A few months ago I travelled across England and then across France with my girlfriend, Stephanie, and her parents to move her stuff to Poitiers in western France, where she is studying for a year. After offloading Stephanie’s things and spending a weekend in Poitiers, we had completed most of our 9-hour journey back and were about 90 minutes away from home.
Driving along on the M2 at 70mph while chit-chatting, we noticed a black Mini Cooper ahead with its hazard lights on and not moving at all. It was in our lane, which was the third of four lanes (next to the fast lane) and there was too much traffic to swerve to either side, so we braked firmly and stopped about two metres short of the car in front. The panic of sitting still on a motorway full of very fast-moving cars set in quickly and we put our hazard lights on and looked around to see if we could pull out into either of the adjacent lanes, but the traffic was too heavy and moved too quickly to risk such a move.
I turned around, looking out of the back window to see a car approaching us at high speed and swerving into the lane to the left. Another car approached, but while still far away it moved into the lane to our right. Then, in the distance, I could see a red car approaching and not swerving away like the others. In fact, it wasn’t slowing down at all. I said, “There’s another car coming towards us,” and, while still staring intently for signs of slowing down, screamed, “It’s still coming. It’s not going to stop!”
When I said that, I knew we were all going to die.
