Australian Dreams. Fiona McCallum

a sweeping bend and noticed a large object on the road up ahead. As she got closer she frowned, easing back her speed and trying to decipher what she was really seeing. She was almost at a stop when she realised what was blocking one side of the road. Two cars – one red, one white – fused into a mass of colour against a large gum tree like a child’s roughly formed lump of plasticine.

      Claire turned the engine off and put her hazard lights on while she tried to figure out where the doors were – where she’d go to attempt to offer some kind of assistance.

      She took a deep breath and walked towards the wreckage on jelly legs. A big part of her already wished she hadn’t stopped, had continued on her way. But you couldn’t, could you? It just wouldn’t be right. She stood close enough to the cars to feel their heat, smell the toxic odour of scorched plastic and paint. The stench of burnt rubber hung in the air. Claire coughed and pulled a tissue from her pocket to protect her nose and mouth. The radiators were hissing. Twisted metal groaned and sighed as it settled into its new form. Crows and galahs squawked and flapped away overhead, oblivious.

      Claire wondered if perhaps she shouldn’t touch anything – it looked too bad for anyone to have made it. She wasn’t sure she could cope with blood and guts and death. Somewhere in the depths of the wreckage she heard the faint electronic tone of a mobile phone. Snapping to attention she raced back to her car. Everything was a blur around her – in slow motion – as she grabbed her own mobile from her handbag. Shit, what was the mobile emergency number? She was about to dial triple zero when she realised there were no bars indicating reception.

      ‘Damn it,’ she cursed. She must be in a dead spot. Maybe if she climbed on top of her car she’d get a signal. Just as she was taking off her shoes, another vehicle came around the bend. She leapt on to the road and started waving her arms, the sharp bitumen cutting into the delicate skin of her bare feet.

      An older style four-wheel drive stopped on the edge of the road behind her car. Claire hoped the middle-aged couple inside were locals.

      ‘There’s been an accident,’ she said through their open window. ‘Do you have a mobile? I can’t get a signal with mine.’

      They both got out of the vehicle.

      ‘Bloody hell,’ said the bloke, looking ahead at the pile of wreckage. ‘Is anyone alive?’

      ‘I… I don’t know. I just arrived,’ Claire said.

      ‘Shit!’ he said, and bolted up the road towards the carnage.

      The woman punched numbers into a mobile phone and then calmly told whoever answered that there had been an accident. She proceeded to give precise directions and local road names.

      Claire felt helpless, left out, and almost miffed because she’d seen it first and here they were taking over.

      Short of anything better to do, she made her way to the mangled cars. The man was circling the wreckage, calling to the occupants, trying to pull on what must be handles on doors but didn’t look like anything to her.

      Claire realised she could smell fuel. Then she noticed a darker patch of gravel. The bitumen was stained and glistening. She remembered hearing somewhere how the battery had to be disconnected to stop sparks igniting spilt fuel. Claire stared at the fused cars, walked around looking for the front ends. She frowned, trying to decipher the mess. Then suddenly, as if she’d adjusted the focus on a camera, the bonnet of the red car became apparent. She walked over, aware of the other Good Samaritan leaning into one window and talking, urging the victim to hold on, telling him that help was on its way. The bonnet was folded back in three, the engine still hissing steam.

      Claire didn’t want to put her hand in but knew she didn’t have a choice. The battery was lying there with fluid of some sort dripping onto it. The car’s wiring had already had the plastic coating scorched off. Any second the unprotected wires could short. For all she knew, the scorching had already worked its way through the dashboard and into the cabin. She pulled at the terminals with her only protection: the small wad of tissues she’d been using to shield her nose. They were both stuck fast – she needed a screwdriver. There wasn’t one in her own car and she couldn’t disturb the man who seemed to be getting some response from someone in the car.

      Claire was relieved to hear a siren and, when she looked up, see a white CFS truck and police car pulling over, and uniformed people jumping out and running towards her. They pushed past, literally shoving her aside in their haste. Claire didn’t mind at all – she was just glad to be off the hook.

      ‘I couldn’t get the battery out,’ she said, raising a helpless arm in the general direction.

      ‘It’s okay, we’re here now.’ A young male police officer was beside her. He ushered her back to her own car.

      She put her hand on the door handle.

      ‘I’m afraid I’ll need a statement before I can let you go,’ he said, taking a notebook from his top pocket.

      Claire checked her watch. ‘I really need to get going. I…’

      ‘It’ll only take a few moments.’

      I don’t have a few moments, Claire wanted to tell him. ‘I really don’t think I’ll be much help,’ she said, quickly, hoping her tone would hurry him up.

      ‘How about you let me be the judge of that?’ he said.

      ‘I don’t mean to be rude but there’s somewhere I really need to be. Could I just call into a police station later? Or maybe phone you in a couple of hours?’

      ‘I’m afraid not – it’s important to get the facts down as quickly as possible.’

      Claire took a deep breath and tried to keep her exasperation at bay. But her eyes kept going to the watch on her wrist.

      ‘Right. Full name and address please.’ The pencil he held was poised above a small notepad.

      Claire rattled off the details.

      ‘Now, what exactly did you see, Ms McIntyre?’

      ‘Well I was just driving along – on the speed limit – and they roared past me – definitely speeding. When I came around this bend they were just there, like that,’ she said, indicating towards the wreckage.

      ‘You say they were speeding – any idea how fast?’

      ‘No, not really.’

      ‘Significantly faster than you or just a bit?’

      ‘I have no idea. It all happened very fast.’

      ‘But they were definitely speeding?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And you can be sure because…’

      ‘Because I was doing the speed limit – 100 – and they both went past me. That means they were speeding, right? Look, I really don’t have time for this.’

      ‘And you say you came around the bend and there they were?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And then what did you do?’

      ‘I was trying to call emergency but my phone didn’t have a signal. And then the couple in the four-wheel drive turned up.’

      ‘So they were the ones who called the emergency services?’

      ‘Yes – the woman did.’

      ‘So their phone had service then?’

      ‘I guess it must have done,’ she said, a sarcastic tone creeping into her voice. She half expected him to tell her to change her carrier to someone more reliable.

      ‘Right. And then what did you do?’

      ‘Well I was trying to figure out how to disconnect the batteries. That’s what I was doing when the CFS – and you – turned up. Please, can I go now?’ She willed herself not to look at her watch.

      ‘If