Riding along in my automobile...

The second of three beginnings, but probably the opening of the novel I am currently writing.

Riding along in my automobile, my baby beside me at the wheel.

2.0

It is 2am, and a silver car is spinning into the mouth of a tunnel. It is lit up like a disco ball, and a small man with a big head, called Tadpole Laine, is standing directly in its path. He is walking home because he lost his wallet and phone earlier in the evening, but making slow progress because he is drunk. He's also without one of his favourite slip-on Hush Puppies. It came off when he left the pub and when an Asian man chased him down the street, brandishing what he thought to be a weapon of some kind. Possibly a dagger. It has only just occurred to him, now that he is already four miles out of town and halfway back to his home in Milton-Wooster, that the thing the Asian man was waving at him did not look like a dagger at all and that it might well have been his wallet and phone. He is considering this possibility when he sees the car coming towards him.

There are no pavements in the tunnel; pedestrians are supposed to use the path that runs over the top of the hill, so there is no obvious place for him to go. It seems inevitable that the car will hit him, so he flattens himself against the cold, white-tiled wall and braces himself for impact. He feels sad that he might die wearing only one shoe and with a stupid name like Tadpole. He wishes more people would call him by his real name, which is Michael and resolves to insist on it if he is lucky enough to survive.

As the car comes closer, he can see the faces of its occupants. More Asians, he thinks, or at least one of them is Asian. The person in the passenger seat is a slight and pretty young woman with brown skin and black hair. She is wearing a black dress and a set of large amber beads around her neck. The driver, meanwhile, is a ginger-haired white man in a tweed suit. Tadpole thinks he looks like the history teacher who once hit him over the head with a hardbacked copy of Weimar and Nazi Germany for talking in class. The Asian woman and the ginger-haired man both look terrified. Their eyes and mouths form perfect circles in their faces, and Tadpole imagines that they are screaming inside their shining and luxurious-looking electric vehicle. The tunnel reverberates with the high-pitched, discordant sound of screeching tyres.

Then, with a final flourish, the car turns fully sideways, hits a pothole and flips onto its side. It slides the last few yards of its journey in a hail of sparks before coming to rest with a deafening bang against the wall of the tunnel, only two feet away from where Tadpole is now standing in a puddle of his own urine. There is a moment of silence and a smell like warm candyfloss. Tadpole and the people in the car stare at each other for what seems like several seconds. The woman, he thinks, is really quite attractive, even though she is now hanging sideways in her seat, and he wonders what she is doing with the ginger-haired man, who is not so nice-looking. Then, realising that he has wet himself, Tadpole thinks that perhaps he, too, is not presenting such an appealing figure.

The ginger-haired man tries to open his door, which is now on the top of the car, but it seems to be locked. He tries again. Tadpole can hear the gentle voice of the car's computer explaining to the man that she cannot open the door while the car is in motion.

‘But it's not in motion,’ shouts the man. ‘Just open the bloody door.’

‘I'm sorry, I can't do that,’ repeats the computer. ‘It's dangerous to open the doors when the car is moving. Please, first, bring the vehicle to a complete stop.’

There is an electrical buzzing sound, followed by a crackle and then a whoomph. Instantly, the car begins to fill with smoke, and a bright magenta flame appears in the back seat.

‘Open the fucking door, you fucking bitch!’ shouts the man.

‘Nigel, open the fucking door!’ shouts the woman.

‘Please bring the car to a complete stop,’ insists the computer.

The ginger-haired man's petrified eyes meet Tadpole’s for a brief and frozen moment before the car fills with bright white flames and lights up like a flashbulb. Tadpole can hear the Asian woman and the ginger-haired man screaming, but their cries are short-lived. In less than a second, they are silent again. The flames turn from white to a more familiar orange, and fire engulfs the car as the computer, at last, relents and opens the doors. Tadpole takes a few paces back to escape the intense heat but remains close enough to hear the computer's last words before she, too, gives up the ghost and dies.

‘You are now safe to exit the vehicle. I hope your journey has been a pleasant one