It was time to start worrying. His coat and his gloves were thick but the blizzard could eventually entrench the van. If he stayed the vehicle wouldn't offer much shelter and if he became snowed in on such a remote road he might not be found for days. The small device of his satellite navigation system had been smashed during the impact but he had a reasonable idea of where he needed to go. It was just a few miles. He could make it.

It wasn't like he had a lot of choice in the matter.

Stumbling out of the van, he was careful not to tear open his gloves on the broken glass. Inside the shelter that the vehicle provided it was deathly cold. Outside, the wind howled and the icy temperature bit deeply into his flesh even through his big coat. Snow was settling on the ground, it had been doing so for the last half hour. Before Long it would start to make his steps more dangerous. He'd need to take his time. Time he didn't have.

Steeling his own resolve, he tensed against the blistering gale and started walking the road. He had his coat, his heavy boots, thick pants and his gloves. It wasn't so terrible. Or at least that's what he kept telling himself. One foot constantly found its place in front of the other in a stubborn rhythm that matched his increasingly laboured breathing. The snowflakes stuck to the bare skin of his face, settling in his thick grey beard and over his bushy eyebrows.

A sudden heavy impact rattled him as the wind picked up and raced between the waist high walls on either side of the road. The sudden gale almost took his legs from under him. His feet slipped in the snow and he fought to regain his balance. It didn't take him long to start moving again. Gritting his teeth, he reminded himself that he was nothing if not a stubborn old bastard.

As he walked he thought of Mrs Pickering and idly wondered if she appreciated the Lengths he was going to in order to fix her heating system. He probably wouldn't be able to now of course. His tools and his equipment were in his van. Still, at least it'd be a better night for her than it was going to be for him. At sixty one he was still in pretty decent shape. His neatly trimmed beard and silver hair were kept tidy and short. A Lifetime of working with his hands had given him some impressive muscle that hadn't entirely vanished with age. His body had once been suited to such a trial but the years had certainly taken their toll. The weather didn't help as his chest began to stab and his limbs ached against the whistling wind.

Against that constant barrage his senses couldn't pick up the noise nor see the lights of the car that was blitzing toward him until it was far too late. The sudden flash of the headlights approaching at truly idiotic speed made him lift his arm in an attempt to wave down the vehicle. The car was going fast. Too fast. It was all he could to just flail his arms about in an effort to warn them he was there before his legs were smashed to pieces and he felt the sudden hard impact of the bonnet and then the roof as his body was thrown across the car like a broken rag doll.

Despite it all he was still conscious when he landed on the soft snow that had formed upon the road. He tasted a lot more of his own blood gurgling up from within his throat and there was the pain of hot knives sinking into his thighs and only numbness beneath. Trying to move his left arm proved impossible and so he struggled with his right instead.

Breathing was a problem. He knew at least one of his ribs had pierced his lung when it had snapped against the hood of the car. It was difficult to form any kind of thought before his body convulsed in agony. Above him he heard footsteps and then voices. People were standing around him and he saw their dark silhouettes in the crimson illumination of their car's rear lights. His eyes refused to focus and his voice wouldn't come forth. Maybe he'd his head too hard upon the roof?

“Fucking hell! What were you thinkin' man?“ A voice in the dark.

“He came outta nowhere." Another voice, this one was more shaken. The driver?

“We'll get nicked if we call anyone. Look at him. He's gone anyway.”

The first sounded more detached although both figures sounded likethey were talking from a long way away.

“Well we can't Leave him, Robbie." Whined the second again.

“Put him in the river." A third, cooler and calmer voice.

“Fuck off." Both the first and the second replied to the third.

“They won't find him in this for weeks, months maybe if it freezes over." The third voice calmly reasoned.

The conversation should have alarmed William a lot more than it did. He couldn't concentrate. They said some other things before their hands were grabbing at him. Their voices had become little more than muffled mutters in the dark. Fresh hot knives of pain grasped his legs and then slowly started to numb as he began to lose consciousness. He felt himself being carried. For a moment there was heat and a softness beneath him and then there was only the cold again.

He felt himself being dragged over rough stone, his Limp defenceless form hanging there over some sort of low wall before his shattered legs were tipped up and he crashed down into water that burned cold. Fire consumed his Lungs as he struggled uselessly to breathe. His arm, the only Limb that still worked, desperately tried to claw back up to the air above. It was no use. The freezing water consumed him whole and he fell into the blackness below. The fire in him died, the pain numbed and all that was left of him slowly floated down to the bottom of the river.

Given his circumstances it was something of a surprise when he woke up.