The Explosion-Week 5

Maisie, wearing her navy blue beret and long raincoat, camera strap over one shoulder, sat patiently  on the small plastic sofa, her case by her side.   From outside there was a scream of  brakes and a violent spitting of stones.  A car door slammed viciously.   Maisie, taking her  case,  got up and   pushed open the verandah doors.  

A short,  portly lady in a brightly coloured dress and a light scarf over her shoulders marched in stately style across the grass lawn and came up the red polished  steps of the verandah.  Aunt Agatha had arrived to take her to Kingston.

“Are you ready, Maisie?” she said in a rather gruff, authoritative manner.  Overawed by the stern figure, Maisie  smiled wanly and nodded and, led by Auntie, climbed into the  back of the black Austin Cambridge.

As they drove down the steep road that led from the boarding school, Maisie  stared at the surrounding mountains that ran all around like a chain of green dumplings.

At the foot of the hill the narrow road wend its way precipitously into the deeper, wilder  countryside.   Bright  green bush,  ragged banana trees and tall palms lined the verges.   At points during  the descent, in vertiginous clearings, they had panoramic views of  the purple peaks of the Dry Harbour Mountains.   Here and there white, orange, and pinks houses of villages were sprinkled like confetti down their green coats.

The road, pockmarked with potholes, became ever more tortuous.  Aunt Agatha was constantly punching her  hooter as she approached the endless hairpin bends.  From the winding road below came an answering call.  The two hooters seemed to argue with each other as they drew closer. Occasionally  they caught glimpses of a bus lumbering up towards them. As the roar of their rival grew ever louder, Aunt Agatha pulled prudently over to one side.

In a great cloud of blue smoke, battered, muddied roof buckling beneath a mountain of boxes and baskets   and sacks,  ‘Spring Blossom’ finally emerged, her passengers packed inside, waving and smiling as they passed the stationary Austin Cambridge.  

“Are you all right Maisie?” said Aunt Agatha turning to her passenger as they slipped back onto the road.  Out of the corner of her eye, with a gasp of terror,  she caught sight of the  Calor Gas van and a sugarcane truck, racing side by side, hurtling round the bend  behind her.  She slammed her foot on the brake.  Too late.  The truck swerved to the right but the van  smashed into the Austin with a huge crash, carrying both  vehicles uncontrollably slithering across the road and  ripping through the verge  bush, rolling and tumbling like a couple of boulders down  the mountainside.  They  came to a sinister, silent stop in a hollow, flames licking about  the van.  Suddenly, with a huge whoosh, an  orange  explosion leapt from the wrecked van,  sending  a shower of debris and shrapnel high  into the air.  The sound booming amongst the hills as a long stream of smoke curled into the bright blue sky.