by Ben Cheetham
“No idea,” repeated Charlie, her face creasing in confusion. “How is that even a jo–” She broke off with a flinch.
There was something in amongst the trees. Or rather, someone. A tall – maybe 6’ or 6’1 – figure stepped into view a few metres from the lane. A sweaty chequered shirt clung to the figure’s skinny male torso. Baggy blue jeans hung from his hips. A hessian bag dangled from a loop of twine on his shoulder. But it wasn’t these things that had thrown Charlie into silence. It was the second hessian bag that masked the figure’s face and, above all else, the shotgun he was aiming at the family.
Charlie’s lungs loosened enough to let out a delayed scream as the sinister figure advanced into the lane. Andrea caught hold of her, drawing her protectively away from him. Marcus stepped in front of Tracy, putting up his hands, palms out. “Wha…What is…” he stammered, his words catching in his throat.
A man’s croaky voice with a Cumbrian accent came through the bag. “Do as I say and I won’t hurt you.” There was a tremor in it as if whoever was behind the mask was almost as nervous as his victims. Dark eyes darted around like panicked fish in the shadows of roughly cut eyeholes. “I just want your money and car keys.”
“We don’t have much money,” said Andrea, swallowing hard between words.
Marcus reached into his jacket pocket and took out his wallet and keys. They trembled in his hand.
“Throw them to me,” said the man.
Marcus tossed the wallet and keys to the ground at the man’s booted feet. The man took one hand off the shotgun to withdraw a bundle of heavy duty twine from the bag on his shoulder. He threw it to Marcus and instructed him, “Tie your family up.”
Until that moment Tracy hadn’t made a sound. She’d simply stood there studying the shotgun-wielding figure with eyes like drill bits, as if she was trying to bore through the mask and see the face behind it. But now she asked without a trace of fear, “Why?”
The man stared back at her as if unsure he’d heard correctly. “Why what?”
“Why do–”
“Shh, Tracy,” cut in Marcus.
But she persisted, “Why do we need to be tied up? If you just want our money and keys, then take them and go away.”
“You might come after me,” said the man.
“We won’t,” Marcus assured him.
“We’re not stupid enough to do that,” added Tracy.
“You might phone the police.”
She raised her hands to indicate the surrounding sweep of fields and trees. “How? I don’t see a phone box.”
“I don’t know how.” The man’s voice swayed between bemusement and irritation.
“So why–”
The shotgun jerked towards Tracy. “Listen, you’d better shut your gob or I’ll shut if for you.”
Charlie gave out another half-choked scream and burst into tears. Andrea pulled her closer, hissing at Tracy, “Do as he says.”
Charlie’s sobs grew louder as the gun swung in her direction. “Stop crying!” demanded the man.
“You’re scaring her,” retorted Andrea, given courage by her motherly instincts.
The man softened his tone. “You needn’t be scared,” he told Charlie. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Tracy made a doubtful hmph that drew the shotgun back to her. She stared defiantly at its wielder as if daring him to pull the trigger. She’d already cried once today. She wasn’t about to do so again. The eyes blinked within the shadows of the mask.
Tracy flinched as her dad caught hold of her hands. She tried to pull away as he wrapped twine around her wrists. “Please, Tracy,” he said, his eyes wide with pleading. “The quicker you let me do this, the quicker he’ll go away.”
Tracy shook her head and squirmed around, but it wasn’t enough to prevent Marcus from binding her wrists and ankles. His eyes begged for forgiveness as he gently laid her flat on the ground. She glared back at him with clench-toothed fury, feeling the residue of the recent rainfall seep through her clothes.
Marcus turned to Andrea and Charlie. They held still as he tied them up. “It’ll be over soon,” he sought to reassure Charlie, stroking her hair as she quivered and sniffled.
“Move away from her.” The masked figure motioned with the shotgun where he wanted Marcus to go.
Marcus moved to the spot a few metres from his wife and daughters.
“Tie your ankles.”
Again, Marcus complied.
“Now throw me the string and lie down on your face with your hands behind your back.”
Marcus lowered himself to the ground. His breath whistled between his teeth as a thick-soled boot pressed heavily on the small of his back. The gun’s muzzle came to rest against his skull. Keeping the shotgun wedged between his shoulder and Marcus’s head, the man reached down with clammy hands to tie Marcus’s wrists.
“Dad.” Tracy’s voice was an urgent whisper.
Marcus knew what she wanted – she wanted him to make a grab for the gun. There wouldn’t be another chance. His muscles quivered at the knowledge. A doubting inner voice jabbed at him, What if he’s lying? What if he intends to hurt us?
But even as he asked himself the questions the chance was passing. The twine bit into his wrists. The man’s hands returned to the shotgun. “Please just take what you want and go,” pleaded Marcus.
In response, the man reached into his hessian bag again. He withdrew a matching bag and stooped to pull it down over Marcus’s face.
“Wait, what are you–” Marcus broke off as the muzzle was pushed painfully into the back of his head. The man kept it there for a second before moving on to Andrea and Charlie. Charlie started sobbing again as a bag plunged her into darkness.
“It’s OK, Charlie. It’s OK, I’m here,” soothed Andrea as a bag was yanked over her face too.
The man turned his attention to Tracy. Lips compressed into a bloodless line, she stared up at him. A single word was written large in her eyes – Liar!
She kicked out at him. Dodging around her feet, he thrust a boot into her stomach. The breath whooshed from her lungs.
“What’s going on?” cried Marcus, futilely struggling to shake the bag off his head.
“She made me kick her,” the man replied with a petulant twist in his voice, like a schoolboy protesting his innocence after being caught fighting. “Tell her to lie still or I’ll do it again.”
“For Christ’s sake, Tracy, lie still.”
Ignoring her dad, Tracy contorted her body like a snake pinned by a stick. It made no difference. Within seconds, a veil of rough hessian blocked the sky from view. As if shut down by her sudden blindness, she became still. There was a crunch of boots on stones as the man moved away. The hessian inflated and deflated in time to her rapid breaths. It had a musty animal stink. There was a moment of silence, broken only by Charlie’s sobs. Had their would-be robber taken what he claimed to want and gone?
Then came another male voice. This one also had a local accent, but there was no nervous tremor. The voice was deeper and harsher. “Are they tied up nice and tight?”
“Yes,” replied the first man.
“Who… Who’s that?” Marcus piped up, panic sucking at his voice.
“None of your fucking business,” growled the newcomer.
“Why didn’t you help me?” grumbled his accomplice.
“This is your party, not mine. Besides, I didn’t think in a million years you’d actually go through with it.”
“Well you were wrong.”
“Oh yeah,” the new arrival said with a chuckle that sent prickles down Marcus’s spine. “I have to hand it to you, you proved me wrong big time.”
“Mum, I can’t breathe,” Charlie gasped.
“Yes you can,” said Andrea, sounding as if she herself was clinging to calm by her fingertips. “Try to breathe slowly.” To their assailants, she added in a tone that somehow managed to be both hostile and pleading, “You’ve got what you want. Now leave us alone!”
“My bank card is in my wallet,” Marcus blurted out. “There’s several thousand pounds in my account. I’ll tell you the pin number if you leave us alone.” It was a lie – there was barely enough money in the account to cover the cost of the holiday – but it was all he could think to say.
The chuckle came again, louder, as if its maker was relishing the effect he was having. “Keep your money.”
Marcus’s bladder twitched at the reply. He felt a sudden almost overwhelming need to release its contents. Tracy was right, his mind screamed. Oh Christ, she was right!
“What does that mean?” asked the first man. “I thought we were just after their money.”
“Bollocks you did,” retorted his accomplice. “You knew this was never about money.”
“Help!” Andrea cried out. “Help! Someone–”
She was silenced by a foot thundering into her midriff. Charlie screamed as hands pried her and Andrea apart. A sharp blow to the head silenced the teenager too.
“What are you doing?” Marcus yelled as fury finally got the better of his fear. “You bastards! Touch my family and I’ll kill you!” He jerked up onto his knees. The butt of the shotgun crashed into his skull, throwing him back to the ground. He kicked out blindly. A second blow caught him flush in the face. He felt the cartilage in his nose give way under its crushing force. Hot blood exploded against the inside of the hessian bag. He coughed and spluttered as he inhaled the salty, metallic-tasting liquid. He lay on the brink of unconsciousness, his mind swirling desperately for a way out of the horrific predicament. There wasn’t one. His bonds were tight enough to cut off the blood flow. Even if he screamed himself hoarse, no one lived near enough to hear. Fear overwhelmed his anger again. “Please,” he whimpered. “Please don’t hurt them.”
“Look at him,” chuckled the pitiless voice. “It makes you want to puke.”
“What now?” asked the first man. There was something new in his voice – a strange thickness.
“You know what now. You’ve told me what you want to do enough times. So go on, do it.”
“Shall I? Shall I really?”
“Yes you shall.”
Both assailants were momentarily silent. Marcus’s breath gurgled against the blood-soaked bag. Charlie was making a pained, breathless mewling. As if in slow-motion, Andrea uncurled her winded body and groped about in search of her eldest daughter. Tracy lay as seemingly motionless as an animal that knew its best chance of survival was to play dead, but behind her back her hands were working to and fro against the twine. Perhaps deliberately or maybe because she’d struggled, her dad hadn’t bound her wrists all that tightly. Now, millimetre by millimetre, she was manoeuvring the twine over her hands. She could feel slivers of skin curling on the backs of her hands, but the pain hardly registered. She barely even noticed what was going on around her. Her entire being was focused on freeing her hands. For a sickening second she didn’t think she would be able to get the twine past her knuckles. With a final little wrench, it came loose. Her hands were free! But what now?
“Well what are you waiting for, a fucking invitation?” growled the second man. “We can’t stand around here all day. Give me the gun and get on with it. Or are you going to prove me right after all?”
“I’ll show you who’s right,” retorted his accomplice, almost hoarse with anticipation.
Tracy heard footsteps beside her. She tensed, ready to move the instant hands touched her. The bonds on her ankles were even looser than those on her wrists had been. She was fairly certain that, if need be, she could be up and running in a flash. But she also knew she wouldn’t be able to outrun a shotgun. She had to wait for the right moment. What’s more, in order to know when that moment was, she had to get a peek from under the bag. When both men’s attention was focused elsewhere, that would be the moment.
Charlie’s tremulous voice rang out as hands took hold of her instead. “Get off me! Dad! Dad!”
Her cries yanked Marcus back to full consciousness. “Don’t you touch her!” he yelled, his voice cracking with helpless rage.
Charlie’s molester let out a shuddering moan in which pain and pleasure seemed to vie for ascendancy.
“No,” sobbed Charlie. “No.”
“Oh you bastards,” croaked Marcus. “You dirty, filthy…” He trailed off in agony.
“Is that it?” the second man asked with a boom of laughter. “You only put your hands on her tits.”
“Shut up,” shot back his accomplice, his voice a toxic brew of anger and embarrassment.
“You didn’t even have time to get your cock out. Ten seconds and you blew your wad.”
“I said shut up or–”
“Or what?” growled the second man. “What are you gonna do?” There was a tense silence, then he continued, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now get out of my way and let me show you how a real man does it.”
“Stay away from her!” Marcus was half-choked with fury and fear. He struggled frantically to free himself from his bonds.
A booted foot slammed into his chest. He caught hold of it with desperate strength. As Marcus twisted and wrenched, the boot’s owner gave out a yelp. Time and again, the shotgun butt thudded against Marcus’s arms and head. Marcus clung to consciousness as grimly as he clung to his assailant. Charlie was shredding the air with what sounded like one continuous scream. Andrea was crying out, “Help! Help!”
This is your chance, Tracy told herself. Move! Move now! She wriggled her feet. The twine caught on her hiking boots. She risked a more pronounced movement. Her feet came loose. She waited a second to see if her captors had noticed, but all their attention seemed to be on her dad. Her heart pounding like it was about to burst out of her chest, she readied herself to whip off the hessian bag and make a run for it.
“Let go,” the second man roared at Marcus. “Let go or I’ll shoot you.” His words had no effect, so he changed tack. “OK then, I’ll shoot your youngest daughter.”
Tracy froze. Why me? Do they know what I’m up to? An alternative possibility occurred to her – perhaps an eleven-year-old wasn’t as of much interest to the men as a teenager and a woman.
“I swear I’ll shoot her. You’ve got five seconds. Five–”
“Hang on,” the other man broke in anxiously. “You never said anything about shooting anyone.”
“Don’t you fucking start,” came the retort. Then the countdown continued, “Four… Three… Two…”
He’s bluffing, said the small part of Marcus’s mind that hadn’t had all logic battered out of it. He can’t risk the shot being heard. But neither could Marcus risk being wrong. The air echoed with his cry of frustrated rage as he reluctantly released his attacker’s foot.
“All of you shut the fuck up!” bellowed the second man.
Andrea fell silent. Charlie’s screams once again subsided to a gasping, tremulous mewl.
“You bastards are giving me a headache,” continued the man. To his accomplice, he added, “Now get hold of him.”
“What for?”
“Just fucking do it.”
Hands hooked under Marcus’s armpits.
“Move him over there.”
Marcus felt himself being dragged into long grass. His head lolled like a broken flower. His eyes rolled in their sockets. He could no longer have resisted even if he’d wanted to. His strength had suddenly left him like air from a burst rubber ring. He felt as if he was sinking into deep, cold water.
“Where… Where are you taking him?” Andrea asked through breathless sobs. “Don’t hurt him. Please don’t hurt him. You can do whatever you want to me.”
“No,” Marcus gurgled.
“Marcus, Marcus, Marcus…” Andrea sobbed as if saying his name would somehow protect him from further harm.
Tracy listened to the strained rasp of her dad’s breathing and the rustle of undergrowth. The sounds faded, until all she could hear
was Charlie’s mewling. Were they alone? Or had one of the men remained behind to keep an eye on them? Regardless of the answer, she had to take the risk. It was now or never. With trembling hands, she lifted the bag off her head. Blinking as light streamed into her eyes, she peered around apprehensively. Charlie was curled into a ball a couple of metres away. Her coat had been removed and her t-shirt pulled up to reveal a white bra – her first bra.
Just beyond Charlie, their mum was lying on her back with her arms twisted awkwardly beneath her. Their dad was nowhere to be seen. Nor had either of their attackers remained behind. Tracy’s breath came in a rush of relief. She tried to spring to her feet, but her legs were so wobbly that she collapsed back to the ground. On her hands and knees, she crawled as quickly as possible to her mum. Andrea flinched as Tracy touched her. “It’s me,” whispered Tracy.
“Tracy,” gasped Andrea.
“I got free.” Tracy pulled the bag off her mum’s head.
Andrea squinted up at her daughter, her tear-swollen eyes bright with new hope. Blood was smeared across her cheek from a split lip. “Untie me. Quickly!”
Tracy attempted to untie her mum’s wrists. The knot was too tight for her stubby fingernails to prise apart. She gave up and moved on to the twine around her mum’s ankles. Her fingers fumbled at the knot with increasing desperation. “I can’t untie it,” she said with a wobble of approaching tears.
“Calm down, Tracy,” said Andrea, recovering a semblance of a soothing motherly tone. Tracy took a steadying breath and Andrea continued, “Now try again.”
Tracy had another go at the knots with the same result. Tears were shimmering in her eyes now. She glanced around fearfully. Still no sign of their captors, but it surely wouldn’t be long before that changed.
“OK, Tracy, untie your sister,” said Andrea.
“But what about you?”
“Don’t argue. Just do as I say.”
Swiping away her tears, Tracy turned to her sister. A sob escaped Charlie as Tracy removed the bag. Tracy put a finger to her lips, then tried to undo the knot at her sister’s wrists. Charlie was shaking so hard that the knot kept jumping out of Tracy’s fingers.