'For Whom the Bell Tolls' by Maria Thomas

Dense fog rolls in from the coast, cloaking everything in impenetrable grey, as you navigate the car through the winding country lanes. It is so opaque, so difficult to see more than a yard ahead, that you should be driving more slowly, with greater care, but your panic, your desire to flee, has made you foolhardy, and you press the accelerator to the floor.

Your hands are sticky on the wheel and you hold your gaze firmly at eye-level, avoiding the sight of the viscous vermilion coating them. You endeavour not to inhale the metallic scent filling the air, like fear, like doom.

In the distance you hear the knell of a fog bell, as you misjudge the bend, as you feel the car leave the road and fly towards the crags that border it.