This is my first normal 'boy meets girl' story, and it's a bit dark. It takes some time to get to the sex but please bear with me.
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I still can't remember when it began...
My last normal memory was a slow drive north to visit my old friend Steve who had invited me for a weekend shooting in the country. Both old army buddies (we went through basic training together), he was now an assistant head gamekeeper on our former Commanding Officer's country estate on the Scottish borders.
I'd left as a Corporal after 9 years and joined the London Ambulance Service as a paramedic, while he'd stayed for 12 and left with the officer he'd became orderly and driver for, moving with his wife and young family to a large cottage on the edge of the vast country estate and baronetcy our Colonel had inherited from his father.
I'd started chatting with Steve through our regiment's old comrades Facebook page and he saw pictures of me shooting - he invited me up at the end of the season. I later found out he was thinking of trying to reduce insurance payments and having a selection of trained medics he could have on site for free or at least 'payment in kind' via these hunting trips could only be a good thing for all concerned and I was to be the first.
I had driven from my South London home, and heading north and 3.00pm saw me on the north circular and onto the M1 and north. In the boot of my car I had an overnight bag, a collection of various hunting clothes ranging from some original army camouflage left over from my previous life, an expensive 'Real Tree' camo jacket and trousers I'd borrowed from another shooting mate and of course my trusty sage green, waxed cotton Barbour coat.
The reason, I only had a rough idea of what kind of shooting I would be getting up to. I was hoping to get in some grouse or pheasant shooting, perhaps some pigeon; I was desperately hoping I might get in some deer stalking but seeing as my mate's boss sold that kind of pleasure to guests at something like £3,000 for a weekend I figured that might be a bit of an outside chance.
So I had come prepared for all sorts of shooting. This included two of my favourite shotguns, a reasonably new Winchester 1400 and my all-time favourite Beretta 'Silver Pigeon' - an 'over and under' shotgun and probably the industry standard of its kind. With them was 500 shotgun cartridges, 32gm 6's that the friend I'd borrowed the jacket from said would do for anything the size of a duck or smaller.
At seven that evening and just shy of Pontefract I stopped for a meal, and half an hour later, full of fish and chips and with a relieved bladder I plugged my mobile phone into the charger and headed north courtesy of the in-built sat-nav and my good friend Steve and the warm welcome he'd promised.
I got caught in a traffic jam where the M1 and the A1 joined around Wetherby and found myself at close to midnight sat in a small roadside café with a few others. The owner said that we could stay for while the road was cleared and refilled the coffee pot.
The shop had no Wi-fi and I had no mobile number for Steve, so I wrote an email and set it so that as soon as it got a signal it would send.
The owner refilled my coffee cup as the Police officer said the road would be clear in another twenty minutes. That is my last memory of that journey.
I woke up strapped in my car seat, my head resting at a weird angle - on the door pillar in fact. I could hear the sound of running water and felt some chill in the air. As I came round my head with thumping and spinning somewhat, and the medic in me took over. My fuddled brain told me that I was in the car and must have had an accident. I forced myself to relax, the best thing the army taught soldiers was problem solving and part of that was first aid. The thing they taught us in combat first aid was that calm people live longer, even with a big hole in you or parts hanging off, stay calm and keep a cool head. I went into squaddie mode.
I took a deep breath, and my chest expanded, and feeling no pain with that simple act I relaxed and started by flexing my fingers on both hands. Next I twisted my wrists, raised my elbows, shrugged my shoulders, no pain, so far so good.
I wriggled my toes, lifted my feet as much as the pedals would let me, rolled my ankles and moved my knees and thighs all without pain. I started to pat myself down feeling for lumps, bumps, rips, blood stains and anything else that might indicate damage. Finally I felt across my scalp, nothing, no swellings or bumps or even so much as a graze. Another thought struck me and looked to my front, the airbag hadn't even deployed. What kind of accident had I been in!
Now it was the big one, I lifted my head from its resting place and held it by muscle alone touching where my head should have bashed against the metal strut it had so recently been resting against. I touched it, expecting a smarting pain at the very least but nothing, I seemed to have survived unscathed so far so slowly I tipped my head forward and touched my chest with my chin, then let it back slowly until it touched the head rest. I leaned forward but was held in place by the inertia function of the seat belt, which must have held me since... since what ever happened to find me here. I decided that I was going to release the seat belt and see if I could get out of the car and find out where I was.
That passed without drama, and I took the decision to get upright. This too was successful and I found that I couldn't stand up as the passenger door, now above my head, didn't want to open. I pulled the catch and put my shoulder to the door but nothing happened. Thinking like a driver I checked the ignition key and it was still in the on position. I flicked the central locking button and nothing happened. Perhaps the battery was flat or shorting out, my car was laid on its side after all. Nothing for it but to break some glass.
I'd left the army as CMT, a combat medical technician and upgraded to a paramedic in London. I'd seen several cars that had rolled over and had seen the occasional fireman brace himself against the front seats and push the front window out, especially if the roof of the car had squashed a bit. This I tried and the front windscreen popped out and away from me.
I slid out of the gap, and looked around me. I was in the country, that was for sure, and there was just enough of a woodland canopy for me to see in the half light. I looked at my watch, but it was obvious that the glass was broken as I couldn't make out anything.
My mobile phone was back in the car and I hoped it had survived whatever had happened to find me in this situation. There was a definite chill in the air and I slid back into my car through the open front. I reached onto the back seat where I knew my Barbour to be and pulled it out and put it on. My cloth peaked cap and gloves were in the pocket and I put those on. I reached into the glove compartment for the torch I kept there, but as I opened the compartment I saw that the torch must somehow have switched on and the last fading of the batteries.
What? It could only have been as the car had impacted or rolled or whatever had happened to it. It was a good quality LED torch that had been a birthday gift from a former girlfriend. The battery should have been good for five or six hours.
I looked out into the slowly appearing woodland around me and guessed that it must be around five or six o'clock; I knew that I'd still been drinking coffee at midnight so...
The general dopiness in my head had eased somewhat, but this still didn't make sense. I thought back to the jobs I'd worked with the Fire and Rescue services, and in what was left of the torch light and thought on why the car airbag hadn't deployed. I felt my face, no soreness that would indicate that my face had bashed into one of those lifesaving devices.
