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thumped back down, tyres chewing into the misted road surface. The SUV shimmied, then straightened out and powered on.
    We thundered over a cattle grid, tyres juddering fast, and plunged down the narrow track that skirted the mountain.
    I guessed Scott wanted to prove something by driving so fast. I always got the impression he was overreaching; trying to be someone he couldn’t possibly be. He’d never be the funny one in the group. Never be the cool one or the dangerous one or the handsome one. He was just average. Just Scott.
    The wiper blades beat furiously.
    ‘Scott,’ I tried again.
    Big mistake. He stomped on the accelerator and the SUV surged forwards.
    The road dipped suddenly and Rachel whooped and raised her hands above her head as if she was riding a roller coaster. We were losing height all the time. Visibility was starting to improve. The fog was thinning out, breaking down into wafting bands and misty streaks that writhed and twirled in the glare of our headlamps.
    Below us to our left, I could see the blue-black slick of Sulby reservoir and the ruins of an old stone barn. Sheep dotted the fields or chewed grass by the side of the road. We blitzed on, the tarmac glistening. A plantation appeared on our right, the grey pines looming high and thin and damp in the frigid condensation.
    We were coming up fast on another cattle grid. A low yellow wall funnelled the road into a single lane. Scott didn’t slow. The tyres zipped over the gridded bars, pummelling the suspension, my soft leather seat absorbing the blows.
    Then the headlamps picked up something else.
    A sheep – a Manx Loaghtan – standing sideways on in the middle of the road.
    The sheep raised its head. It had a long, tan face and bulging yellow eyes. Its wool was brown and it had four horns: two long and splayed on the top of its skull, and two short and curved.
    Scott stamped on the brake pedal.
    The discs bit instantly. Fiercely. They squealed and locked and the chunky off-road tyres skated across the greased blacktop. But the SUV’s mass was considerable. There was a lot of metal and plastic and glass. A big engine. Six passengers. Plus we’d been moving at high speed. We had a lot of momentum. There was no way we were going to stop in time.
    The sheep didn’t flinch or rear up or try to dodge out of the way. It almost seemed resigned to what was about to happen.
    The massive bonnet bore down on it. Then the treads gained traction and we started to slow.
    But not enough.
    The bull bar punted into the sheep with a hollow-sounding whump . The creature was launched from the ground. It arced in the air, then bounced and bounced again. It spun on its hindquarters and came to a rest on its side.
    We skidded to a halt. Scott yanked on the handbrake and lifted his foot from the clutch, but he’d forgotten to put the SUV into neutral and the engine seized and juddered, then stalled with a jolt. The stereo died. Scott snatched his hands away from the wheel.
    Everything was silent for a long moment. Tyre smoke wafted up through the glare of the headlamps. The wiper blades had stopped on a slant.
    ‘Holy shit.’
    ‘Is everyone all right?’
    ‘Not the sheep.’
    ‘I thought it was coming through the windscreen.’
    ‘Me too. I thought we were screwed.’
    I pushed myself back from the dashboard and raised my head. I’d been twisted sideways by the force of the sudden braking and had slipped half down under the strap of my seatbelt. A hot pain ripped up the side of my neck.
    I eased my head from side to side. It rotated to the right with a grinding crunch. It wouldn’t move to the left very far at all.
    ‘It just came out of nowhere.’ Scott’s jaw was hanging open. ‘You saw that, right? It just stepped out in front of me.’
    Nobody said a word. The quiet lingered.
    David shifted around in the boot. ‘Claire, are you OK?’
    I didn’t respond. I was still testing my movement, wincing at the blockage in my neck.
    ‘It just came out of