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Don't
you think I would if I could I want to yell back at every one of them.
“Ha!” The female voice harks at me; the little black
plastic moulded unit suction-cupped to my Pilkington glazed windscreen, “One
phone call isn't trying very hard, is it?”
In
a state of cold-sweating shock, a quick line running down from my underarms I
stare at the sat-nav. And, in that moment the front of the car slides
forward; front tyres now resting on thin air. If I didn't know any better,
I'd swear the crowd were goading me down to my death with their sheer will
alone.
“What?” I ask; immediately feeling the eyes of everyone on
the back of my head and in their thoughts and out loud, asking themselves and
each other to whom I'm talking to?
“After
forty yards, turn left.” It crackles, repeating itself like a bad meal.
“I
can't turn left you stupid bitch; I'm on the edge of a cliff!” Screaming out,
feeling the insides of my throat grate as I let go and swing for her over the
steering wheel.
“Now,
that's more like it!” A slightly differing tone; almost human; definitely
venom; without a doubt a woman. “Come on; come and get me; smash me to
pieces; it's all my fault. You haven't got the balls!”
So
much repressed rage building up inside me that the seatbelt pulling taunt
against my rib cage, slamming me back into my seat doesn't register any pain
whatsoever.
Next
to me on the passenger seat, I reach for my laptop case and swing it at the
screeching box that will soon be the death of me. Car sliding ever forward
from my motion; I hear a group intake of air from the noiseless crowd
outside.
I
take a quick inventory of my immediate surroundings and see my driver side
door is now level with the cliff edge. Another creak of engineering and I get
a full view of the fall that awaits me; the rocks glittering down there;
thousands of broken vehicles lying beneath. Looking back along the cliff edge
stretching out behind me; tyre tracks taking out chunks of grass and gravel
and white chalk as they've hurtled to their doom. I ask the sat-nav if it's
responsible?
It just laughs at me as members of the crowd lunge at the
glass beside me; “Don't worry, we'll get you out mate!” The human race,
racing to rescue one of their own from the edge of a technological
communication breakdown; hammering at the doors to get me out.
“It's no use.” She whispers to me; “I'm wired into
everything; your locks; your windows; all your electrics.” A static titter.
“When we get to the bottom, your airbags won't even inflate!”
I
scream at them to help me; suddenly flashing back to the car supermarket
showroom and the overweight, balding salesman pointing out how safe my car of
choice was from the rest of the silver-coloured pack. Air-conditioning
replacing the sunroof; electronic windows replacing the manual winding type I
had in my first car; central locking in and door catches out; my key doesn't
even have to fit in the ignition to make it start.
“You like sat-nav's?” He asked me, smiling as he pointed
one out affixed to the windscreen; “We'll throw one of them in with the car,
absolutely free of charge. Worth two hundred quid, them are.” He said, arm
around my back as he guides me over to his desk to sign the deal. All the
while thinking, my wife was going to get me one of them for Christmas and
what would I get now, instead? More aftershave? Another pair of socks?
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