by C. M. Ewan
She does that too. Text messages, then WhatsApp. Even Snapchat. Why not? Fiona’s chat with Michael has already been erased. There’s nothing to suggest that she’s contacted anyone.
Her phone is snatched back.
‘Start the car.’
The gun eases off a fraction. Michael lifts his head, though he can still feel the gritty kiss of the muzzle pressing against his scalp.
Slowly, he reaches for the ignition key with his right hand. He turns it, then lowers his hand to his lap and carefully slips his fingers under his thigh to where his phone is hidden.
His phone is a generation older than Fiona’s. He’s been bugging his parents to update it, though he’s glad now he can use his thumbprint to unlock the device. He delays for a moment longer, peering down at the concealed screen as he navigates to the phone menu. His chest feels very tight.
He could try 999, but that requires more taps on the keypad. And he can’t speak to tell the control centre what he wants.
His mum has taken Holly to gym practice. She’ll be chatting with the other parents, her phone buried in her handbag.
Michael calls his dad, pressing the green icon on the phone screen at the exact same time he revs the engine, like a nervous twitch, to mask the muffled sound of the phone ringing.
And it works, for a second or two.
Until the engine note drops and the phone’s low droning vibrates against the seat cushion. An angry grunt from behind and the gun pushes much harder against Michael’s skull, smashing his forehead against the steering wheel as hands reach around him to claim the phone.
He just glimpses the screen before it’s gone. Call answered.
Michael can hear heavy breathing behind him. Two, maybe three, seconds of it.
Then a beep as the call is cancelled.
‘You’re really going to regret doing that.’
39
Movement on the deck in front of the lodge pulled me out of my thoughts. My heart stuttered. Through the scatter of branches and foliage in front of me I could see the bigger man striding towards us.
My hands made fists in Buster’s fur.
‘No,’ Holly breathed.
Rachel reached over to clench her arm.
The bigger man kept coming. The wind flattened his plastic coveralls against his body and riffled his hood. The shotgun was in his left hand down by his leg. The big industrial torch was in his right hand. The light from his torch jinked and bobbed and swayed with his movements, rocking side to side in stunted arcs as he leaped down onto the soaked gravel yard. He looked enormous. Like a yeti in a storm.
We crouched, holding our breaths.
The bigger man stopped walking and stood absolutely still. He titled his hooded head to one side, like he was listening intently for a minor disturbance in the air.
All three of us remained motionless.
Until Buster jerked in my arms.
His body spasmed once. Twice.
Terror coursed through me. I squeezed Buster tight and stared in horror as the bigger man leaned forwards, little more than twenty paces away.
Had he heard us?
Buster juddered and whined. His nostrils flared. Panic swelled in my chest.
Not now. Not now. Not . . .
The bigger man took a slow step forwards, peering into the black. Holly tentatively reached out and rested her hand on Buster’s side. I could feel the tension coming off of Rachel like heat from a fire. Buster kicked at the towels that surrounded him with his forepaws. He started to thrash. I clung to him even tighter.
The bigger man kept staring. I could see his paper mask move inwards and outwards in time with his breathing. Then – just as I felt sure he was about to rush us – he turned away and swiped his torch off towards the wooded area on the far side of the carport.
There was a furious rustling of foliage. A ragged slapping noise. A bird broke out from the tree cover in the wet glitter of the torch beam. It flew up through the torchlight into the trees.
I felt a sudden, heady lightness as the bigger man’s shoulders dropped and he swung his torch beam down at his feet, then tramped off up the driveway, moving at pace.
I sagged. My body went limp. Holly let go of a sigh and collapsed into me. Rachel covered her mouth with her hand, shaking her head wordlessly.
I would have said something, but Buster chose that moment to start jerking more. He inhaled and exhaled rapidly through his nostrils. His chest rose and fell.
I peered after the bigger man. He didn’t turn back.
Buster’s eyelids snapped open. He raised his head and stared at me with crazed eyes. He blinked. Blinked again. Then he grunted and kicked and thrashed until I released him and he staggered off my lap towards Holly.
‘It’s OK, boy,’ I whispered, tapping his quivering side, craning my neck to watch the bigger man continue on his way.
Buster took two unsteady steps, paused for a long moment, tried shaking the wetness from his coat. His back legs gave out. He crashed onto his rump.
‘Can we do anything for him?’ I whispered to Rachel.
‘Not a lot. It could take him a while to come round properly. Whatever they gave him . . .’ She blew air through her lips. ‘It looks like it was a heavy dose.’
Holly hooked a finger through Buster’s collar and stroked his head. She hushed him. She didn’t seem to be in any pain or discomfort from our run across the yard. She hadn’t mentioned feeling queasy or faint.
‘Do you think he was looking for us?’ Rachel asked me. She kept her voice low. I could tell she was uncomfortable discussing it in front of Holly.
‘No.’
‘It didn’t feel that way to me, either.’
I craned my neck. The bigger man was maybe a hundred metres away now, leaning forwards as he climbed the steep driveway gradient. His torch beam swung side to side with his movements, but not like a searchlight. He wasn’t probing the treeline with intent.
‘They must think we’re still in the cellar,’ I said, half to myself. ‘If they knew we were out here, they’d both be searching for us. They’d be rushing around. Like before.’
‘Then what’s he doing?’
‘It looks like he’s on his way to the gate.’
‘The gate is locked. They already checked it.’
‘Yes. But Holly told them we’d called for help.’ I looked back at her. ‘You shouted it to them, remember? “The police are on their way.”’
‘They didn’t believe me, Dad.’
‘They said they didn’t believe you. But maybe that’s not a risk they can take?’
Or maybe he’s going to the gate for another reason.
Buster let go of a whimper. He stretched out his front legs until he was lying on his stomach. Seconds later, he curled up and tried to lick the spot on his hind leg where the tranquilizer dart had hit him.
‘Hey. Hey, stop it.’ Rachel moved forwards to drag his head away. ‘Don’t do that, Buster.’
He started licking Rachel’s hand instead. He was so groggy I wasn’t sure he knew the difference. His eyes rolled like he might fall back to sleep.
I looked over at the lodge again. Time to make a decision.
‘Listen,’ I said. ‘Our best move right now is for me to try to sneak into the lodge and use the phone.’
‘No. Dad, that’s crazy.’
‘They cut the phone lines, Tom. You know that.’
‘Did they? All of them? Then why’s he going to the gate?’ I pointed after the bigger man. ‘Think about it. We know they cut the line into the wine cellar. But before we got into the cellar, they found us sneaking around the lodge. We were close to the kitchen. Maybe they think we used the landline there. Maybe they hadn’t disconnected it. And if they think we’re still in the cellar . . .’
‘Then maybe it still works,’ Holly finished.
A tiny spark of hope flickered in her eyes. Rachel’s expression was more stoic. She didn’t shake her head. She didn’t tell me I was wrong. But she didn’t encourage me,
either.
I pressed my case. I reminded her about the controls for the main gate and the stash of weapons in the living room. I told her we had to take a chance.
Then I peered out from behind the woodland foliage at the saturated yard and the deck. There was still no sign of the smaller man. When I looked to my left, the wash of the bigger man’s torch was just wavering over the summit at the top of the driveway. If this was our opportunity, it wouldn’t last long.
‘You two keep hold of Buster,’ I said. ‘I’ll run in there and take a quick look. If it’s safe, I’ll go for the phone and I’ll try the gate controls. If it’s not, I won’t.’
‘I don’t know, Dad. It’s really dangerous.’
‘Is it? We know the smaller one is in the reading nook. If the bigger one’s going to the gate, he won’t be back for a while.’
‘You promised we’d go to the stargazing pod.’
‘And we will.’
‘We could go now, though.’
‘Holly, we’d need to get in through the door. Here.’ I pulled back my coat sleeve and unfastened my watch strap. I fitted it over Holly’s wrist and tapped the illuminated dial. ‘Give me two minutes, OK? If I come out and run back to you, it means I’ve called the police or I’ve found a way to keep the gate open and we’ll try to get out together. If I wave you over to me, we’ll head to the pod. Understand?’
Holly didn’t say anything. She just bit down on her lip and gave me a shaky look. Rachel reached out and put her hand on my arm. When she met my eyes, I could see the trepidation on her face.
‘And if you don’t come out?’
‘That’s not going to happen.’
‘But if it does?’
‘Then you get as far away from here as you can and you hide. You do it right away. Get to the pod if you can make it. I’ll meet you there.’
Rachel looked down and stroked Buster. He was panting hard, acting dazed and glassy-eyed. He didn’t look capable of walking anywhere soon, let alone running, and I knew Rachel couldn’t lift him with her bad arm. I guessed she was thinking the same thing.
‘Maybe I should go instead,’ she said quietly. ‘I got us into this mess.’
‘Forget it.’ I got up into a crouch. ‘Two minutes. Then I’ll be back here with you.’
And before they could argue any more – before I could change my mind – I stepped out from our hiding place and sprinted across the yard.
Michael runs towards the car like he’s running from an explosion. His trainers thump on the cracked asphalt. His vision jolts and jars.
Fiona streaks ahead of him beneath a faulty street light. She runs cross-country at county level. She has a stride like a gazelle.
‘Hurry!’ she yells.
By the time Michael has the car unlocked, she’s already at the far side and is yanking on the passenger door handle.
Michael rushes towards the driver’s door and hauls it open. He drops inside, slams the door.
The car key slips in his sweaty fingers. He keeps fumbling as he tries to jam it in the ignition.
‘Faster.’
Finally, the key fits.
‘Go!’ Fiona screams.
And Michael would, except for the tapping on his window.
He turns his head to see a gloved hand holding a gun.
40
Gravel flew up from my heels. I splashed through puddles. I ran into the wind. My instincts told me to avoid the kitchen window. With the bigger man on his way to the gate, the front of the lodge should be clear. It would be quicker.
I veered onto the deck and into the blinding white light. My legs were so heavy with nerves I felt like I was running through sand. The open fire pit smelled faintly of dampened woodsmoke. The big pyramid of glass glowed yellow at the front of the lodge.
Twenty seconds gone.
I guessed.
My arm shook as I braced a hand on the sliding glass door and kicked off my hiking boots. My palm left a sweaty print on the glass.
The timber floor inside the lodge was wet from rain scatter and the treads of the men’s rubber boots. I snatched a breath and crept inside in my socks, looking jerkily around.
The living space appeared empty, upstairs and down, but a tremor passed through me when I saw the ragged, scorched hole in the plasterboard above the mezzanine, just back from the staircase. The hole was from the bullet the bigger man had fired when I’d prodded him with the skylight pole. Looking at it now, I could almost feel the whisper of the bullet tearing past my head.
Thirty seconds gone. Give or take. I felt like I’d been holding my breath the entire time.
I almost lost my nerve then but I forced myself on, locking my eyes on the entrance to the corridor leading towards the pool room. I listened for any sound from the smaller man. I was ready to turn and flee. A big part of me wanted to go right now.
I startled as my toes crinkled the edge of the blue plastic sheeting the men had laid on the floor. My mouth went dry. The three holdalls were still there. But most of the equipment was gone. I tried to focus and remember what I’d seen before. Like a split-second memory game. There was the double-barrelled shotgun and the handgun. The pry bar and the short-handled axe and the claw hammer. But all that was left now were the ropes, the restraints, the roll of gaffer tape and the rubber mallet. There was no sign of the toolbox I’d taken from the Volvo.
Not good.
I bent on quaking knees and snatched up the mallet, weighing it in my hand. My grip felt weak. The dense rubber head vibrated with the shakes running down my arm.
Forty seconds gone.
I knuckled the sweat from my eyes and peered towards the corridor again. There was a sharp pain in my chest when I inhaled. Still no sign of the smaller man.
I checked behind me. Nothing.
Go for the phone?
My legs buckled. I forced myself on, shaking all over and moving with a sort of involuntary stutter.
Fifty seconds.
Just over a minute to go.
Assuming Rachel and Holly stuck with my plan – which they maybe wouldn’t – I guessed they’d want to give me a little leeway. And I knew Holly wouldn’t want to leave Buster behind.
I saw the phone ahead of me in the kitchen. It was still fitted to the bracket on the wall.
I tightened my fingers around the mallet and moved towards it, feeling badly exposed as I tiptoed in front of the corridor to my right. I knew, from when Rachel had called Brodie, that the phone made a cheery, two-tone beeping noise when you lifted it from its cradle. It was the kind of noise I didn’t want to be making right now.
I gazed down at the mallet in my hand, thinking. Would it be enough to smash our way through the door to the stargazing pod? Should I just go?
My pulse thumped in my ears. I put a hand to my chest.
The Wi-Fi router on the kitchen counter beneath the handset was dark and unlit. No diodes flashed on the front of it.
Don’t panic. You knew that already.
Perspiration prickled across my neck. I looked again to my right. The door to the laundry room was ajar. The door to the pool room was closed. The corridor remained empty.
To my left, fragments and nuggets of glass littered the kitchen countertop and the timber floor from where the window over the sink had been smashed. The shards still attached to the frame shone softly.
One minute and ten seconds.
My spine trembled and my sight blurred. I snatched a breath. Closed my eyes. I thought of Holly and Rachel. I pictured myself making the phone call. I imagined the police racing here through the night. Then I opened my eyes, strode forwards very fast and snatched the receiver off its plastic bracket.
There was no cheery, two-tone beeping noise.
There was no sound at all.
My heartbeat slowed. My pulse became sticky. The room seemed to contract around me.
The LCD screen on the front of the phone was blank and unlit. And the handset was too light. I turned it over, frowning, and looke
d at the back. The plastic cover on the battery compartment had been removed. The battery was gone. The handset was dead.
Oh man.
One minute and thirty seconds.
I looked up at the intercom unit for the front gate. The button marked GATE OPEN was immediately below the speaker console, next to the button marked TALK. If the bigger man was there now, how would he react if the gate swung open? Would he hide and wait for us to come?
I raised a quaking finger. The air felt dense as water. It seemed to shimmy around my hand. But before I could press the button, the gate camera fuzzed and flickered to life.
I jerked back.
Hazed lines of static appeared on screen followed by the bloom of a brilliant white light. Something bulged inside my throat. The light dimmed. Then the feedback to the small LCD screen redrew itself and settled into a blurred night-time image rendered in shades of grey.
My body shut down then. My breathing. Heartbeat. Everything.
I swayed.
The light had dimmed because I was looking at two car headlamps that had been switched from full dazzle to dipped beams.
Someone was at the gate waiting to come in.
41
The vehicle was a Toyota Land Cruiser. The driver was Brodie.
I rocked back. All my suspicions crashed in at me again. Because what else could he be doing here at four in the morning, dressed in a dark fleece jacket zipped up to his beard with a woollen beanie tugged down on his head?
My body went numb. A bolt of anger tore through me. I put my fingers to the monitor as Brodie powered down his side window and hooked his elbow out over the sill. His eyes flashed bright in the infrared glare, like the eyes of a woodland predator filmed on a nature documentary.
Had the two men summoned him? Was that why the bigger man had hiked up to the gate?
The monitor fuzzed again. The greyscale image was grainy and indistinct. It was hard to get a read on Brodie’s demeanour and attitude. Was he relaxed or tensed? Did he know what was going on here?
I stared at the intercom and thought about pressing the button marked TALK. In my mind, I was running through everything Rachel had told me. She’d said that Brodie was an investigator. Lionel trusted him. Rachel trusted him. Brodie had warned Rachel that things were escalating. Could he be here to help us?