(West Country England)
The rain is hammering down, I am soaking wet, and vaguely aware of the drips running down my neck and seeping in to my shirt collar. As I lie on the grass verge my eyes become accustomed to a darkness that is only slightly relieved by the young moon, and slowly, I regain a sense of my surroundings and what has happened. Looking down I see that my right jacket sleeve is torn, and wiping my forehead I see the smear of blood on the back of my hand. It's not only rain that is giving me that trickling sensation on the forehead.
I need to get up bu t feel stiff, and looking down see that I am covered in mud and that my left trouser leg is torn, almost shredded. On my feet I am unsteady but I turn around; below, down the slope, away from the road I can make out the remains of two cars. Mine, a silver Range Rover upside down with the engine still running, the exhaust fumes puffing out of the tail pipe, and to the left a blue Volvo estate car on its side with it's badly crushed nose half way up the base of a large tree.
There is an overwhelming smell of petrol mixed with the pooling rain and, as I look, the driver’s door of the Volvo moves upwards. The driver is alive and trying to get out. I automatically move forward to help but there is a lick of flame which instantly engulfs the car and driver, then with an almighty bang the car explodes and a blast of hot air knocks me to the ground again, seconds later a second explosion as the Range Rover goes up as well.
As I come round and open my eyes, there is the flash of blue and red lights, a blazing arc light from up by the road and people in fluorescent yellow jackets scurrying around and talking in loud voices. Two figures are leaning over me and I feel a jab in my right arm, then I am hoisted up, and the image blurring, I am moved towards the open doors of an ambulance.