Chapter Text
By the third day, the smell of burning rabbit flesh had become appetising. By the seventh, the dirt under his nails had stopped bothering him, hope for a shower a distant fantasy. Now, nearly three weeks after the whole ordeal, he was beginning to mourn everyone he’d known that wasn’t currently in his immediate vicinity.
“You should eat,” said Gianpiero, plopping down on a tree stump next to him, holding a bowl of steaming rabbit ‘stew’ in each hand. “I know you’re not partial to rabbit, but even Norris had some fish yesterday.”
Max hummed, accepting one of the warm bowls. “Are we thinking of moving any time soon?” he asked in-between mouthfuls. It really wasn’t that bad.
“Where would we go?”
“I don’t know, military base? The police?”
“One of the ferrari engineers is trying to fix up a radio. We’ll see.”
“It’s no good staying in one place. We’ll get raided eventually. Or run out of food.”
“This is as good a place as it gets, I think. It’s not safe to move so many people around. And with Pierre’s leg…”
“We have a bus, a few cars.”
“Max, there’s over twenty people here, we can’t risk it. However, we have been thinking, Toto and I, that we should sent a scouting group into the city. Things should’ve calmed down a bit by now, and we could use a few medical supplies. How does that sound?”
Max perked up at that. It was the inaction that was driving him crazy, the rabbit-hunting and clothes-washing in the river, pretending to be medieval peasants.
“I’d like to go,” he said, dumping the rest of his food on the ground. What had remained was inedible.
“I’m not sure I’d let you.”
“Who’ll go then? Half these people are incompetent idiots, they only know to race cars. Most of them can’t even drive a normal one properly.”
“Is this because you want to help, or because you want to try and look for your dad.”
“My father’s dead.”
“I think so. I’m not sure you believe it.”
With that, Max stood up arduously, swatting away the dirt and dry leaves that had stuck to the back of his jeans.
“We’ll go tomorrow. I’ll talk to Toto and the others.”
Max didn’t look back as he left Gianpiero to finish his food, not waiting for a protesting remark. He made his way to a small group that had gathered around a now-dying fire.
Alex and Charles were crouched next to Pierre, looking intently at the bulging bandage around the latter’s ankle.
“It’s looking better,” Charles said, hesitant to touch the injured limb.
“It’s feeling better,” Pierre said, though he hissed as he tried to move it.
“Sun’s going down,” Max interrupted. “How’s that fire coming along.”
Not waiting for a response, he grabbed a long stick from the ground, pushing the brushwood around, trying to rekindle the flames.
He would’ve liked for some fond memory of him and his father bonding in the wilderness to have resurfaced in his mind now. However, there was no such memory to be found. Instead, he could only remember crying his eyes out when he’d been sent off on a class camping trip when he was eleven. He’d never thought, then, that anything he did there would have proven useful. It had now made him the defacto reluctant nature guide.
“If anything feels infected,” he continued, “say now, we’re going on a supply run tomorrow.”
“Are we?” asked Alex, moving to stand next to him and the fire.
“I didn’t say you were.” Max thought for a second. “I’ll need a few people. You can come, if you want.”
“Sure, I’ll go ask George.”
Max rolled his eyes as he heard Alex’s footsteps growing fainter. Russell, who had appointed himself ring leader, was the last person he needed there. The Gung ho attitude and misplaced, posh twat optimism was getting a bit much for him, and he knew he needed the group to be tight and focused. He turned to Charles and Pierre, who were speaking in hushed voices, still on the ground.
“Are you sure it doesn’t hurt that bad?”
“Yes, it’s fine. I’ll be good as new, give it a few days.”
“I’m worried that you’re not really telling me everything, because you’re worried about being a liability.”
“Gee, thanks, Leclerc. Lovely thoughts you’re putting in my head.”
“Stop that,” Charles said, brows furrowing, “you know you’re not. I won’t leave you behind and I don’t mind looking after you. You would’ve done the same.”
It was a lovely sentiment, Max thought, but it was going to be void if worse came to worst. They were vulnerable here, too many people, barely anything that could be used as a weapon. If they wanted to survive, the weakest links would have to be left behind, as much as nobody else wanted to admit it.
“You should try walking on it a bit,” Max started, “it’d be good to get your strength and agility back, in case we need to leave quickly.”
The terrified face Pierre made told him everything he needed to know that had been previously unsaid concerning the pain. He hadn’t been honest with Charles. The frenchman recovered quickly, the corners of his mouth twitching into a hesitant smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Sure, Max,” he said, “will do so tomorrow. Want to start pulling my weight around here.”
Dusk had lasted barely twenty minutes, the sky now enveloped in darkness. He’d done well with the fire, which now blazed within the makeshift ring of rocks. The lack of light pollution was one of the positives to be derived out of the otherwise dire situation, he thought, as he observed the sparkling stars which had freckled the dark canvas.
“No, seriously, Oscar,” he heard from behind, “it was fantastic. Your best work yet. You’ll have to give me the recipe after this whole thing is over. I shall make rabbit stew a staple of my diet, Aleix would probably have a lot of nice things to say about its protein content. Eat a lot of rabbits in the outback?”
“No.”
“Oh, okay. Cool.”
Max felt a hand around his back.
“Hanging in there, oh Pan, ancient lord of nature?” Russell asked in a singsongy voice.
Max gently grabbed the other man’s thin wrist and removed his hand from where it hung over his shoulder.
“As well as any of us.”
“Well,” George said, nodding towards Pierre with a smile, “not all of us necessarily. How’s the leg, big man?”
“It’s been better,” Pierre replied quietly. George crouched to ruffle the injured man’s hair.
“You’ll be running around before we know it. And we’re doing a supply run, I hear. We’ll het you fixed up in no time. We’ll get you some hot chocolate as well.”
“Look, man,” Max started, “this isn’t some fun field trip. It’s dangerous out there.”
He turned to Russell, whose jaw flexed for a second, before relaxing again. “Sir, yes, sir,” he said, mimicking an army salute. “It’ll be fine, in and out. So it’s you, me, and Alex for now?”
“Apparently.”
“I’ll come as well,” Charles said, almost in a whisper. “I want to make sure we get everything Pierre needs.
“Perfect little ambush group we’re forming here,” George replied, “and you, chef Piastri?”
“I don’t know.”
“Four’s a crowd already,” Max said. “We need to be tight.”
“Strength in numbers, no?”
“I’d like to have as few people running around like headless flies as possible, thank you.”
“Always so forward-thinking,” Russell replied, and his hand found his way to Max’s shoulder again. The latter suppressed the urge to push it off this time. “Can I talk to you a second? Discuss strategy for tomorrow or whatnot.”
Max hesitated. Crossing his arms, he kicked a few leaves around. After a few moments, he sighed. “Sure,” he said, and followed behind Russell.
They walked in silence, away from the camp, passing by Toto and Lewis, who were deep into a conversation of their own, and didn’t even acknowledge the former’s presence. After a few minutes, they found themselves at the secluded creek they fished and washed their clothing at. Russell took his shoes off and rolled his trousers hp before submerging his feet into the water, his back to Max.
“Food’s running low,” he said finally, his voice lacking its previous musicality, “and Pierre’s not doing well, physically. The others, mentally.”
“You’ve noticed,” Max replied, voice laced with sarcasm. “What did you expect exactly? A fun team building exercise?”
“Will you stop?” Russell suddenly turned to him, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m trying to keep spirits up, and your constant moping around and gloom and doom aren’t helping.”
“What do you want me to do, dance around and laugh? Play your stupid camp games?”
George swung his foot under the water, staring at the ripples intently.
“In these situations, it’s not only about food, shelter, and water.”
“Oh, because you’ve been in these situations before. Must’ve been awfully exciting in your Monaco mansion.”
“Stop antagonising me. They need the hope. Otherwise we’ll be looking at suicides en masse in the best case. Worst case, they all start killing and eating each other.”
“I’m sorry for not prioritising mental health over starving to death.”
“Look,” Russell started, getting close enough for Max to feel his breath on his face. He wondered how it still smelled fresh, swearing he was made of plastic sometimes. “I appreciate all you’re doing. The booby traps for rabbits were a brilliant idea, snd you’re killer with a makeshift fishing rod. But we can’t live like this, if this is our new normal. Not just with this.”
“I thought you said it’s gonna be over soon, no?”
Russell laughed at that, stepping back into the water. Max could barely make out his features in the dark, but he could assume they’d hardened.
“I’m not an idiot, despite what you may think. I know quite well that our situation is as bad as it gets. Gasly is injured, the young ones are terrified, Charles is spiralling, and Lewis is thinking of running off on his own. We’re losing ranks. We can’t make it on our own here, and we certainly can’t start fighting amongst ourselves. Not after we’ve made it this far, which is, if I may be frank, probably a lot further than ninety-nine percent of the human population.”
Max was quiet for a second. He unlaced his trainers, rolled up his jeans and joined Russell in the shallow water.
“We’ll do the supply run tomorrow. We leave at dawn,” he started, “I’m not sure that you should come.”
“I know we’re not on the best of terms, but you need me out there,” he said, and Max could hear him choosing his next words carefully, “and I’m not sure you hold the group’s best interests in mind.”
“Fuck you, what do you mean by that?”
Russell raised his arms defensively.
“I’m just saying, you’re a lone wolf. Always have been. You care about a few people here, but you’re not willing to compromise.”
Max thought then, about Gianpiero. About the panicked sadness in Charles’ eyes. About Gasly, looking utterly defeated. About Yuki’s quiet attempts to liven the atmosphere. About Kimi and how he seemed to have aged ten years in less than a month. He wanted to push Russell off his unsteady feet and let him hit his head on a rock on the way down. He imagined him writhing and struggling under the water as Max walked back to camp quietly.
Instead, he said: “I only want us to be prepared for the worst.”
“You’re not even hoping for the best.”
“It’s not good to be out here in the dark,” Max said, not wanting to indulge Russell’s pep talk. He stepped out of the water, dried his feet in the legs of his jeans, and put his trainers back on. “Let’s head back.”
The other man nodded, grabbed his shoes, and walked by Max, ignoring the way his bare feet sank into the wet soil.
After a final precautionary glance toward the thicket of the forest, and satisfied that there was no immediate threat, Max followed behind.
“Don’t step on a sharp rock,” he said, his eyes trying to make out any potential obstacles a few feet in front of Russell. “I’m not nursing you back to health.”
“I would rue the day.”
As they got closer to camp, a commotion seemed to have arisen — of the pleasant kind, if Max could judge by the faint laughter.
“They should keep it down,” he told Russell. “Your constant reassurances have made them reckless.”
“It’s not that loud,” the other man replied, suddenly stopping, turning the bottom of his sole towards him, balancing on one leg, and picking something off his heel. He hissed, discarding a small, sharp stick on the ground.
“I told you.”
“Shut up.”
The fire Max had reanimated was blazing large and red, illuminating the small crowd in a warm orange light. They were passing around a bottle of champagne, one of the last from the celebratory stock in the trunks under the bus.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He’d been leading the Spa race after Lando’s engine failure, Oscar and Russell breathing in his neck. The three of them were meant to be spraying each other on the podium with it, not passing it around in a makeshift camp, trying to ease the fear of what was out there.
There had been rumours of some sort of pandemic, yes. But with all that was happening in the world, nobody had really taken it seriously, only donning their trusty Covid masks, and washing their hands more frequently than usual. At first he’d thought someone had crashed and died when he’d seen the red flags. He’d driven his car back to the garage slowly, and before he knew what was happening he was being rushed into a bus, alongside the rest who’d made it back to the paddock. Just over thirty people, at first, drivers and engineers, and team principles alike. They’d passed raving, panicked crowds as they drove deep into the Ardennes forest. He’d seen Gasly and Ocon running behind, a maddened swarm behind them. The latter hadn’t made it to the bus as it slowed down. Pierre had, busting his ankle as he’d hopped onto the moving vehicle. Stupid injury.
He remembered Isack, Kimi, and Ollie hyperventilating at the back. He remembered Toto pacing up and down the aisle, frantically doing head counts every few minutes. He remembered Russell giving out Coca-Cola to everyone, passing a lukewarm can to him with a shaky hand, instructing him to only drink half. He remembered Lewis staring emptily from the seat next to the driver, some Mercedes engineer who was now trying to fix up a radio. Max had sat next to Carlos, who was shaking both seats in his agitation.
The same Carlos, who now seemed to be telling an animated story around the campfire. Before he could get close enough to hear, both him and Russell were stopped by a morose-looking Toto Wolff.
“Did you figure out the plan for tomorrow?”
Russell looked less like the self-appointed team captain, the persona he had retained over the last few weeks dissipating, leaving behind what looked like a scolded schoolgirl. Max watches as the brit twisted his thumbs, head hunched.
“We agreed to leave at sunrise,” he started, looking to Max for support, who nodded in return. “It’s less than an hour to Liege. Only me, Max, Charles, and Alex for now. Max thinks we’re too many, I think we should get a couple more.”
Toto hummed, placing one hand on top of Russell’s to calm the fidgeting, and another on his shoulder.
“Max is right, it shouldn’t be a crowd. But four’s too little. We’ll need a few units to venture out in order to spend as little time as possible in the city. Supermarket, pharmacy, police station. We need at least six, and that’s being optimistic that two can manage by themselves. Lewis will go with you,” the Austrian said, nodding towards Hamilton who only blinked in response, “Oscar’s good with a gun, he said he used to go to shooting ranges as a kid. We’ll give him the one we have.”
“Nando?” Lewis asked. “He’s got his head on straight, and I don’t want to be stuck with a bunch of teenagers.”
“Lewis, we’re all pushing thirty,” George replied.
“In the midst of puberty, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Fine,” Toto continued, “take Nando. And Carlos, he does well under pressure.”
Max huffed.
“Might as well load up the whole bus,” he said.
Toto ignored the remark. “You, George, and Lewis,” he started, turning to Max, “will go to the police station.”
“To do what, report a mass pandemic?” Max asked, irritated. He didn’t want anyone else giving him pointers on what to do while he was risking his life.
“No,” Toto said, raising his hand, “to find guns, ammo. Anything you can find. Charles, Carlos and Oscar will try and find a supermarket to get some non-perishables. I saw a Carrefour, I’ll give you directions on where to drop them off. Finally, Alex and Nando will do the pharmacy run. Charles has prepared a list of what Pierre needs, and I have a few add-ons.”
Toto pulled out a neatly folded sheet of paper from his back pocket, handing it to Russell.
“Give this to Alex,” he said, “after familiarising yourself with it. I’ll see you off tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late, you need the energy.”
With that, he retreated towards the parked bus, making his way inside, leaving Max, Lewis, and Russell in a quiet circle.
“I’m worried about us taking the only gun,” he said, referring to the one they’d acquired from one of the security guards, who had, unfortunately, not made it. “They’ll be left with nothing to defend themselves with.”
“We’ll only be gone half a day at most,” Lewis replied. “I hear the engineers are making good work with the radio, and they’ve managed to salvage a few of the walkie talkies. We’ll take a couple.”
Russell nodded, and looked towards the bustling campsite. “We should join them,” he said, “I don’t want them to worry about tomorrow.”
He started walking to the camp fire, and Max and Lewis, after the former had helped the brit up from the ground, followed suit.
Carlos was wordlessly gesticulating, imitating someone shooting a rifle. Apparently, what Mad had thought was actually a story, was a game of film charades.
“Apocalypse Now!”
“Scarface!”
“Pulp Fiction!”
The people gathered around the fire yelled their guesses, but Carlos seemed utterly unsatisfied. After a few moments, he defeatedly whispered an apology, and pointed to Max, saying, “I am very beautiful.”
That was met with a sea of confusion and quietness, which included Max. Suddenly, Yuki shouted, “Brad Pitt!” Carlos pointed and nodded enthusiastically, and Yuki made a thoughtful face.
“Fight Club,” he yelled, which was met with another exasperated shake of the head from the spaniard.
“Twelve Monkeys!”
“Legends of the Fall!”
“World War Z.”
Everyone shut up and Carlos clapped once, happily pointing at Lando.
“Thank you,” the former said. “Who’s next?”
“Bit tasteless, no?” Charles asked, still fixated on Pierre’s leg.
“I’ll have a go!” Russell yelled, finding his way to the middle of the crowd. “Right, let me think…”
Max didn’t feel like joining their stupid game, not with the grey cloud of doom that had started hanging over his head in anticipation of tomorrow’s ‘adventure’. He grabbed Lewis by the forearm and dragged him towards the furthest possible point that was still illuminated by the light of the fire.
“We need to set a few ground rules for tomorrow,” he started. Lewis made a face.
“And what makes you the authority?”
“Look, you’ve dealt with Russell. You know what he’s like. I need to make sure that we’re both on the same page when it comes to the tough decisions that might have to be made.”
“What are you implying, exactly?” Lewis asked, looking at him with one brow raised almost to his forehead.
“Him and I, we don’t,” Max paused for a second, “have the same priorities. “If, say, we have a trunk-load of important supplies and Alex gets stuck somewhere, I need us to be thinking about the best way to get all of our asses out of there.”
“You’re saying you want me to step on the gas if it comes to leaving someone behind?”
“No. I’d never ask you to do this. I need you to keep George’s foot away from the brakes. I’ll be doing the stepping.”
Lewis nodded. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
“Okay,” Lewis replied, “get some rest. We have a tough day ahead of us.”
When Max awoke, the sky had developed a hazy greyness. He looked at his watch, which read 4:53. The sun would rise in about half an hour.
He untangled his limbs from where he had tucked them in-between the bus seats, stretched, and made his way to the front. On the row in front of him was Kimi, snoring loudly, head swinging over his shoulder. He placed a gentle hand on his head, careful not to wake him. Through the window, he saw Lewis, washing his face in a basin of water. Max heard someone shuffle from behind him.
“Is it time?” Charles asked, legs folded over an armrest.
“We should leave in thirty minutes.”
Charles rubbed at his face, yawning. “I’m a bit scared. Are you scared?”
Of course he fucking was. “It’ll be fine. We’ll be in and out,” he said.
“Promise?”
“Yeah.”
Before he turned, he saw Charles walking over to Pierre, shaking him awake with a gentle hand. Not wanting to witness the sentimentalities, Max walked to the front of the bus, recognising the sparkling silver watch on Toto’s hand, which hung limply between the driver’s and the shotgun seat. When he got there, he saw Russell, long, lanky legs cramped awkwardly over the dashboard, his spine curled in a way which made Max’s back hurt, head resting on Toto’s lap.
Max shook the Mercedes team principal awake.
“It’s almost five,” he said, and Toto woke up with a sharp intake of breath, eyes widening, taking in his surroundings. The Austrian looked down, his hand absentmindedly dragging itself over Russell’s cheek.
“Thanks, Max,” he said. “Get ready, I’ll wake him up.”
Max nodded, stepping out of the bus. Outside, Lewis, bow fresh-faced, was strapping a backpack across his chest.
“Alex’s gone to the loo,” he informed him. “Nando’s taking a dip in the creek.”
“I’ll do the same,” Max replied, making his way to the place where he’d talked with George the previous night. There he found Nando, butt-naked, floating like a dead man.
“All good?” Max axed, stripping his clothes off. That shocked Alonso, and he nearly went underwater. He shook the wetness out of his hair, running a hand through his face as Max joined him.
“Don’t wanna die unshowered,” the spaniard said.
“We’re not dying. It’ll all be fine.”
Fernando laughed. “You’re starting to sound like George.”
Max spent a few minutes alternating between submerging himself fully in the cool water and floating in the soft ripples. He followed Nando out, both of them using the same towel to pat themselves dry before arduously slipping their clothes back onto their damp skin.
When they came back to camp, Oscar, Carlos, and Alex were nursing bowls of what looked liked tea-infused porridge.
“Want some?” Charles asked, but Max shook his head. Nando took a portion.
“Right, ready to roll?” Max heard from behind, turning to see Russell emerging from the bus with perfectly styled hair, donning sunglasses which Max knew were hiding deep shadows under his eyes. The rest of them put their bowls in a small pile, and got up.
“Which car are we taking?” Oscar asked.
“We’ll do the Range Rover,” Lewis replied, joining the group alongside Toro, “I’m driving.”
Max grabbed the backpack he’d prepared the previous night before going to bed — a flashlight, a swiss knife, two bottles of previously boiled water, some antiseptic and bandages, a few protein bars, a RedBull hoodie, and a walkie talkie were tucked inside of it.
“Let’s go.”
He waited patiently as the rest of the group said their goodbyes, accepting a hug from Yuki and Lando reluctantly. He watched as Toto spoke to Russell on the side, the latter nodding frantically before the two of them embraced quickly.
“Stay safe, yeah?” Kimi said as he appeared in front of him, patting him on the shoulder, then moving to Lewis, to whom he said the same thing.
When he got to the Range Rover, the seat next to the driver was already occupied by Fernando, who was hugging his own backpack, so he made his way to the back.
Soon after, Russell opened the door, plopping himself down in the middle, knee bumping against Max’s. He was followed by Charles, Carlos, and Oscar, who huddled themselves in the additional trunk seats, all looking very uncomfortable, before Alex and Lewis joined them, the former sitting next to Russell, and the latter behind the wheel.
“Right,” Russell said, slapping his thighs, and then resting his arms on the two front seats. “According to Toto, the plan is we drop Charles, Carlos, and Oscar at the supermarket first, seeing as they might take the longest. Then, we find the pharmacy which we’ll leave Nando and Alex to raid, and then the remaining three of us will head to the police station. Order’s the same on the way back.”
Lewis started the engine wordlessly, and backed out of the campsite. Max observed the sad faces sending them off as they drove away.
___
He didn’t realise he’d fallen asleep, waking up to the sharp bone of Russell’s shoulder digging into the side of his head.
The streets were completely deserted, he noted as he wiped drool off his mouth. He’d left a wet stain on Russell’s t-shirt, who was, thankfully, still snoozing, his head rested against Alex.
Max made eye contact with Lewis in the rearview mirror.
“We should see Carrefour now,” he said, and after less than a minute, he parked the car next to the supermarket, the windows of which were completely busted. “That’s your stop,” Lewis said, turning to Charles. Carlos nudged the seat in front of him, pulling Alex out of his stupor. He swung Russell’s sleeping body toward Max, careful not to wake him, before stepping out of the car, and pulling the seat’s latch to let the trio out.
“You have the gun?” he asked, looking at Oscar.
“Got it.”
“Walkie talkies?”
“Yes.”
“Stay safe,” Alex said, putting the seat back into place. They watched as Carlos, Charles, and Oscar retreated carefully into the deserted supermarket. Russell’s large head was warm and heavy on his shoulder.
The quietness didn’t last long — a couple of minutes later, Max felt the car stop abruptly, and he carefully swung the sleeping Russell back onto Alex’s, in order to look closely at the view in front.
A lonely wanderer had appeared — clothes torn and bloodied, gait slow and imprecise. He — it — was crossing the street at a zebra, as if bewitched by some previous memory of jaywalking laws. Lewis advanced slowly.
“Just run it over,” Nando said from the front seat. They all heard the low guttural groan that came from the thing that had once been human.
“I’m not gonna run it over, dude,” Lewis replied, “would you run over a deer?”
“It’s not a deer.”
Max’s stomach felt suddenly uneasy. He looked at Alex whose face was unreadable — something between fear and calculated calmness. Then, he looked at Russell, features relaxed, though brow furrowed, thin, gangly limbs folded in an oblivious calmness.
“Step on it,” Max said, suddenly, not taking his eyes off the man next to him, “just run it over.” He grabbed at the backpack between his legs, thinking of the fastest way he could get to the kitchen knife.
Lewis huffed, not saying a word. Max saw him squeeze his eyes shut in the rearview mirror, and before he knew it, the engine roared. He shut his eyes also, one hand squeezing Russell’s forearm, whilst the other reached for the grab handle above the window next to him. He didn’t know if anyone saw the collision, but knew that everyone, save for the sleeping man next to him, felt it. He made himself imagine a sleeping policeman in the road, rather than a body.
“Fucking hell,” Lewis said, and Max opened his eyes. His hands didn’t release what he was holding. “Fuck.”
“It’s okay,” Nando said, “it was dead already.”
He’d meant to ask him what they were like. Nando had made his way to the campsite on foot, showing up bloodied and frazzled. He’d avoided questions about what had happened to Lance.
Before long, the car slowed down again, stopping in front of a store which bore the sign ‘Febelco’. That must have been the pharmacy.
“You got Toto’s list?” Lewis asked.
Nando nodded, opening the passenger door. Alex hesitated for a second, before placing a quick kiss atop sleeping Russell’s head.
“Don’t let him die,” he said, before exiting the car, “and you stay alive as well. See you in a bit.”
Max nodded.
It was just the three of them now, the soft hum of the car a backdrop for their thoughts. Two of them, really, as Russell was in the land of sweet oblivion.
“We should be nearing the station now,” Lewis said, eyes fixated on the road. “Fuck, I really didn’t want to run that guy over.”
“Not a guy,” Max said, “not really.”
“Still.”
“Yeah.”
Liege was a pretty town. They drove along the Meuse river, noticing ornate bridges and stylised benches and streetlights. He’d raced in Spa so many times, a track so close to his home, yet he’d never got to appreciate the scenery.
“We’re here,” Lewis said, bringing Max back from the depths of his thoughts. He looked over, seeing a police station sign in french.
Reaching over, he placed slow fingers on Russell’s knee, shaking it slightly. The other man woke with urgency, looking around, hands flying to his pockets, as if he kept something there which would aid in self-defence.
“We’re getting off, Russell,” Max said as Lewis turned the ignition off.
The sleep-induced confusion was etched on the brit’s features for a few seconds, eyes seemingly taking up about ninety-percent of his face. Max remembered then, the way Russell had looked when they were kids, when he’d felt so much older than the other man, George lingering around with that intense, uncanny look, gaze always a bit sunken, as if he had never really slept. All that disappeared, replaced swiftly with a manufactured confidence.
“Ah, everything going to plan I see,” Russell said, perking up and looking around. “Sorry for falling asleep, those bus seats are a killer for my height.” He gestured toward his legs lamentably. “We drop the others off?”
“Yeah,” Max replied, swinging his backpack on his shoulder, “gotta make it quick, make sure we pick them up before they get in trouble. You got everything?”
“Yep,” Russell said, nodding towards the boot of the car.
“All here,” Lewis said.
“Good,” Max replied, exiting the car, “no wandering about.”