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Bloody sheep!
Not a bullet or a bomb or the African bush in the eerie still between dusk and dawn.
Death was coming now, borne on hooves of slow moving sheep..
He wrenched the wheel hard and they were sliding, out of control and impossibly fast. The Capri hit the guardrail first, the narrow North Pennines road leaving no room and no options. He was rewarded with the sight of the sheep watching him, the sheep watching Doyle, the damned sheep watching his lovely Capri go up on two wheels and arc across the icy road.
Time slowed, long enough to hear the squeal of abused rubber and steel, to feel the harsh, cracking force of his chest slamming into the steering wheel, to hear Ray screaming his name.
Sheep.
Bodie lifted his eyes across the cabin and smiled.
The Capri tipped onto its top and crashed through the guardrail, end-over-top down the side of the mountain before finally coming to an abrupt stop in the snow-filled valley below.
White and empty and quiet.
(continues in the comments)