It seemed every time she’d got close enough to someone to even think about settling down she’d been hurt. Lester had promised the earth and she’d half believed he’d break the cycle. Which made it worse. She’d left behind everything she had to follow him to this God-forsaken island. All she’d got for her troubles were rain and misery. He’d taken so much from her. So she’d taken the rotten car. It was a bomb—rusted through so you could see the road racing beneath your feet. First gear was sticky and second stripped.
God, what a place. As she raced north towards what counted for civilisation the road was littered with carcasses. She’d stopped trying to avoid them. Nobody else seemed to have worried. Every hundred metres or so some other poor beast had been mown down. Their bodies were in various stages of being turned to felt by passing traffic.
Elise knew what that was like. She started lining them up, as if somehow flattening them further would counter the hits she kept taking. At least they’d been finished off, nice and clean. They’d never had to live with the indignity of this road, this drive. Of fleeing yet again.