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er again and cut out the pain； left him with a light…headedness as though he were floating weightlessly through the atmosphere。 Euphoric because it was all over and it didn't hurt。
Outside the van the cobra dropped silently on to the wet tarmac and slithered away beneath the crumpled wreckage； its victim forgotten。 The killing was over and now its instincts turned to survival in an alien world of hard man…made surfaces where the air was filled with pungent smoke and noises beyond its primitive prehension。
It made it to the hard shoulder； found the long grass of the adjacent embankment and began the ascent； a powerful wary creature that underwent a new experience after a lifetime of boredom in captivity。
It tasted fear for the first time； fear that merged into anger and gave it the killing urge again。
Chapter 3
THE YOUNG police constable in the motorway patrol car felt his stomach churn as the message came over the radio。 A weakness engulfed his limbs and he remembered how he used to be carsick as a child every time his parents took him out in the dark blue Maxi which they kept polished in the garage in readiness for a Sunday afternoon spin； an urge to open the door； lean out； leave a trail of vomit in their wake。 He wanted to be back at HQ； a desk job； checking traffic reports； anywhere except out here。
He did not speak； turned his head to one side in case Sergeant Bufton saw how white he'd gone。 The sergeant had a reputation as a right bastard； both in the station and out on the cars。 Just plain nasty and sarcastic； he didn't know any other way； and a young PC was fair game。
'Ever seen a dead body； constable？ I don't mean a stiff all neatly laid out in a mortuary； I mean one in a dozen different pieces that you've got to retrieve from the highway； gather 'em up in a sack and try and find out what fits where？ Like a kind of jig…saw puzzle and some of them can be real teasers； but when you've been to a dozen or so such accidents you instinctively know what fits where。 You'll find out before long。'
That was how Bufton had briefed young Mark Bazeley on the first morning he reported for motorway patrol duty。 A week last Monday。 Things had been quiet； just two or three smashes； one death but the victim had died in hospital three days later from internal injuries。 Now the horror was about to start。 The real horror。
'Sounds like a bad 'un； Sarge；' Bazeley tried to keep his voice even； attempted to sound almost casual。 Better get in first before the bastard gives me a run…down of what to expect。
'You heard what the radio said；' Bufton shouted to make himself heard above the whine of the siren。 'A multiple pile…up。 That could mean a dozen vehicles。 Or fifty。 We won't know until we get there and as it's only at junction twenty…two we'll be first on the scene。 Another minute and a half by my reckoning。 I'll count the vehicles； you count the corpses。' A laugh that was devoid of humour；
Bazeley wished there was somewhere he could vomit in private； just a quick throw…up to clear his guts and then he'd face it。 His panion wasn't just being sadistic for the sake of it； it was a kind of mental barrier； a shield he was throwing up to protect the two of them。 Don't think of them as people； think of them as units； units of work； and when the job's done you can put it all out of your mind。 If you don't； you'll end up in the head farm。 But Bufton wouldn't put it into words； you had to read him like a plicated book to see what he was driving at。 Just don't let him see you're scared。
'Here we are。' The sergeant eased his foot off the throttle； the speedo needle dropping from 80 to 70。 To 60。 Braking。
It was difficult to discern details through the deluge； the wet road reflecting the deep red of rear lights interspersed with the flashing blue from the police car。 A tail…back of traffic； people out of their vehicles and walking down the lanes oblivious of the thunderstorm or…slowing cars and lorries。
'Idiots！' Bufton slowed； eased off the motorway and on to the hard shoulder； kept his speed down to 30 mph。 'Ghouls。 AH they're interested in is gawping at mangled bodies。 You get 'em at the scene of every accident。 Now； it seems to start here 。 。 。'
The police car came to a halt； warning lights and flashers left on as the two officers got out。 Two or three prangs； nothing more； the bad ones would be further along where the first vehicles had collided at speed。
Bazeley's mouth was dry as they put some orange cones out。 This was the easy part； take your time and follow the sergeant。 He's a bastard but you need him now more than you've ever needed anybody。
The constable glanced back behind them。 He could hear wailing sirens。 Ambulances； fire engines and more motorway patrols were on the way。 Jesus； hurry up。
The rain storm was at its peak。 The thunder and lightning had passed on； left the cloudburst to follow； a deluge of water that hit the officers' orange plastic jackets with force。
Then they heard the screams of pain and terror； the hysterical cries for help。 Vehicles were crunched up now； these were the ones that had taken the full force of the accident at speeds of up to 70 mph。
A van； it was impossible to recognise the make； was flattened beneath the trailer of an articulated lorry。 A sheet of pressed metal； the chassis would have to be prised apart if they were going to find out who was inside。 Human silhouettes。 Bazeley noticed a pool of scarlet fluid being diluted by the rain and tasted bile at the back of his throat。 But at least he didn't have to do anything about it。
The artic had ploughed into a big carrier； which in turn had crunched a small car； it could have been a Clubman estate but the details would be sorted out later。 The young officer felt something else besides fear； sheer helplessness。 I can't do anything； I can't help anybody。 I'm just a bystander like these ghouls the sarge was on about； except that I don't want to be here。
A car was blazing somewhere； the thick black smoke kept low by the thunderstorm； creating a dense black fog that made everything a thousand times more terrifying； shapes that moved and screamed； came at you out of the blackness and you only saw the injuries and the blood when they got close； had you stepping carefully in case you fell headlong over a corpse。 There appeared to be bodies everywhere。
Bazeley kicked something； recognised it as a severed arm as it rolled away。 That was when he threw up； vomited everything out of his guts in one spouting spew and hoped that the sergeant did not see him in the smoky darkness。
And then he saw the girl。 Her piercing screams had his blood running cold and when she came staggering out of the darkness he almost turned and ran。 Oh God； she had to be hurt bad； he didn't want to see； didn't want to have her clinging to him and bleeding all over him。
Miraculously she wasn't bleeding； in fact she did not appear to be injured at all。 He stared at her with smarting eyes and wondered for a second if his brain was playing tricks on him； if he wasn't up to all this and something inside him had snapped。
She could not have been more than twenty。 Long blonde hair that fell below her shoulders and a figure that any model would have been proud of。 So beautiful。 And naked； except for a shoe on her left foot。
She was screaming hysterically； clutching at her stomach； bent double； straightening up again； but even in her crazed agonised state she recognised a police officer； knew that he might be able to help her。
Police Constable Bazeley stared； mentally recoiled； but there was no blood ing from the girl。 Maybe her injuries were internal； in which case it wouldn't be so bad for him。 He would help her； stay with her until the ambulances arrived。 It was a let…off； not a pleasant one； but better than tending injuries that spouted blood all over you whilst you tried to stem an arterial wound。 Coward！ OK； I'm a coward but I'll try and calm this bird。
He reached out for her just as she stumbled； slipped through his grasp and fell face down on the tarmac。 Immediately her body was convulsing； doubling up； her toes on the unclad foot curling inwards in sheer agony。 She was clutching at her abdomen。
Mark Bazeley felt her pain as he grasped her； every nerve and muscle in her lithe body at breaking point as it took the strain of the ultimate in pain； shuddering。 Crazed； she tried to fight him as he rolled her over； her white even teeth clenched as though in the throes of a fit； spittle frothing from her soft red lips。
For a split second his mind shut off and he saw her as a young man sees a beautiful naked girl。 The shapely thighs parted； legs wide and kicking frantically as though she had just hit a climax。 Moans that he wished were orgasmic cries of delight and the two of them anywhere else but here。 Her hands came off her stomach； her fists clenched and she pummelled at him crazily； those groans escalating into screams。 Back to reality； she was in unbelievable pai