Razor: Prologue 1982

WESTBOUND I95, BALTIMORE: 1982

"You'd think that they at least would know which side of the road to drive on." Nate groused, and his wife laughed delightedly beside him. The velvet darkness of the water caught the flares from the lights as they sped down the highway. The traffic was light, uncommonly so for the busy road, and the car seemed wrapped in a bubble of silence; isolated from the world beyond the windows.

"Nate, you're such a snob sometimes."

"Beck, if they feel the need to reverse perfectly sensible driving laws to suit their colonial tastes, then they could at least have the common courtesy to follow them." Nate grinned, his teeth very white against his short black beard.

"Of course, baby." Rebecca twisted in her seat to look at their son, locked into the carrier in the back seat of the car. "He's asleep."

"Considering the amount of crab he inhaled, it's not surprising." Nate grinned again, easing his new Corvette around a lumbering Buick and leaping forward to pass it.

"The fresh seafood food was lovely. Certainly better than Dover or Brighton."

"True." The young couple had spent the evening at a small restaurant on the Chesapeake Bay, gorging themselves on the steamed soft-shelled crab for which the region was famous for, and celebrating their move to Maryland from their cramped flat in North Camden. Nate's appointment to a research position in the genetics labs at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore had been the break that they had both worked for so long.

Nate patted his wife's leg, then smiled as she snatched his hand and moved it up to her crotch.

"Beck, the baby� "

"Might want a little sister." She grinned mischievously. "What do you think, Doctor?" Her curly dark hair tumbled around her shoulders, and when he looked over at her, Nate thought his heart would burst, loving her so much.

"I think I need to schedule an examination." He pronounced it �shed-dual' with the crisp Oxford accent that was calculated to make American nurses melt. "A very thorough examination, I think."

"Ooh..." Rebecca mock shivered. "I can't wait."

"I just hope our Adam decides to sleep through the night." Nate said, motioning with his chin to the slumbering child strapped into the car seat in the cramped rear of the car.

"He'd better." Rebecca said, releasing Nate's hand.

Nate smiled again, mellow from the two glasses of wine, and exhilarating in the speed and power of the car. After endless hours on country roads in the cramped minis England was famous for, it was like the opening a new world to fly down the wide American highways in the overpowered Corvette. It was dark on the highway, only a smattering of traffic on the way into one of the largest cities on the east coast of the United States.

Nate slowed the car slightly, preparing for his exit into the north east of the city, towards their home near the water. As he did, he caught sight of an erratic stutter from a set of lights heading towards him. Nate's deceleration had robbed him of a few precious miles of speed, and he watched with horror as the lights suddenly lurched right and jumped lanes. Both beams now bore down on the Corvette.

Had Nate kept his speed, he might have been able to clear the car by swerving to the outside lane, but slowed as he was, their car lay directly in the path of the on-coming vehicle. Desperately, he wrenched the wheel to the left, trying to snake the car clear of the one bearing down on him, escaping across lanes before it could reach him.

"Nate� " Rebecca cried out, before shock closed her throat and strangled any further screams. The Corvette snapped to the left, angling away from the oncoming car. Again, the deceleration before the exit had robbed the car of just enough speed to prevent Nate's desperate gambit to clear the other car. Nate saw the vehicles positions in a shutter-fast picture, just a few feet too close to escape.

The heavy-bodied Oldsmobile slammed into the side of the Corvette, crumpling the side panels with ease. The sports car buckled, and lifted under the impact. The front heavy body of the car lashed the Oldsmobile sideways, even as its own weak frame crumpled, wedging itself atop the nose of the other car. As the Oldsmobile fishtailed sideways, the Corvette separated from it, flung off at an angle towards the verge. The car touched down once, twice, smashing both the nose and the tail on the unforgiving asphalt as it cantered end over end sickeningly. It came down on its side, skidded sideways and fell back on its wheels just as the right side of the front clipped the barrier. The shuddering impact stove in the right front of the car, spinning it sideways to a halt on the edge of the highway, wreaked and burning.

The frying crackle of flames erupted in the night as burning flickers sprouted from the hood and along the front of the car. The torn fuel line had sprayed an arc of flaming gasoline across the side and top of the mangled vehicle, lit by the showers of sparks. The driver's side door opened, and Nate half stepped, half fell out of the car. His nose was broken, and he was wiping away the shattered glass that had cut his face in a dozen places. He stumbled on the verge, trying to find his feet and clear away the pained fog that gripped his mind.

"Nate!" The single cry cut through the pain, and Nate's head whipped around, spraying droplets of ruby blood. His wife and child were still trapped inside, and he could see the orange flashes of fire along the body of the car. He rushed back, pulling the twisted door wide and leaning in. A wash of heat nearly drove him back. Flames were licking the roof, spreading in wide curtains between the seats. The impact had driven part of the engine back into the front seating area. The heavy block had missed cutting his wife in half by less than an inch, but the buckling had pinned it between her and Nate, making it impossible to free her from his side. She screamed again as the first brush of fire caught her legs, and the sweet pork smell of burning flesh gagged Nate.

Adam! Get Adam! His mind screamed as he peered through the flames to the back seat. His son was in his carseat, screaming from the heat and the nearing fire. Nate thrust his hands through the fire, only to yank them back as the heat scorched him.

"Adam!" His wife screamed again, trying to reach him from her trapped seat. Nate tried to close his ears as he reached again for his son, and again the flames drove him back. Tears running freely down his soot blackened cheeks, Nate ground his teeth together and dove back over the seat, screaming as the fire tore at his arms. His eyes were watering, almost blinding him as he fumbled around at the carrier, trying to pull his son free. The flames leapt to his arms, burning, and Nate's nose filled with the copper-bitter smell of blood from where his teeth bit through his lower lip. Blood dripped and sizzled on the leather as he fumbled at the clatch. The metal was hot, searing his hands. He dropped it once, cried out and grabbed it again, ignoring the wrenching pain as he pulled the lock free. Nate grabbed his son under the arms and pulled him out, over the flames along the seat. They reeled drunkenly out to the blissfully cool air on the verge, and Nate set his son down before collapsing to beat the flames out on his arms.

Nate pulled himself back to his feet and turned back to the car. His wife's cries had turned to a single long undulating keening; wordless and ancient. He stumbled around the car, to the shattered and buckled side door. The metal was rent and twisted, screwed up in an impossible shape against the ruined frame. Through the shattered window, Nate saw his wife, frantically beating at the flames on her legs and torso, watching helplessly as they spread to her long hair. Nate smashed the rest of her window with his elbow, Rebecca shrieking as the glass sprayed her. He reached in, trying to pull her through the opening, to get her out of the makeshift crematorium she was trapped inside. The smell of her burning enveloped him, gagging him. His ears were filled with the crackle and pop of burning fat, as the flames savaged her body. He pulled, his ruined hands screaming in pain and threatening to overwhelm him. Her body wouldn't move, and sickeningly, Nate realized that the frame had crunched down to trap her legs. He pulled, fighting the pain and the fire and his own weakness, trying to defy the fate they had stumbled on. Rebecca's eyes, insane with pain caught his one last time, and she mouthed his name in a wordless scream.

The gas tank of the Corvette sat at an odd angle on the driver's side the body. The impact had wrenched it towards the passenger side, and torn a deep rent in the top, opening it up like the top of a can of beans. The flames had danced around the metal, heating it and licking the edges. Even as Nate struggled with his wife, a spark touched the fuel inside, and the gasoline inside ignited. The fuel spent its energy through the rent, exploding upward like a giant flame thrower. The furious blast blew Nate from his feet, sending him tumbling back several feet as the fireball engulfed the car.

Nate saw his wife immolated in the front seat of their car, now a fiery tomb. He screamed through a throat burned raw, and tried to reach her, but the heat drove him back. Her wail was cut off, the aftershocks of it trailing away in Nate's ears. Nearly blind from the heat and smoke, he crawled to his feet, and stumbled around the car, where his son lay on the grass at the verge.

Adam lay in the cool grass, unmoving with the inferno beside him. Nate fell to his knees beside his son, touching his chest and throat, searching for a pulse. Fire hadn't touched his golden haired child, but he lay still on the grass, his heart stopped. Bending down, Nate opened his son's mouth and breathed in, then moved to the chest to palpitate his heart. One, two, three, four, five. Breathe. The taste of ashes in his son's mouth. One, two, three, four, five. Breathe. Skin already cold in the night air. One, two, three, four, five. Breathe. The sick wet crack of the sternum.

"No...." Nate moaned, tears making light furrows through the black mask of his cheeks. He kept up the CPR, feeling the chest heave under his hands, not willing to believe his son lost. "No.." He sobbed again, letting his hands fall to his sides, blood seeping between the cracked flesh, his skin burnt black. The fire guttered in the car beside him, and in the distance he heard the howl of sirens. The charred scent of his wife hung on the breeze, and he vomited, retching across the road. In those terribly scarred arms, he gathered his son, weeping. The crackle of the fire kindled his own soul, and a long keening cry broke from his throat. It rang in the night, mimicking the dying fires as the life and passion and love burnt themselves out with it. The flames slowly died, and with it, the dreams of a single man.