The Infinity Bridge

Part 11

The A38 into the centre of Birmingham ran from the famous Spaghetti Junction and, in an innovative piece of road planning, lacked a central reservation. The purpose was to be able to alter how many lanes ran in each direction, for the regular surges in cars entering the expansive city. Its hidden purpose, Ben was certain, was to freak out infrequent drivers.

He clutched the steering wheel of the Range Rover like a shipwrecked sailor clinging to a raft. Sweat tainted his lips with salt, a sensation made worse by the fact he’d chosen to omit his meds. After all, the drowsiness had almost killed them in the Peak District the night before.

Sam and Nick were still quibbling with the tinny tones of Merlin. They had programmed the destination into the Ranger Rover’s GPS sat-nav system and a serene voice was guiding Ben’s route. It was a beautiful voice, like an old style BBC newsreader, confident yet kind.

‘Ben, continue along the third lane and at the next available opportunity steer into the oncoming traffic,’ the sat-nav said.

Ben smiled. This is because I haven’t taken my medication, isn’t it? he thought.

‘Oh, you’ve guessed,’ the sat-nav said. ‘Or is it because that’s what you’d love to do to the doctor’s car? You’ll be all right—there are great air bags and it has a fantastic safety score. Annihilate his car—after all he doped you to the point of coma last year, didn’t he?’

It was for the best, Ben replied.

‘Really? You see I think they were drugging you because they knew you were right. There are monsters. It was the truth you spoke and they suppressed it. Maybe the doctors are androids.’

That’s insane.

‘And all that time you were convinced someone lived inside the computer. Well, I need say no more...’

Ben frowned. His eyes were sticky and dry and it was tricky to focus.

Stop that, he thought angrily. I have to get Sam and Nick to the safe house; they are relying on me. Sam needs me.

‘For once. Then he’ll toss you away like a used tissue.’

No, you’re wrong. We’re coming to an understanding.

‘How can Sam understand you? He doesn’t know himself,’ the Range Rover’s sat-nav said.

Anyway, I’m going to go back to Bootham when all this is over. Just because some of it is true doesn’t mean you’re any the more real. These random thoughts spring into my head like weeds in a garden.

The sat-nav chuckled, a light girly sound. ‘Oh, Ben, darling! How poetic. When you’re sharing a cell with a tattooed giant I’ll remember that. You stuck a sedative syringe into a policeman and stole a car. They’ll hang you out to dry, Benny boy.’