Roadkill

The woman readjusted the child seatbelt, which had fallen down.  
It's a sign, she said.  
She'd insisted on putting it in. He didn't like to ask.  
She was sitting in the back seat and the contraption was in the front. He started the engine and they began to drive.  
It's the safest car ever built. For road users, passengers, and pedestrians. Technology. It drives itself. Like a plane, how they take off and land, it's all pre set by a computer program. And you see, when it drives itself - no room for human error, see. You can't go wrong with this car.  
He stopped. Was he overselling it? He didn't think so. The woman seemed reassured, but at the same time it didn't seem as if she was actually listening to him. Her appearance had more than a suggestion of the neurotic about it; unbrushed blonde mane, wide, permanently shocked stare, fine lines around her tense forehead and unsmiling mouth. Long thin twiddly fingers. Not bad-looking though, for all that.  
Not half bad.  
He noticed her eyes kept glancing to the mirrors and the windows. Which, as Derren Brown would tell you, is a subconscious sign that you're scanning for an escape route.  
He decided to demonstrate. He put the car into auto-cruise. And turned the seat around with the back to the dashboard.  
My God, what the hell are you doing?  
He laughed. He couldn't help it.  
Haven't you seen the adverts? This thing will brake for a hedgehog crossing the road.  
And we're safe, too, he added. If anything happens, the car will stop.  
Relax, the car will stop.  
We're going at five miles an hour.  
 
Look, he said, in a tone of mild surprise. She turned around sharply and they both looked through the back window.  
A child was following the car, plodding along with the sullen determination of that girl from The Ring. Its hair was like its mother's.  
Elsie!  
Elsie!  
She made as if to get out of the car.  
No! he said, and, shocked, she didn't. Never get out of a moving vehicle, he said, no matter how slow it's going.  
THEN STOP THE CAR! she screamed. STOP IT!  
STOP!  
He stopped the car.  
She ran out and picked her child up. He got out of the car too. In silence they walked back to the barbie and found the distressed aunt, who was watching her own kids and had taken her eye off it for a moment. They deposited it back into her care.  
They hadn't driven far. The silence as they walked back to the car was stretched and expanded. It filled the space like a balloon.  
 
You'll have to excuse me, she said, it's a long time since I've been in a car.  
He was taken aback that she'd spoken. Not to worry, he replied, these things take - time -  
To get used to it again, he said.  
Her mouth formed a wobbly smile. It broke his heart. He hoped they could be friends, and expressed words to that effect. She held the smile on her face as if with safety pins.  
He was a little discouraged.  
In the car once more, she looked down at her hands. I'd like to get away, please, she said quietly. He couldn't think of anything to say, so he set the car into drive. They accelerated. His fingers longingly skimmed the air over the "sport" button.  
 
He heard her voice: Stop. She's following again. And then things began to happen that were beyond his control and seemed to be the actions of something like gods. The child ran like thunder, its face set in a Wednesday Addams impersonation and its chubby legs going flop, flop. The child threw itself at the car, its starfish fingers going smack as they hit the bulletproof glass,  
squeeech  
and the car air freshener fell down and skimmed the air over the sport button and he must have thought he could stop it, because he reached for it  
and his right ring finger pressed the sport button.  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
She was screaming, she must have been screaming for a while. He turned the car around. The alarm went off. He left it on. He drove back in shock - yes, shock - he needed a cup of tea. The rationality of his thought was amazing. He drove back to where he had. Where the it -  
 
Her head must have slipped under the wheel.  
It was split in two, ground into the road by the sturdy wheels of the impenetrable car. Dark purple spilled from her and soaked into the tarmac. He thought: That must be blood. Or brain.
Her socks had fallen down while she ran. Her shoes were untouched. Her skirt was rumpled; he felt an itching to set it straight. With a sickening sickness that heralded his return to reality, he realised the child had gained an importance in his mind that hadn't been there before. The tyre tracks ran through her like roadkill.