his grip, desperate to draw breath. His frozen shock lasts another second or two (that's all the 'full Richard' she gets, alas) before he rears back to his previous contorted position with a mumbled apology, "Oh, um, sorry, I was startled there for a moment. Please excuse the intrusion. Ahem, we need to pass the truck if we're to get to the hospital in good time." He coughs, his colour heightening swiftly.
She sighs, his bear-hug had been very pleasant but he won't thank her for saying so, "I know, hang on." She starts the bike moving, rolls up behind the truck, and beeps the horn.
The elderly driver waves a hand out the window at them, indicating that they should pass.
Richard roars right in her ear, making her jump, "Don't you DARE take his word for it! You make sure the way is clear before you pull out on HIS say so!"
This rebuke is just too much. She practically swivels to face him, "I KNOW THAT! Don't you think I know tha…" just in time to notice two things.
One; Richard's eyes fly wider than before as he goes completely white. Two; a clanging cacophony of sound rings high into the sleepy afternoon air. This time when she snaps back around to face front, she sees a slow fall of bouncing metal cascading off the back of the truck and heading right for them! Sitting still and hoping the oncoming rush misses them isn't an option. Camille guns the bike and it leaps forward. She swerves, trying to dodge the avalanche that is beginning to bounce erratically all over the road. Within a heartbeat, they are right in the midst of a scything slicing rain of rusty iron.
Her vision narrows down to a pin point, crystal clear. Everything goes slo-mo. The sound of bouncing scrap mutes. Her hands go white-knuckled. She also realizes that Richard's arms are once more squeezing the air out of her lungs… but that's OK!... it helps her concentrate! The grip of his thighs is steely and she realizes he's anchoring her as the bike begins to jitter and jive, rearing and plunging like a live thing beneath them. If she'd been alone… she shakes her head, no sense in thinking about that... she ISN'T alone and that's all that matters!
There's an ominous whizzing sound and the bike shudders but she can see they're almost clear of the worst of it. All the heavier chunks have passed by. Just the lighter pieces are slipping off the truck bed now, maybe not so heavy but they look very sharp! As this last deadly hail flies towards them, she slip-slides to the left and right, so low that her knees almost graze the road surface. It never occurs to her that this action should have been impossible. She simply does it on reflex and the bike responds like a well-trained skating partner.
Now the truck is weaving crazily, swerving back and forth in front of them. It's going to cut them off! Camille sees the narrowing gap between the truck and the upthrust cliff face. She opens the bike's throttle full-bore, expecting an answering roar from Richard, but he's silent. Just as the truck's spinning tires loom like dreadful crushing death, the bike shoots out into the clear like a watermelon seed spit out at a barbeque. They're past the slowing truck and she releases her tiny store of air with a whoop of delight, astounded they're still alive. Alive! Both of them alive and uninjured! Him especially… if the strength of his hold on her is any indication.
As she brakes, she's astounded by Richard's performance! He counter-balanced like a pro! She hadn't known he had biking experience! The way he talks, he hates all bikes and would rather walk that ride one. But he had kept her from being thrown and mirrored her actions perfectly. Without his help, she would never have made it! She turns her head to thank him and hushes.
His chin is pressed onto her shoulder, eyes tightly closed, face so pale as to be translucent, and his lips are moving soundlessly and rapidly. Also, his grip is tightening. If he isn't careful, he's going to crack a rib! She shakes herself, grabs his locked hands, tries to pry him off. No dice. She thumps his knees, trying to shake him loose. Again, no dice. Finally, with little black spots fluttering at the corners of her vision, she reaches back and slaps his cheek.
His eyes fly open and he sobs in a huge gasping breath, looks cautiously about, licks his blue lips, and husks, "Are we alive? Did we make it?" She manages to wrest his hands apart but he takes her once again in tight embrace and sinks his face onto her shoulder with a shudder, "Oh-h-h, I thought we were dead. Oh, Camille…"
She laughs wildly, "No, we're alive! Because of you! Where did you learn to ride like that?"
His voice is small, weak, trembly, "Me? Ride? How do you mean?"
She turns to give him a level earnest stare, "I mean… you held me on! Without you, I woulda been thrown... hurt real bad or killed. Then you woulda crashed too. You lent me your strength with hand and knee. You counter-balanced perfectly to keep us upright. Your calm confidence in me kept me focused... and your arms around me were a reminder why I had to live." This last bit slips out before she can stop it but he doesn't seem to notice.
He sits back, flexing his shoulders, shivering, "Oh, um, OK, but I must confess… I clung to you in sheer terror! I had no notion of helping you or even knowing what to do. I was frozen in mortal fear. I had no idea what was happening, only that we were going to die."
"Frozen? But you dipped and dived with me in perfect unison! It was like a dance."
He passes a hand over his eyes, his shivers easing, "Did I? I don't remember. All I knew was I had to stay with you. That I'd die if I…" His eyes suddenly clear and he bites his lip.
She absently brushes a smear of blood off his lower lip with her thumb, hearing something in his voice, "What is it? Why would you die?" her voice glissading down to intimacy.
He stares at her for long moments before dropping his gaze and whispering, "I'd die if anything happened to you, that's all." His lips move as if he has more to say, but no words come.
She finally nods, "Well, whatever, it worked... and… sir?" She nods to their left a bit fearfully.
"What?" he mutters fretfully, turning to look, then freezes again. In horror.
The sidecar is gone. All that's left is a cleanly sheared bracket. They both look back. There, canted up onto a large rock, is the car, more or less intact, but the Tetris'd load of packages that had been wedged inside is shorn off about 7 inches above the cab's body… right where Richard's heart would have been… if he'd stayed in place.
After a fraught moment or two, Richard snaps out his cell phone and calls the hospital. In a firm voice, he reports the loss of the medical supplies then hangs up and pockets the phone. Silence descends. It's so quiet they can hear the low tick of the truck's cooling engine and the argument the driver is having on his own phone.
Finally, Camille mutters, "We should check on the driver, close down this road, and get a crew out here to begin cleaning up, don't you think?" Richard doesn't move. She frowns, "This will mean more paperwork for you. That usually makes you happy. Aren't you happy? Sir?"
He's looking down at his right leg then leans over to look at his left leg. She does the same and sees that both knees of his trousers are slightly shredded and burnt looking. She blanches. His suit... his useless, unnecessary, over-the-top, it's-going-to-kill-him-someday, heavy wool suit... scorched... from skimming the tarmac during her maneuvers. A fraction lower and…! She feels faint, those spots returning with a vengeance. She leans into him, swooning.
He catches her and pushes her erect, "Right! You call the towing agency, get a crew out here, and block this upper road. I'll check on the driver, read him the Riot Act, and monitor the lower road. I'll call a report into the station and then…" His voice suddenly gives out.
She takes several deep breaths to steady herself, heels down the kick-stand, pulls out her phone, gets ready to do her job, when his sudden silence makes her look up, "And what? Is there something else we must do?" His eyes are very bright, almost shining, his face paling again. If she didn't know better, she'd think he looks terrified. She glances quickly about. All quiet, no traffic, there's nothing within sight that could possibly be scaring him so badly.
Very slowly, he says, "Then I want you to take me home… take me home and… and…"
She frowns. He can't seem to finish the sentence. And his cheeks are pinking up again. What in the world is he thinking? Usually she can read him like a book but not this time. She shakes her head, "And what? What is it? Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?"
He gives one tiny shake of his head, never taking his eyes off her, "No, I'm not hurt. I'm awake... maybe for the first time since I came to the island. My eyes have been opened and I see clearly now. The threat of imminent death will do that to a man, I hear."
She snaps her fingers in front of those relentlessly staring eyes, still so green and dreamy but now worrying her just a little, "Sir! Wake up. We need to secure the scene. Can you stand?"
He blinks, his eyes clear, and she can see he's back. DI Richard Poole stands up, steps back, smooths down his tie, and nods, "Of course, I can." He pulls out his phone and starts back towards the truck then pauses and turns back to her, "Oh, and, Camille?"
She looks up, not suspecting a thing, "Yes, sir?"
He frowns, "Please, call me Richard in private from hereon in. I think the time for professional posturing is past. We'll do our duty here but…" his eyes drop briefly then gleam from beneath lowered lashes, "… but when I get home, I'll need a lie down. A nice long lie down. And we need to talk. A very long, very private, very life-changing talk. Think you're up to that?"
Her eyes flash over him once more… and this time she sees a very different man. He's still Richard Poole… but not QUITE the Richard Poole of ten minutes ago. No, this is another version… a newer version… perhaps a BETTER version... one that finally sees their situation for the romantic comedy it really is. She licks her lips. She can't be totally sure, of course, but she thinks maybe now their situation might be nudged in the direction of romance... maybe… maybe even soft-core porn… and she likes this idea a lot! Beaucoup a lot!
Very gently, she nods, "Certainly, Richard. You should know by now that I'm up for almost anything." She sees his muted reaction and gives him a sloe-eyed look, "Or, if you don't, you could know it, later tonight, if you want, if you…" She lets the question hang between them.
He swallows drily, "Oh, yes, I DO want. I want very much. But first," he gathers himself with visible effort and backs up a step, "we must be Officers of the Law and Commonweal once more. Just for a while. Just until…"
Her head bobs madly, "Yes! Just until I can drive us home while you hold me on the bike, hold me like our lives depend on it!"
He smiles small, that scared light fading in his eyes and being replaced by shy speculation, "Just so, Camille, just so."
They hold each other's gaze for a moment longer than turn away, each to their respective duties, and counting the minutes until all civic responsibilities are over… when their public jobs are done… and their private time can begin.
END