Prospect Business Park. Dartford, Kent.
Kevin Norris impatiently checked his phone again: On the Wizzit app screen the little pin marking the position of the courier van with his consignment aboard crawled with an annoying slowness closer to his position. The delay was due to the traffic of course, and there was nothing anyone could do about that. Still, he wished it would arrive soon so he could collect his latest delivery of promotional items and then get on the road. Norris didn't have any appointments arranged for today; instead he'd act like the road warrior he was by dropping in to some of his regular customers to see what trade he could drum up. Those visits were usually successful to some degree, and provided you didn't make a nuisance of yourself by turning up unannounced too often, they kept you, along with your business, to the forefront of your clients' minds.
At long last the icon marking the van's position neared the off ramp which led to Prospect Park, a mixture of office and light industrial/warehouse units where Kevin was located. Norris had a small temporary office in Enterprise House, a designer ugly brick built office block on a short-term let while he waited for one of the current tenants to vacate a nearby warehouse unit so that his company could expand into it. His was one of the few businesses which were struggling to keep up with demand at the moment; but then fear always was good for sales...
Rather than wait for the driver to report to the common reception desk, Kevin decided to go out and meet him. After all, being proactive was what had got him where he was today. He locked the office door and trotted briskly down the flights of stairs to the lobby. He'd just flashed the pretty young receptionist a goodbye smile and left the building when he was roughly thrown to the pavement.
What the- thought Norris, but no sooner had he done so his training took over and he was ready to defend himself against whoever had blindsided him, but then he understood what was really happening. Christ! Not here... No! This isn't possible... Yet there was no mistaking it; he was reminded of the smaller scale event he'd experienced while on a business trip to Japan. It's a fucking earthquake!
Galvanised into action Norris understood the danger he was in and how to get out of it. Though the ground was still shuddering, making walking nearly impossible, he realised he must move now or risk serious injury or possible death from debris falling from the building. Unsteadily he heaved himself into a crouch, and part running, part crawling on wobbly legs, scuttled for the safety of the car park. A dislodged roof tile crashed near by him, then another, then more followed; shattering on impact with the tarmac and pelting him with stinging fragments. Jagged shards of glass shaken out of window frames cascaded down; much of it landing on the roofs of nearby cars, settling there like sharp hail.
Behind him and off to the right he heard a thump which sounded like a load of rubble being dumped all at once into a skip. That must be a part of the building detaching itself thought Norris, as he lurched between cars rocking on their suspension and shrieking their electronic distress at being disturbed from their slumber.
It had been many years since he'd been made redundant from a promising junior officer's career in the Army; during the intervening time a life spent in seats of various kinds had left him unfit and even pudgy, but the adrenaline response lent him speed and soon he reached the safety of a neatly mown grass strip located at the edge of the car park. Hey, that's not too bad for a bloke in his late forties, but I really must get back into shape he resolved.
Holding on for dear life to a diamond mesh wire cyclone fence he heard the squeals of urgently applied brakes and the hollow thumps of multiple collisions on the foliage screened major road running alongside the business centre: The noises were followed by a deeper scraping of skidding tyres on tarmac and far heavier impacts. Jesus Christ! It sounds as if there's going to be utter carnage over there! he mused.
120Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyXGTozrmwz
Near Prospect Business Park, close to the A2/A2018 junction
By now Ryan Buckland was well into his schedule. Constantly on the alert for an idiot driver to make a mistake, he remained hyper aware while flicking between RSE and SportsTalk on the radio. Faced with the choice of Neil Simpson's inane verbal diarrhoea or an all day autopsy of the England cricket team's latest woeful performance he decided to switch the set off.
At first Ryan thought the juddering was something wrong with the van's steering transmitted through the wheel and pedals, or something must have broken loose; but the sight of other vehicles fishtailing around while trying desperately to drive in a straight line made him realise it wasn't the van at fault. He knew what could happen on a multilane highway when just one driver made a fatal error and the cascade of misfortune spread - he'd nearly been caught up in a pile up once with only his quick reactions saving him - and he didn't want to be involved in a multiple vehicle shunt.
He'd already been slowing down in the inner lane in preparation to turn off up a slip road to the junction which led to the business park, so he drove onto the hard shoulder and gunned the engine: He needed to get out of here now! The van surged forward but as he wrestled with the wheel Buckland noticed what appeared to be small cracks in the road surface, widening and racing in parallel along with his vehicle. Holy shit!
The shaking vibrated the periphery of his vision into an indistinct blur, but in the brief look he caught in his rear view mirror he saw the heart stopping sight of a large articulated lorry behind travelling all but broadside on and it was catching up with him!
In panic Ryan trod the accelerator all the way down to the carpet; the engine laboured from being revved this way in too low a gear but he gained precious space from the looming wall of metal chasing him. As he began to climb away from the dual carriageway to safety Ryan glimpsed the HGV driver trying to turn into the skid to bring his rig back under control, but he ran out of road and time. Part of the juggernaut's trailer hit the crash barrier at the junction where the the off ramp began, rending it before becoming caught for a moment. This was enough to flip the boxy trailer on to its side, pulling the tractor unit over with it.
The jackknifed truck ground along the road in a shower of sparks and shredded metal before smashing into a concrete truss of the overpass; slewing across most of the carriageway. Ryan knew there would be little or no chance of the drivers behind being able to avoid the grimy underbelly of the lorry swelling into their windscreens, but even as the horrific scene was replaced by the sight of a rough grass verge rushing by in his right hand window he saw his problems were far from over.
Ahead of him a woman driving a Japanese micro car had done the sensible thing and slowed right down when disaster began to unfold around her morning commute; but now as she eased to a halt at the stop lines leading onto the large interchange roundabout her car was directly in the way of Ryan's van which was about to rear-end it at high speed. There was no time to sound his horn, and no point; she wouldn't be able to move out of his way. Instead Buckland spun the steering wheel hard left and stood on his brakes as much as he dared. He could feel the anti-lock brake system in action; tyres scrabbling for grip as the brakes operated. Narrowly missing the hatchback and its startled driver, Ryan's van sailed over the white line and on to the double lane traffic circle, fortunately there were no vehicles on a collision course with him as he continued to slow.
As the tremors ceased Ryan regained control over his van and instinctively aimed it at the usual exit he took when making a delivery. As he left the roundabout Buckland noted a flashy looking BMW had gone off the road, leaving a wiggly set of skid marks behind before coming to rest in some ornamental bushes, the hapless driver surrounded by mushrooms of deflating airbags. Further along, a motorcyclist had been less fortunate; the quake had unbalanced him and he'd wrapped himself and his machine around an aluminium sign pole. Dispassionately Ryan thought it likely the rider had been killed by the impact.
Buckland, still shaking, eased his van into Prospect Park and spotting an empty parking space, reversed into it: A wise courier always does their reversing first when parking for a delivery, just in case some dozy bugger blocks you off; at least pointing in the right direction you have a greater chance of being able to drive away from someone else's poor parking choice. There, not understanding he was in a state of profound shock, Ryan Buckland sat immobile; his hands tightly gripping the wheel, waiting for something to happen.
120Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkqFPUiRE4u
Prospect Business Park. Dartford, Kent.
Kevin Norris impatiently checked his phone again: On the Wizzit app screen the little pin marking the position of the courier van with his consignment aboard crawled with an annoying slowness closer to his position. The delay was due to the traffic of course, and there was nothing anyone could do about that. Still, he wished it would arrive soon so he could collect his latest delivery of promotional items and then get on the road. Norris didn't have any appointments arranged for today; instead he'd act like the road warrior he was by dropping in to some of his regular customers to see what trade he could drum up. Those visits were usually successful to some degree, and provided you didn't make a nuisance of yourself by turning up unannounced too often, they kept you, along with your business, to the forefront of your clients' minds.
At long last the icon marking the van's position neared the off ramp which led to Prospect Park, a mixture of office and light industrial/warehouse units where Kevin was located. Norris had a small temporary office in Enterprise House, a designer ugly brick built office block on a short-term let while he waited for one of the current tenants to vacate a nearby warehouse unit so that his company could expand into it. His was one of the few businesses which were struggling to keep up with demand at the moment; but then fear always was good for sales...
Rather than wait for the driver to report to the common reception desk, Kevin decided to go out and meet him. After all, being proactive was what had got him where he was today. He locked the office door and trotted briskly down the flights of stairs to the lobby. He'd just flashed the pretty young receptionist a goodbye smile and left the building when he was roughly thrown to the pavement.
What the- thought Norris, but no sooner had he done so his training took over and he was ready to defend himself against whoever had blindsided him, but then he understood what was really happening. Christ! Not here... No! This isn't possible... Yet there was no mistaking it; he was reminded of the smaller scale event he'd experienced while on a business trip to Japan. It's a fucking earthquake!
Galvanised into action Norris understood the danger he was in and how to get out of it. Though the ground was still shuddering, making walking nearly impossible, he realised he must move now or risk serious injury or possible death from debris falling from the building. Unsteadily he heaved himself into a crouch, and part running, part crawling on wobbly legs, scuttled for the safety of the car park. A dislodged roof tile crashed near by him, then another, then more followed; shattering on impact with the tarmac and pelting him with stinging fragments. Jagged shards of glass shaken out of window frames cascaded down; much of it landing on the roofs of nearby cars, settling there like sharp hail.
Behind him and off to the right he heard a thump which sounded like a load of rubble being dumped all at once into a skip. That must be a part of the building detaching itself thought Norris, as he lurched between cars rocking on their suspension and shrieking their electronic distress at being disturbed from their slumber.
It had been many years since he'd been made redundant from a promising junior officer's career in the Army; during the intervening time a life spent in seats of various kinds had left him unfit and even pudgy, but the adrenaline response lent him speed and soon he reached the safety of a neatly mown grass strip located at the edge of the car park. Hey, that's not too bad for a bloke in his late forties, but I really must get back into shape he resolved.
Holding on for dear life to a diamond mesh wire cyclone fence he heard the squeals of urgently applied brakes and the hollow thumps of multiple collisions on the foliage screened major road running alongside the business centre: The noises were followed by a deeper scraping of skidding tyres on tarmac and far heavier impacts. Jesus Christ! It sounds as if there's going to be utter carnage over there! he mused.
120Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1H8apPROG2
Near Prospect Business Park, close to the A2/A2018 junction
By now Ryan Buckland was well into his schedule. Constantly on the alert for an idiot driver to make a mistake, he remained hyper aware while flicking between RSE and SportsTalk on the radio. Faced with the choice of Neil Simpson's inane verbal diarrhoea or an all day autopsy of the England cricket team's latest woeful performance he decided to switch the set off.
At first Ryan thought the juddering was something wrong with the van's steering transmitted through the wheel and pedals, or something must have broken loose; but the sight of other vehicles fishtailing around while trying desperately to drive in a straight line made him realise it wasn't the van at fault. He knew what could happen on a multilane highway when just one driver made a fatal error and the cascade of misfortune spread - he'd nearly been caught up in a pile up once with only his quick reactions saving him - and he didn't want to be involved in a multiple vehicle shunt.
He'd already been slowing down in the inner lane in preparation to turn off up a slip road to the junction which led to the business park, so he drove onto the hard shoulder and gunned the engine: He needed to get out of here now! The van surged forward but as he wrestled with the wheel Buckland noticed what appeared to be small cracks in the road surface, widening and racing in parallel along with his vehicle. Holy shit!
The shaking vibrated the periphery of his vision into an indistinct blur, but in the brief look he caught in his rear view mirror he saw the heart stopping sight of a large articulated lorry behind travelling all but broadside on and it was catching up with him!
In panic Ryan trod the accelerator all the way down to the carpet; the engine laboured from being revved this way in too low a gear but he gained precious space from the looming wall of metal chasing him. As he began to climb away from the dual carriageway to safety Ryan glimpsed the HGV driver trying to turn into the skid to bring his rig back under control, but he ran out of road and time. Part of the juggernaut's trailer hit the crash barrier at the junction where the the off ramp began, rending it before becoming caught for a moment. This was enough to flip the boxy trailer on to its side, pulling the tractor unit over with it.
The jackknifed truck ground along the road in a shower of sparks and shredded metal before smashing into a concrete truss of the overpass; slewing across most of the carriageway. Ryan knew there would be little or no chance of the drivers behind being able to avoid the grimy underbelly of the lorry swelling into their windscreens, but even as the horrific scene was replaced by the sight of a rough grass verge rushing by in his right hand window he saw his problems were far from over.
Ahead of him a woman driving a Japanese micro car had done the sensible thing and slowed right down when disaster began to unfold around her morning commute; but now as she eased to a halt at the stop lines leading onto the large interchange roundabout her car was directly in the way of Ryan's van which was about to rear-end it at high speed. There was no time to sound his horn, and no point; she wouldn't be able to move out of his way. Instead Buckland spun the steering wheel hard left and stood on his brakes as much as he dared. He could feel the anti-lock brake system in action; tyres scrabbling for grip as the brakes operated. Narrowly missing the hatchback and its startled driver, Ryan's van sailed over the white line and on to the double lane traffic circle, fortunately there were no vehicles on a collision course with him as he continued to slow.
As the tremors ceased Ryan regained control over his van and instinctively aimed it at the usual exit he took when making a delivery. As he left the roundabout Buckland noted a flashy looking BMW had gone off the road, leaving a wiggly set of skid marks behind before coming to rest in some ornamental bushes, the hapless driver surrounded by mushrooms of deflating airbags. Further along, a motorcyclist had been less fortunate; the quake had unbalanced him and he'd wrapped himself and his machine around an aluminium sign pole. Dispassionately Ryan thought it likely the rider had been killed by the impact.
Buckland, still shaking, eased his van into Prospect Park and spotting an empty parking space, reversed into it: A wise courier always does their reversing first when parking for a delivery, just in case some dozy bugger blocks you off; at least pointing in the right direction you have a greater chance of being able to drive away from someone else's poor parking choice. There, not understanding he was in a state of profound shock, Ryan Buckland sat immobile; his hands tightly gripping the wheel, waiting for something to happen.
Prospect Business Park. Dartford, Kent.
Kevin Norris impatiently checked his phone again: On the Wizzit app screen the little pin marking the position of the courier van with his consignment aboard crawled with an annoying slowness closer to his position. The delay was due to the traffic of course, and there was nothing anyone could do about that. Still, he wished it would arrive soon so he could collect his latest delivery of promotional items and then get on the road. Norris didn't have any appointments arranged for today; instead he'd act like the road warrior he was by dropping in to some of his regular customers to see what trade he could drum up. Those visits were usually successful to some degree, and provided you didn't make a nuisance of yourself by turning up unannounced too often, they kept you, along with your business, to the forefront of your clients' minds.
At long last the icon marking the van's position neared the off ramp which led to Prospect Park, a mixture of office and light industrial/warehouse units where Kevin was located. Norris had a small temporary office in Enterprise House, a designer ugly brick built office block on a short-term let while he waited for one of the current tenants to vacate a nearby warehouse unit so that his company could expand into it. His was one of the few businesses which were struggling to keep up with demand at the moment; but then fear always was good for sales...
Rather than wait for the driver to report to the common reception desk, Kevin decided to go out and meet him. After all, being proactive was what had got him where he was today. He locked the office door and trotted briskly down the flights of stairs to the lobby. He'd just flashed the pretty young receptionist a goodbye smile and left the building when he was roughly thrown to the pavement.
What the- thought Norris, but no sooner had he done so his training took over and he was ready to defend himself against whoever had blindsided him, but then he understood what was really happening. Christ! Not here... No! This isn't possible... Yet there was no mistaking it; he was reminded of the smaller scale event he'd experienced while on a business trip to Japan. It's a fucking earthquake!
Galvanised into action Norris understood the danger he was in and how to get out of it. Though the ground was still shuddering, making walking nearly impossible, he realised he must move now or risk serious injury or possible death from debris falling from the building. Unsteadily he heaved himself into a crouch, and part running, part crawling on wobbly legs, scuttled for the safety of the car park. A dislodged roof tile crashed near by him, then another, then more followed; shattering on impact with the tarmac and pelting him with stinging fragments. Jagged shards of glass shaken out of window frames cascaded down; much of it landing on the roofs of nearby cars, settling there like sharp hail.
Behind him and off to the right he heard a thump which sounded like a load of rubble being dumped all at once into a skip. That must be a part of the building detaching itself thought Norris, as he lurched between cars rocking on their suspension and shrieking their electronic distress at being disturbed from their slumber.
It had been many years since he'd been made redundant from a promising junior officer's career in the Army; during the intervening time a life spent in seats of various kinds had left him unfit and even pudgy, but the adrenaline response lent him speed and soon he reached the safety of a neatly mown grass strip located at the edge of the car park. Hey, that's not too bad for a bloke in his late forties, but I really must get back into shape he resolved.
Holding on for dear life to a diamond mesh wire cyclone fence he heard the squeals of urgently applied brakes and the hollow thumps of multiple collisions on the foliage screened major road running alongside the business centre: The noises were followed by a deeper scraping of skidding tyres on tarmac and far heavier impacts. Jesus Christ! It sounds as if there's going to be utter carnage over there! he mused.
120Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡytkmsIIxRU
Near Prospect Business Park, close to the A2/A2018 junction
By now Ryan Buckland was well into his schedule. Constantly on the alert for an idiot driver to make a mistake, he remained hyper aware while flicking between RSE and SportsTalk on the radio. Faced with the choice of Neil Simpson's inane verbal diarrhoea or an all day autopsy of the England cricket team's latest woeful performance he decided to switch the set off.
At first Ryan thought the juddering was something wrong with the van's steering transmitted through the wheel and pedals, or something must have broken loose; but the sight of other vehicles fishtailing around while trying desperately to drive in a straight line made him realise it wasn't the van at fault. He knew what could happen on a multilane highway when just one driver made a fatal error and the cascade of misfortune spread - he'd nearly been caught up in a pile up once with only his quick reactions saving him - and he didn't want to be involved in a multiple vehicle shunt.
He'd already been slowing down in the inner lane in preparation to turn off up a slip road to the junction which led to the business park, so he drove onto the hard shoulder and gunned the engine: He needed to get out of here now! The van surged forward but as he wrestled with the wheel Buckland noticed what appeared to be small cracks in the road surface, widening and racing in parallel along with his vehicle. Holy shit!
The shaking vibrated the periphery of his vision into an indistinct blur, but in the brief look he caught in his rear view mirror he saw the heart stopping sight of a large articulated lorry behind travelling all but broadside on and it was catching up with him!
In panic Ryan trod the accelerator all the way down to the carpet; the engine laboured from being revved this way in too low a gear but he gained precious space from the looming wall of metal chasing him. As he began to climb away from the dual carriageway to safety Ryan glimpsed the HGV driver trying to turn into the skid to bring his rig back under control, but he ran out of road and time. Part of the juggernaut's trailer hit the crash barrier at the junction where the the off ramp began, rending it before becoming caught for a moment. This was enough to flip the boxy trailer on to its side, pulling the tractor unit over with it.
The jackknifed truck ground along the road in a shower of sparks and shredded metal before smashing into a concrete truss of the overpass; slewing across most of the carriageway. Ryan knew there would be little or no chance of the drivers behind being able to avoid the grimy underbelly of the lorry swelling into their windscreens, but even as the horrific scene was replaced by the sight of a rough grass verge rushing by in his right hand window he saw his problems were far from over.
Ahead of him a woman driving a Japanese micro car had done the sensible thing and slowed right down when disaster began to unfold around her morning commute; but now as she eased to a halt at the stop lines leading onto the large interchange roundabout her car was directly in the way of Ryan's van which was about to rear-end it at high speed. There was no time to sound his horn, and no point; she wouldn't be able to move out of his way. Instead Buckland spun the steering wheel hard left and stood on his brakes as much as he dared. He could feel the anti-lock brake system in action; tyres scrabbling for grip as the brakes operated. Narrowly missing the hatchback and its startled driver, Ryan's van sailed over the white line and on to the double lane traffic circle, fortunately there were no vehicles on a collision course with him as he continued to slow.
As the tremors ceased Ryan regained control over his van and instinctively aimed it at the usual exit he took when making a delivery. As he left the roundabout Buckland noted a flashy looking BMW had gone off the road, leaving a wiggly set of skid marks behind before coming to rest in some ornamental bushes, the hapless driver surrounded by mushrooms of deflating airbags. Further along, a motorcyclist had been less fortunate; the quake had unbalanced him and he'd wrapped himself and his machine around an aluminium sign pole. Dispassionately Ryan thought it likely the rider had been killed by the impact.
Buckland, still shaking, eased his van into Prospect Park and spotting an empty parking space, reversed into it: A wise courier always does their reversing first when parking for a delivery, just in case some dozy bugger blocks you off; at least pointing in the right direction you have a greater chance of being able to drive away from someone else's poor parking choice. There, not understanding he was in a state of profound shock, Ryan Buckland sat immobile; his hands tightly gripping the wheel, waiting for something to happen.
Prospect Business Park. Dartford, Kent.
Kevin Norris impatiently checked his phone again: On the Wizzit app screen the little pin marking the position of the courier van with his consignment aboard crawled with an annoying slowness closer to his position. The delay was due to the traffic of course, and there was nothing anyone could do about that. Still, he wished it would arrive soon so he could collect his latest delivery of promotional items and then get on the road. Norris didn't have any appointments arranged for today; instead he'd act like the road warrior he was by dropping in to some of his regular customers to see what trade he could drum up. Those visits were usually successful to some degree, and provided you didn't make a nuisance of yourself by turning up unannounced too often, they kept you, along with your business, to the forefront of your clients' minds.
At long last the icon marking the van's position neared the off ramp which led to Prospect Park, a mixture of office and light industrial/warehouse units where Kevin was located. Norris had a small temporary office in Enterprise House, a designer ugly brick built office block on a short-term let while he waited for one of the current tenants to vacate a nearby warehouse unit so that his company could expand into it. His was one of the few businesses which were struggling to keep up with demand at the moment; but then fear always was good for sales...
Rather than wait for the driver to report to the common reception desk, Kevin decided to go out and meet him. After all, being proactive was what had got him where he was today. He locked the office door and trotted briskly down the flights of stairs to the lobby. He'd just flashed the pretty young receptionist a goodbye smile and left the building when he was roughly thrown to the pavement.
What the- thought Norris, but no sooner had he done so his training took over and he was ready to defend himself against whoever had blindsided him, but then he understood what was really happening. Christ! Not here... No! This isn't possible... Yet there was no mistaking it; he was reminded of the smaller scale event he'd experienced while on a business trip to Japan. It's a fucking earthquake!
Galvanised into action Norris understood the danger he was in and how to get out of it. Though the ground was still shuddering, making walking nearly impossible, he realised he must move now or risk serious injury or possible death from debris falling from the building. Unsteadily he heaved himself into a crouch, and part running, part crawling on wobbly legs, scuttled for the safety of the car park. A dislodged roof tile crashed near by him, then another, then more followed; shattering on impact with the tarmac and pelting him with stinging fragments. Jagged shards of glass shaken out of window frames cascaded down; much of it landing on the roofs of nearby cars, settling there like sharp hail.
Behind him and off to the right he heard a thump which sounded like a load of rubble being dumped all at once into a skip. That must be a part of the building detaching itself thought Norris, as he lurched between cars rocking on their suspension and shrieking their electronic distress at being disturbed from their slumber.
It had been many years since he'd been made redundant from a promising junior officer's career in the Army; during the intervening time a life spent in seats of various kinds had left him unfit and even pudgy, but the adrenaline response lent him speed and soon he reached the safety of a neatly mown grass strip located at the edge of the car park. Hey, that's not too bad for a bloke in his late forties, but I really must get back into shape he resolved.
Holding on for dear life to a diamond mesh wire cyclone fence he heard the squeals of urgently applied brakes and the hollow thumps of multiple collisions on the foliage screened major road running alongside the business centre: The noises were followed by a deeper scraping of skidding tyres on tarmac and far heavier impacts. Jesus Christ! It sounds as if there's going to be utter carnage over there! he mused.
120Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡej1kAt0pFT
Near Prospect Business Park, close to the A2/A2018 junction
By now Ryan Buckland was well into his schedule. Constantly on the alert for an idiot driver to make a mistake, he remained hyper aware while flicking between RSE and SportsTalk on the radio. Faced with the choice of Neil Simpson's inane verbal diarrhoea or an all day autopsy of the England cricket team's latest woeful performance he decided to switch the set off.
At first Ryan thought the juddering was something wrong with the van's steering transmitted through the wheel and pedals, or something must have broken loose; but the sight of other vehicles fishtailing around while trying desperately to drive in a straight line made him realise it wasn't the van at fault. He knew what could happen on a multilane highway when just one driver made a fatal error and the cascade of misfortune spread - he'd nearly been caught up in a pile up once with only his quick reactions saving him - and he didn't want to be involved in a multiple vehicle shunt.
He'd already been slowing down in the inner lane in preparation to turn off up a slip road to the junction which led to the business park, so he drove onto the hard shoulder and gunned the engine: He needed to get out of here now! The van surged forward but as he wrestled with the wheel Buckland noticed what appeared to be small cracks in the road surface, widening and racing in parallel along with his vehicle. Holy shit!
The shaking vibrated the periphery of his vision into an indistinct blur, but in the brief look he caught in his rear view mirror he saw the heart stopping sight of a large articulated lorry behind travelling all but broadside on and it was catching up with him!
In panic Ryan trod the accelerator all the way down to the carpet; the engine laboured from being revved this way in too low a gear but he gained precious space from the looming wall of metal chasing him. As he began to climb away from the dual carriageway to safety Ryan glimpsed the HGV driver trying to turn into the skid to bring his rig back under control, but he ran out of road and time. Part of the juggernaut's trailer hit the crash barrier at the junction where the the off ramp began, rending it before becoming caught for a moment. This was enough to flip the boxy trailer on to its side, pulling the tractor unit over with it.
The jackknifed truck ground along the road in a shower of sparks and shredded metal before smashing into a concrete truss of the overpass; slewing across most of the carriageway. Ryan knew there would be little or no chance of the drivers behind being able to avoid the grimy underbelly of the lorry swelling into their windscreens, but even as the horrific scene was replaced by the sight of a rough grass verge rushing by in his right hand window he saw his problems were far from over.
Ahead of him a woman driving a Japanese micro car had done the sensible thing and slowed right down when disaster began to unfold around her morning commute; but now as she eased to a halt at the stop lines leading onto the large interchange roundabout her car was directly in the way of Ryan's van which was about to rear-end it at high speed. There was no time to sound his horn, and no point; she wouldn't be able to move out of his way. Instead Buckland spun the steering wheel hard left and stood on his brakes as much as he dared. He could feel the anti-lock brake system in action; tyres scrabbling for grip as the brakes operated. Narrowly missing the hatchback and its startled driver, Ryan's van sailed over the white line and on to the double lane traffic circle, fortunately there were no vehicles on a collision course with him as he continued to slow.
As the tremors ceased Ryan regained control over his van and instinctively aimed it at the usual exit he took when making a delivery. As he left the roundabout Buckland noted a flashy looking BMW had gone off the road, leaving a wiggly set of skid marks behind before coming to rest in some ornamental bushes, the hapless driver surrounded by mushrooms of deflating airbags. Further along, a motorcyclist had been less fortunate; the quake had unbalanced him and he'd wrapped himself and his machine around an aluminium sign pole. Dispassionately Ryan thought it likely the rider had been killed by the impact.
Buckland, still shaking, eased his van into Prospect Park and spotting an empty parking space, reversed into it: A wise courier always does their reversing first when parking for a delivery, just in case some dozy bugger blocks you off; at least pointing in the right direction you have a greater chance of being able to drive away from someone else's poor parking choice. There, not understanding he was in a state of profound shock, Ryan Buckland sat immobile; his hands tightly gripping the wheel, waiting for something to happen.
Prospect Business Park. Dartford, Kent.
Kevin Norris impatiently checked his phone again: On the Wizzit app screen the little pin marking the position of the courier van with his consignment aboard crawled with an annoying slowness closer to his position. The delay was due to the traffic of course, and there was nothing anyone could do about that. Still, he wished it would arrive soon so he could collect his latest delivery of promotional items and then get on the road. Norris didn't have any appointments arranged for today; instead he'd act like the road warrior he was by dropping in to some of his regular customers to see what trade he could drum up. Those visits were usually successful to some degree, and provided you didn't make a nuisance of yourself by turning up unannounced too often, they kept you, along with your business, to the forefront of your clients' minds.
At long last the icon marking the van's position neared the off ramp which led to Prospect Park, a mixture of office and light industrial/warehouse units where Kevin was located. Norris had a small temporary office in Enterprise House, a designer ugly brick built office block on a short-term let while he waited for one of the current tenants to vacate a nearby warehouse unit so that his company could expand into it. His was one of the few businesses which were struggling to keep up with demand at the moment; but then fear always was good for sales...
Rather than wait for the driver to report to the common reception desk, Kevin decided to go out and meet him. After all, being proactive was what had got him where he was today. He locked the office door and trotted briskly down the flights of stairs to the lobby. He'd just flashed the pretty young receptionist a goodbye smile and left the building when he was roughly thrown to the pavement.
What the- thought Norris, but no sooner had he done so his training took over and he was ready to defend himself against whoever had blindsided him, but then he understood what was really happening. Christ! Not here... No! This isn't possible... Yet there was no mistaking it; he was reminded of the smaller scale event he'd experienced while on a business trip to Japan. It's a fucking earthquake!
Galvanised into action Norris understood the danger he was in and how to get out of it. Though the ground was still shuddering, making walking nearly impossible, he realised he must move now or risk serious injury or possible death from debris falling from the building. Unsteadily he heaved himself into a crouch, and part running, part crawling on wobbly legs, scuttled for the safety of the car park. A dislodged roof tile crashed near by him, then another, then more followed; shattering on impact with the tarmac and pelting him with stinging fragments. Jagged shards of glass shaken out of window frames cascaded down; much of it landing on the roofs of nearby cars, settling there like sharp hail.
Behind him and off to the right he heard a thump which sounded like a load of rubble being dumped all at once into a skip. That must be a part of the building detaching itself thought Norris, as he lurched between cars rocking on their suspension and shrieking their electronic distress at being disturbed from their slumber.
It had been many years since he'd been made redundant from a promising junior officer's career in the Army; during the intervening time a life spent in seats of various kinds had left him unfit and even pudgy, but the adrenaline response lent him speed and soon he reached the safety of a neatly mown grass strip located at the edge of the car park. Hey, that's not too bad for a bloke in his late forties, but I really must get back into shape he resolved.
Holding on for dear life to a diamond mesh wire cyclone fence he heard the squeals of urgently applied brakes and the hollow thumps of multiple collisions on the foliage screened major road running alongside the business centre: The noises were followed by a deeper scraping of skidding tyres on tarmac and far heavier impacts. Jesus Christ! It sounds as if there's going to be utter carnage over there! he mused.
120Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnVUANDKfnr
Near Prospect Business Park, close to the A2/A2018 junction
By now Ryan Buckland was well into his schedule. Constantly on the alert for an idiot driver to make a mistake, he remained hyper aware while flicking between RSE and SportsTalk on the radio. Faced with the choice of Neil Simpson's inane verbal diarrhoea or an all day autopsy of the England cricket team's latest woeful performance he decided to switch the set off.
At first Ryan thought the juddering was something wrong with the van's steering transmitted through the wheel and pedals, or something must have broken loose; but the sight of other vehicles fishtailing around while trying desperately to drive in a straight line made him realise it wasn't the van at fault. He knew what could happen on a multilane highway when just one driver made a fatal error and the cascade of misfortune spread - he'd nearly been caught up in a pile up once with only his quick reactions saving him - and he didn't want to be involved in a multiple vehicle shunt.
He'd already been slowing down in the inner lane in preparation to turn off up a slip road to the junction which led to the business park, so he drove onto the hard shoulder and gunned the engine: He needed to get out of here now! The van surged forward but as he wrestled with the wheel Buckland noticed what appeared to be small cracks in the road surface, widening and racing in parallel along with his vehicle. Holy shit!
The shaking vibrated the periphery of his vision into an indistinct blur, but in the brief look he caught in his rear view mirror he saw the heart stopping sight of a large articulated lorry behind travelling all but broadside on and it was catching up with him!
In panic Ryan trod the accelerator all the way down to the carpet; the engine laboured from being revved this way in too low a gear but he gained precious space from the looming wall of metal chasing him. As he began to climb away from the dual carriageway to safety Ryan glimpsed the HGV driver trying to turn into the skid to bring his rig back under control, but he ran out of road and time. Part of the juggernaut's trailer hit the crash barrier at the junction where the the off ramp began, rending it before becoming caught for a moment. This was enough to flip the boxy trailer on to its side, pulling the tractor unit over with it.
The jackknifed truck ground along the road in a shower of sparks and shredded metal before smashing into a concrete truss of the overpass; slewing across most of the carriageway. Ryan knew there would be little or no chance of the drivers behind being able to avoid the grimy underbelly of the lorry swelling into their windscreens, but even as the horrific scene was replaced by the sight of a rough grass verge rushing by in his right hand window he saw his problems were far from over.
Ahead of him a woman driving a Japanese micro car had done the sensible thing and slowed right down when disaster began to unfold around her morning commute; but now as she eased to a halt at the stop lines leading onto the large interchange roundabout her car was directly in the way of Ryan's van which was about to rear-end it at high speed. There was no time to sound his horn, and no point; she wouldn't be able to move out of his way. Instead Buckland spun the steering wheel hard left and stood on his brakes as much as he dared. He could feel the anti-lock brake system in action; tyres scrabbling for grip as the brakes operated. Narrowly missing the hatchback and its startled driver, Ryan's van sailed over the white line and on to the double lane traffic circle, fortunately there were no vehicles on a collision course with him as he continued to slow.
As the tremors ceased Ryan regained control over his van and instinctively aimed it at the usual exit he took when making a delivery. As he left the roundabout Buckland noted a flashy looking BMW had gone off the road, leaving a wiggly set of skid marks behind before coming to rest in some ornamental bushes, the hapless driver surrounded by mushrooms of deflating airbags. Further along, a motorcyclist had been less fortunate; the quake had unbalanced him and he'd wrapped himself and his machine around an aluminium sign pole. Dispassionately Ryan thought it likely the rider had been killed by the impact.
Buckland, still shaking, eased his van into Prospect Park and spotting an empty parking space, reversed into it: A wise courier always does their reversing first when parking for a delivery, just in case some dozy bugger blocks you off; at least pointing in the right direction you have a greater chance of being able to drive away from someone else's poor parking choice. There, not understanding he was in a state of profound shock, Ryan Buckland sat immobile; his hands tightly gripping the wheel, waiting for something to happen.
Prospect Business Park. Dartford, Kent.
Kevin Norris impatiently checked his phone again: On the Wizzit app screen the little pin marking the position of the courier van with his consignment aboard crawled with an annoying slowness closer to his position. The delay was due to the traffic of course, and there was nothing anyone could do about that. Still, he wished it would arrive soon so he could collect his latest delivery of promotional items and then get on the road. Norris didn't have any appointments arranged for today; instead he'd act like the road warrior he was by dropping in to some of his regular customers to see what trade he could drum up. Those visits were usually successful to some degree, and provided you didn't make a nuisance of yourself by turning up unannounced too often, they kept you, along with your business, to the forefront of your clients' minds.
At long last the icon marking the van's position neared the off ramp which led to Prospect Park, a mixture of office and light industrial/warehouse units where Kevin was located. Norris had a small temporary office in Enterprise House, a designer ugly brick built office block on a short-term let while he waited for one of the current tenants to vacate a nearby warehouse unit so that his company could expand into it. His was one of the few businesses which were struggling to keep up with demand at the moment; but then fear always was good for sales...
Rather than wait for the driver to report to the common reception desk, Kevin decided to go out and meet him. After all, being proactive was what had got him where he was today. He locked the office door and trotted briskly down the flights of stairs to the lobby. He'd just flashed the pretty young receptionist a goodbye smile and left the building when he was roughly thrown to the pavement.
What the- thought Norris, but no sooner had he done so his training took over and he was ready to defend himself against whoever had blindsided him, but then he understood what was really happening. Christ! Not here... No! This isn't possible... Yet there was no mistaking it; he was reminded of the smaller scale event he'd experienced while on a business trip to Japan. It's a fucking earthquake!
Galvanised into action Norris understood the danger he was in and how to get out of it. Though the ground was still shuddering, making walking nearly impossible, he realised he must move now or risk serious injury or possible death from debris falling from the building. Unsteadily he heaved himself into a crouch, and part running, part crawling on wobbly legs, scuttled for the safety of the car park. A dislodged roof tile crashed near by him, then another, then more followed; shattering on impact with the tarmac and pelting him with stinging fragments. Jagged shards of glass shaken out of window frames cascaded down; much of it landing on the roofs of nearby cars, settling there like sharp hail.
Behind him and off to the right he heard a thump which sounded like a load of rubble being dumped all at once into a skip. That must be a part of the building detaching itself thought Norris, as he lurched between cars rocking on their suspension and shrieking their electronic distress at being disturbed from their slumber.
It had been many years since he'd been made redundant from a promising junior officer's career in the Army; during the intervening time a life spent in seats of various kinds had left him unfit and even pudgy, but the adrenaline response lent him speed and soon he reached the safety of a neatly mown grass strip located at the edge of the car park. Hey, that's not too bad for a bloke in his late forties, but I really must get back into shape he resolved.
Holding on for dear life to a diamond mesh wire cyclone fence he heard the squeals of urgently applied brakes and the hollow thumps of multiple collisions on the foliage screened major road running alongside the business centre: The noises were followed by a deeper scraping of skidding tyres on tarmac and far heavier impacts. Jesus Christ! It sounds as if there's going to be utter carnage over there! he mused.
120Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEwf0sudFPE
Near Prospect Business Park, close to the A2/A2018 junction
By now Ryan Buckland was well into his schedule. Constantly on the alert for an idiot driver to make a mistake, he remained hyper aware while flicking between RSE and SportsTalk on the radio. Faced with the choice of Neil Simpson's inane verbal diarrhoea or an all day autopsy of the England cricket team's latest woeful performance he decided to switch the set off.
At first Ryan thought the juddering was something wrong with the van's steering transmitted through the wheel and pedals, or something must have broken loose; but the sight of other vehicles fishtailing around while trying desperately to drive in a straight line made him realise it wasn't the van at fault. He knew what could happen on a multilane highway when just one driver made a fatal error and the cascade of misfortune spread - he'd nearly been caught up in a pile up once with only his quick reactions saving him - and he didn't want to be involved in a multiple vehicle shunt.
He'd already been slowing down in the inner lane in preparation to turn off up a slip road to the junction which led to the business park, so he drove onto the hard shoulder and gunned the engine: He needed to get out of here now! The van surged forward but as he wrestled with the wheel Buckland noticed what appeared to be small cracks in the road surface, widening and racing in parallel along with his vehicle. Holy shit!
The shaking vibrated the periphery of his vision into an indistinct blur, but in the brief look he caught in his rear view mirror he saw the heart stopping sight of a large articulated lorry behind travelling all but broadside on and it was catching up with him!
In panic Ryan trod the accelerator all the way down to the carpet; the engine laboured from being revved this way in too low a gear but he gained precious space from the looming wall of metal chasing him. As he began to climb away from the dual carriageway to safety Ryan glimpsed the HGV driver trying to turn into the skid to bring his rig back under control, but he ran out of road and time. Part of the juggernaut's trailer hit the crash barrier at the junction where the the off ramp began, rending it before becoming caught for a moment. This was enough to flip the boxy trailer on to its side, pulling the tractor unit over with it.
The jackknifed truck ground along the road in a shower of sparks and shredded metal before smashing into a concrete truss of the overpass; slewing across most of the carriageway. Ryan knew there would be little or no chance of the drivers behind being able to avoid the grimy underbelly of the lorry swelling into their windscreens, but even as the horrific scene was replaced by the sight of a rough grass verge rushing by in his right hand window he saw his problems were far from over.
Ahead of him a woman driving a Japanese micro car had done the sensible thing and slowed right down when disaster began to unfold around her morning commute; but now as she eased to a halt at the stop lines leading onto the large interchange roundabout her car was directly in the way of Ryan's van which was about to rear-end it at high speed. There was no time to sound his horn, and no point; she wouldn't be able to move out of his way. Instead Buckland spun the steering wheel hard left and stood on his brakes as much as he dared. He could feel the anti-lock brake system in action; tyres scrabbling for grip as the brakes operated. Narrowly missing the hatchback and its startled driver, Ryan's van sailed over the white line and on to the double lane traffic circle, fortunately there were no vehicles on a collision course with him as he continued to slow.
As the tremors ceased Ryan regained control over his van and instinctively aimed it at the usual exit he took when making a delivery. As he left the roundabout Buckland noted a flashy looking BMW had gone off the road, leaving a wiggly set of skid marks behind before coming to rest in some ornamental bushes, the hapless driver surrounded by mushrooms of deflating airbags. Further along, a motorcyclist had been less fortunate; the quake had unbalanced him and he'd wrapped himself and his machine around an aluminium sign pole. Dispassionately Ryan thought it likely the rider had been killed by the impact.
Buckland, still shaking, eased his van into Prospect Park and spotting an empty parking space, reversed into it: A wise courier always does their reversing first when parking for a delivery, just in case some dozy bugger blocks you off; at least pointing in the right direction you have a greater chance of being able to drive away from someone else's poor parking choice. There, not understanding he was in a state of profound shock, Ryan Buckland sat immobile; his hands tightly gripping the wheel, waiting for something to happen.
120Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7k3dDna4Mi
