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The first minutes in Charters Towers were the tensest of their journey. Objectively speaking, if the town was similarly infected already, they were doomed - the chances that they could continue running away from this was reduced to insignificance - but the adrenalin didn't care that it was probably superfluous. Robert crept into the town as if it made any difference at all - as if the car could flip itself around at first sign of trouble and coast back onto the 'safety' of the desert road; nevermind that such a trick would effectively leave them trapped between the two towns.
Unfortunately, part of their plan involved stocking up. Even if hiding were reasonably possible in a town that was gradually beginning to wake up, waltzing into a store to get a week's supply of water hardly qualified. Fortunately, the man at the petrol station they stopped at did not try to telekinetically manhandle them.
It took ten arduous minutes for Robert to tear himself away, however, from the fervent discussion about the problems in Townsville. The conclusion seemed to be that the clerk was glad they were just about sane enough to pay for what they bought, and at least equally glad that they were leaving.
Once they were out, Robert privately shared his impression that they had been, in fact, believed. He hoped it was right. The character didn't have to admit that he bought into their story, as long as he made sure to disappear in due time. Admitting it would have made things easier; admitting it would have sent the signal that he might warn others.
A similar situation occurred at the convenience store they picked out for their water supplies, though this time Keneh tugged on Robert's sleeve before he got too worked up about the dismissal: “Let's just keep moving.”
Despite that urging, Robert paused to let a local fire department know of the problem. To his partial relief, they took his concerns as seriously as was in any way reasonable. They would, they promised, keep an eye out on the developments. It was unreasonable, they said, to try and evacuate Charters Towers based on a few youtube videos, but they were confident they could handle the fires the citizens themselves could not, at least.
And then they were back on the road - Keneh's risk of being crushed to death by the canisters sandwiching her now likely significantly higher than her risk of existential death by the pathogen - heading further west, entering distressingly bleak landscapes. There were a few small towns on the way to Cloncurry, it wasn't a complete voyage through nowhere, but it still had the look and feel of foolishness.
And they were foolish, but perhaps not as foolish as others. Robert certainly knew to drive carefully while it was dawn. Someone else clearly had not. Just a bit after an hour and a half since they left, having passed through Pentland, a van was nuzzling the rocks on the left side of the road. By the looks of things, someone had swerved precisely the wrong way in instinct.
Robert sucked in a breath and brought them to a stop thirty metres away from the crash. And then stared forward, keeping his hands on the wheel as if he were holding onto a lifeline, clearly undecided if the apocalypse behind them warranted getting out to discover the van was empty or pry someone who might still be alive out of the wreck.
There was no fire, no ominous ticking from the engine (that she could hear through a lowered window, at least), no cries for help or groans of pain. Nothing to suggest that the people hadn't crashed, gotten out, and started walking for help.
Except for the fact they hadn't seen any people walking along the road and the nearest town was behind them, not in front. So either the people had been travelling in convoy and had jumped in the other vehicles and kept going (the police would hate them), the people were idiotic tourists who had set off the wrong way and would get themselves killed (they could report it when they reached the next roadhouse and the police may still get to hate them) or they were in that vehicle and dead.
No matter which option they couldn't do anything and should keep going. Except no, really, they couldn't. “…the infection hasn't spread this far yet, we should get enough information to report the crash at least,” Delaney said at last, unclipping her seatbelt.
Keneh's twisted herself around in her unlikely cage, staring out front for a moment, struggling out of shapeless daydreams she'd been occupying herself with. There's an urge to ask that extraneous question, 'What happened?', but it's clear enough someone got into a car crash, and equally clear that it she didn't somehow mentally sleep through it being their fault. “Could they still be alive?”
“Hypothetically,” Robert lets his hands drop from the steering wheel and lets his head rest against the headrest for a moment, exhaling. Then he opens the driver's door and sticks out one foot. A pause. “Keneh, you staying in?” It wasn't like his backseat passenger could let herself out, unless she clambered awkwardly to the front.
“…um. If you want me to?” Keneh offered.
“Right,” Robert nodded acknowledgement, plucking the keys from the car and shuffled out of his seat and onto the tarmac. The door slams shut and he meanders to the back, opening up the trunk. He squints at Keneh for a moment, unsure if he should be saying something else, then just passes the corner of his vehicle and begins to stalk across to the stranded, mangled van.
Sliding herself out of the vehicle, Delaney glances at her friend. “Think they're tourists and gotten lost?” she asks quietly. There were skid marks but the road was free of broken glass, and the van looked mostly crumpled at the front and not the top, so they -probably- hadn't rolled it. Which meant the driver at least might have survived. And was, hopefully, not here. Because if they were they were kind of in a tricky situation, lacking space to become an ambulance as they were.
(And they desperately didn't want any police noticing Robert's vehicle had three occupants and only two seats.) Grimacing at the thought, she followed him towards the crashed van.
“Do tourists travel in vans?” Keneh finds herself asking, as if 'tourist' were a foreign species she'd never come across in all her life. (Granted, the chances were even high enough that might be true, given she certainly spent more time online than outside - but even so, she should at least be familiar with the tourist stereotypes, if nothing else.)
After there are only ten more metres to the crash site, Robert's protective instincts partially get the better of him and he nudges himself into a jog. If there really was someone hurt in the wreckage, it was best to be alert and act quickly - even if the pace of approach was hardly a factor unless they had phenomenal timing and the extra two seconds would be enough time to stop a fatal bleeding.
Judging by the damage, it collided with the rock face at a harsher angle than it's now standing, having scraped along it at least a metre or two. There might be a shard of glass or two somewhere amongst the pebbles from the especially mangled sideview mirror, but the windshield had apparently survived. Everything in front of the windshield, on the other hand…
Keneh and Delaney aren't quite caught up when Robert jerks back from the side of the van and swirls to face them with an almost menacing energy, beginning a tense stride back where he came from. “Go back. Into the car.”
Keneh blinks, confused, watching Robert stalk past her, following him with her gaze. “What? Why?”
A moment later sees him grasp at her sleeve, tugging her a few inches toward the car before leaving her to her own devices again, making his opinion on the matter very, very clear. “We're leaving this behind,” he insists.
“Is the driver still in there?” Keneh asks. Rather than wait for an answer, she turns to continue across the scant rest of the distance to the van, prompting a hiss and curse from Robert, who pauses in his stride back to the car to stare at her.
“I have no idea,” Delaney admitted. “But tourists always seem to be the ones that get into vehicle trouble and then make it worse by not staying put, so if the van is empty I'm assuming tourist.” Was that biased? She wasn't sure, but it did seem a little off that she was assuming idiotic behaviour was from a non-local. Then again, if they weren't local they'd have the excuse of not knowing it was a bad idea and it wasn't exactly idiocity if you were simply naive.
Which wasn't helped by Robert's reaction to the van. Clearly there weren't survivors if he wasn't helping. Equally clearly he didn't want them looking closer. “The driver's dead and in a really nasty nightmare inducing way, then?” They had enough trauma to be going on with, thanks, she didn't need to see someone crushed or decapitated or pureed.
The notion either doesn't occur to Keneh, or simply does nothing to deter her. She's reached the front of the van herself, now, attention at first drawn to the mangled front, reminiscent of crumpled paper, noticing that there must once have been something written on it. It's only a instant's distraction, though; a moment later the far more obvious lettering on the door - smaller but not at all mangled - makes her realise what spooked Robert so badly.
She pauses for a moment, glancing up at the slumped figure in the van. The driver is probably dead, by the looks of things, but he might also simply be knocked out. It's difficult to tell from this angle. She tries the passenger side door and it opens without complaint.
“Keneh, leave it,” Robert calls across, frustration evident in his demeanour - but no matter how much energy he's currently devoting to his little panic tantrum, it's Delaney and Keneh that have the guns, and even if they didn't, Robert just did not seem the type to start threatening someone. He was going to have to up his persuasive powers and try again.
Delaney hesitates and looks between the others before heading towards her friend with vague ideas of drawing her away.. “We've got enough PTSD triggers so far today already, Keneh, I really don't think we need any more.” She tries hard not to look inside because sooner or later she's going to fall in a heap and have a massive breakdown and be useless for a few hours, and she's aimed to make that happen as later as possible.
“He's not mangled,” Keneh promises, voice somewhere between a call across and the volume of regular conversation. “But it's a Deiparous van.” Her tone is only slightly hesitant, chiefly giving an impression of calm. Said, she's crawled onto the passenger side seat and glancing at the slumped shape. Gingerly, she extends one hand to hover fingers near the person's face. There's something that might be a weak breath, but is just as likely to be an artifact of the motion of her fingers. Her hand slips down and begins to curve around the person's neck, but notices that it's at a terrible angle to probe the carotid artery. Instead, she gently grasps at his wrist, pushing fingertips onto the skin immediately under the base of the thumb.
It takes a long moment for her to be sure - Robert's outside of the van again by then, sporting a look of displeasure and frantic concern, both. “Seems fairly dead,” she observes, deflatedly. Maybe in another situation she'd follow Robert into freaking out, but this is a fairly clean death and that's far less horror-inducing than someone just barely alive in the middle of nowhere would be. Disconcerting posture and bruises aside, he might as well be asleep.
Her next instinct is to quietly back out of the van again and leave it as it is - but the ramifications manage to poke holes in her usually so docile nature. A Deiparous van. She shifts into a sit on the passenger seat and checks the glove compartment steadily and slowly, making sure to read the titles on the instruction manuals, but nothing pops out at her as unusual. Then she twists to glance back through to the back of the van, separated by plastic and glass. There's nothing immediately interesting in there visible from her angle, but maybe they could take a look anyway. This accident was probably entirely unrelated and just mocking them in their paranoia, but it would help her to know that for sure.
“Keneh, leave it,” Robert repeats, but softer this time. “Please. We're running away from this stuff for a reason, don't- don't make this our problem. There are people that are better equipped to handling the Townsville problem than we are.”
“And they're ignoring the evidence,” Keneh comments, dispassionately, recalling Charters Towers. It's not that she believes that as an absolute - there might be entirely capable people handling the situation in Townsville by now. It was reasonably likely. It just wasn't likely enough that she felt they had the freedom to walk away from this potential opportunity.
✘ IN PROGRESS