Without Incident [Wattys2016]

02.

It was a slow drive leaving the restaurant. We took the long way home on a dark road, Mason entertaining Corey's bad jokes, Hayden resting her head on my shoulder.

"What about this song?" As he was in the passenger seat, Corey was the appointed DJ. But he was doing a poor job of it.

"HATE IT." We all shouted in unison. Corey took that as a cue to blast it, lip syncing along and shimmying his shoulders to the pulsing beat.

"Cut it off, I'm not kidding," I said, throwing junk from Mason's car floor at his head.

"What was that?" He cupped a hand to his ear, singing louder and more off key. Big eyed and slight, Corey, like all of us, seemed happier now. Less bogged down by the weight of life shattering threats. Death above all. It also meant that he was freer to be unbearably annoying.

I looked up in time to see a streak of flesh dart across the road. The image didn't register in my mind's eye, my voice stuck in my throat.

A heart stopping thud rattled the car. Mason slammed on the breaks and we all jerked forward with enough force to snap our necks. I watched, wide eyed, as he took his trembling hands off the wheel. Feeling sick myself, I undid my seatbelt and stumbled out of the car, running around to the grill. Mason, Corey and Hayden pushed in around me. Time unspooled, slow and stuttering, as we stared at the man awkwardly splayed out on the road.

Washed in the stark blaze of Mason's headlights, he was face down, arms scraped raw and bloody. All the night time sounds seemed impatient. The buzzing, clicks and chirps chilled my skin, pressing in on us.

A very un-Mason like sound came from somewhere in my friend's chest, strangled and small. He threw his hands behind his head, face strained. He seemed disgusted-with himself or with the blood I couldn't tell.

"Oh, no," he said thinly.

"Hey, look at me." I gripped his shoulder, shaking him. "Mason, he came out of nowhere. It wasn't your fault."

"But he's not moving."

"He's still alive, I can hear his heart." I shuffled forward, crouching so that I hovered just over the body. I licked my chapped lips, placing a hand under the man's nose. His breath was about as faint as his pulse. Psyching myself up, I got a grip on his shoulder, turning him over so that his ashen face was exposed.

"Oh my goodness, it's the jerk from the parking lot," Hayden gasped. And she was right. The dude with the punchable face was lying in my arms.

"What the hell was he doing all the way out here?" Mason thought aloud.

This night had taken an unexpected turn to say the least. And then it took another sharp turn.

He was animated, a hand tearing at my shirt collar. The sudden violence of his alertness seemed to blow a hole through my chest, robbing me of breath. Someone behind me shrieked.

"Still here," the man choked, wild eyes rolling around in his head. "It's still...here."

"What?" I shook him, trying to understand what he meant by it. His eyes rolled back to the whites as he passed out, head lulling to the side.

Mason dialed for help, putting his phone on speaker.

"911, what's your emergency?"

As he gave them our location, I scanned the forest on either side of the road, eyes flicking back and forth-jumping from shadow to shadow. In a squall of noise a flock of birds rose from the tree line, squawking and scattering off into the distance. I gritted my teeth as the hair on the back of my neck prickled.

I felt like I was standing at the edge of a bottomless pit, staring straight into its gaping mouth. I thought I had taken the long way around, that I had escaped that pit somehow. This was always going to be my life, the deep breath before the plunge. Then again I could be way off base. Maybe there was nothing supernatural about this.

I hoped and hoped and hoped that was the case.