Blooming Women

8. Time to talk

How long ago had her trainers crunched at the edge of the road, now?
Amber had peered down the embankment; back-spill from Tiffany's headlights showing an expanse of sparsely mossed earth, too shaded even for grass, which fell away into a thicket of bushes in varying stages of leaf loss beneath the overshadowing trees.

'ARE YOU TRYING TO CAUSE AN ACCIDENT OR SOMETHING?'

I do hate to interrupt whilst you are stating the obvious Dear, but look down.

'What? I am; I can't see a damn thing. I'm going to get the torch and—'

Look DOWN.

Amber looked at her trainers, rather than down the embankment. 

Her foot was on the edge of a gritty, brown-orange dune of salt crystals; there were rough brush-marks up the outside of the low pile.
There was a rustle from the bottom of the slope; was that a red-brown flick in the varying blacks of the thicket?

'She swept the grit off the road? That. Is. IT!'

Amber swung her legs up to sit on the top of the crash barrier, and let out a faint squeak. Being fit, supple and active and were wonderful things, but sitting on a freezing metal surface in a short skirt which had just ridden up was an eye-widening experience.
The barrier shook beneath her, clonking against its post. Amber slipped off onto the far side quickly; there was a gap at the end of the steel section where bolts should have held the metal tight. Taken along with the missing road signs, somebody was trying to cause a death, not just an accident. With visions of murderous undertakers addicted to new top hats skipping through her mind, she skidded down the frosted crumble of packed earth.'

HEY! HEEEEEY!'

There was a gap in the thicket she hadn't seen from the road, and she scuffed down the last of the slope, knees bent for braking; she really needed that torch, but she could hear rustling amongst the dead leaves ahead of her. She was about to shout again when she realised that Samantha had been calling Dear? Deeear?  the whole way down the bank.

'What?'

I know you are exercising your prerogative as a modern woman to do this sort of thing – Heaven forfend that I should inhibit the urge – but don't you think I am better suited to search the area? Return to the car, bring your torch if you must, and I shall investigate.

The bushes rustled as if somebody was moving through them; Amber made out a shadow and stepped into the gap in front of her.

'Oi. I Want A Word With You.'

Samantha tutted. "Oi?" Really! It is 'I beg your pardon', or 'excuse me...' The tone of voice alone makes it clear that pleasantry is not intend— 

Snatching hands grabbed Amber's wrists as she warded off a surprise branch, holding her fast. Crying out, she wrenched upwards and outwards to break the hold; it didn't work. Her arms came to a stop, the thumbs of whoever was gripping her digging sharply into her wrists like sticks. 

'That's all right,' said a female voice from above the hands and level with Amber's face, 'we've got some time to talk.'

Oh. Said Samantha. I see my assistance shall not be required after all.