by Chris Ward
Suzanne
Patrick had been gone all night. Suzanne stood by the door, looking through the trees in the direction of the road, wondering if he might show up at any moment. Had he made it to the hospital or not? What if the DCA had caught him?
She couldn’t bear the thought of him stuck back in a cell, but as she glanced back at the closed bedroom door, she knew she couldn’t wait forever.
Kelly’s wound had got worse. The flesh was still enflamed, and she now had a high fever. Suzanne knew enough about skin injuries to know it was infected, something that with a healthy dose of antibiotics could easily be fixed.
There hadn’t been much activity around the reservoir. A couple of vehicles had appeared, parked up at buildings farther into the trees, and disgorged people with fishing rods. The idea of appealing to the humanity of a complete stranger was foolhardy. Perhaps once, before the DCA’s presence grew so wide, before she had ended up in a prison and then with a noose around her neck. There might now be a price on her head; it was too great a risk.
She tended to Kelly, who had fallen into a feverish half-sleep. Whenever she looked coherent, Suzanne spooned warm tinned soup into her mouth. While she lay moaning, Suzanne talked to her softly while wiping her brow. When Kelly looked asleep, Suzanne combed the cabin in search of any kind of secret medicine stash.
Evening came. Patrick didn’t return.
On the second morning, there were fewer cars than before. She realised it was Monday, and that most people were back at work. There was just a solitary four-wheel-drive parked at a cabin a couple of hundred yards from her own.
Suzanne knew what she had to do. Patrick still wasn’t back, and this morning Kelly had barely woken at all. She washed and got dressed, then packed her things into a bag, leaving it by the front door.
The other cabin had a single light on. Suzanne crept through the trees, keeping out of open view where she could. Circling around behind the vehicle, she crept up to the side and peered in through the window. No sign of keys, as she had thought.
She crept back to her own cabin, taking a seat from where she could watch the other, waiting for the occupant to appear. The only people she had seen up here had spent most of their time outside, fishing or walking around the lake. She fed Kelly as best she could at lunchtime to give her some more soup, then resumed her vigil. Still no sign of the other cabin’s occupant, nor of a returning Patrick.
Evening was approaching when Suzanne decided she had no choice but to confront the occupant directly. She checked Kelly was sleeping, then crept out, cutting through the trees again. The single light was on, the curtains closed. Suzanne did a circle of the cabin, looking for some way to see inside, but in the end she had no choice but to go up to the door and knock.
As she lifted one hand, with the other she touched the penknife she had taken from a kitchen drawer and tucked into the back pocket of her jeans.
‘Hello?’ she called as she knocked. No one answered. Suzanne had a sudden terrible thought that someone had come here to kill themselves, immediately countered by the guilt she felt at the hope such an idea gave her. Then, footsteps from inside creaked on floorboards as someone approached.
She prayed it was a woman. A woman might understand.
‘Yes?’ came a gruff man’s voice.
‘Um, hello, I was wondering if you could help me.’
The door opened a crack, and a heavyset man in his mid-forties looked out. ‘What do you want?’
‘I, ah, I’m new around here. I have nowhere to stay. I wondered if I could buy some food from you? I have money.’
The door opened wider. Suzanne got a glimpse of boxes on the floor of the inside of the cabin before the man’s bulk blocked it. His jaw was hard, his body thick beneath a brown jacket. One hand carried a metal club.
‘I don’t need money.’
Suzanne gulped. She had expected as much. She had brushed her hair before coming out, undone the top button on her blouse.
‘I have more than money.’
The man looked her up and down. ‘I can see that. You from one of the cities? A runaway?’
‘I’m just passing through,’ Suzanne said, and the man nodded, taking from her words whatever meaning he chose.
‘Come inside,’ he said.
Suzanne stepped into the room. The man stepped behind her, one hand patting her hard on the bottom. She reached for the knife, but too late, the man had already found it, plucking it from her pocket in one quick motion.
He held it up between his fingers, then looked at her and grinned. ‘Planning to use this, were you?’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun, pointing it at Suzanne’s face. ‘Come on, girl, I wasn’t born yesterday. Few people were.’
‘Please, don’t.’
The man lowered the gun to Suzanne’s stomach. ‘I’d hate to ruin such a lovely face.’ For a few seconds he just stared at her, as though deciding what to do. ‘You’re moving through, are you?’ he said. ‘I’m a reasonable man. I’ll throw you a bag of food if you pay me what I want.’
‘What’s that?’
He nodded at a door next to a small open plan kitchen. ‘Through there.’
Suzanne nodded. She reached out for the man’s hand. ‘Let’s go.’
The man kept the gun close to him on a bedside table while he fucked her. Suzanne never had a chance to snatch for it, the man clearly more worldly than she had hoped. Instead, she could only do what she hoped would tire him out enough to make him sleep, giving her a chance to get away.
When he was finally done, though, he rolled off her and reached for his clothes. Suzanne wiped her mouth and swallowed down her revulsion, instead concentrating on the scars that crisscrossed his chest, wondering where each had come from. The man, seemingly satisfied, tossed her clothes across to her.
‘Want to wash, there’s a lake down there. Be dark in half an hour so you’d better hurry up.’
‘What are you going to do with me?’
The man shrugged. ‘Nothing. I told you I’m a reasonable man. I’ll grab you a couple of things from the stock. Although, you can stick around if you like.’ He winked, grinned at her and licked his lips. ‘I could handle a bit more of that.’
Suzanne tried to suppress a shudder, remembering how she had fared far worse at the brutal hands of the DCA. If she could somehow get the car, it would be worth it.
She followed the man out into the kitchen-diner. He had put the gun back into his pocket and had opened a box, pulling out a couple of dented cans of beans. He tossed them into a bag and handed them to her.
‘Worth a fortune on the black market,’ he said. ‘I could buy a couple of girls like you in some of the cities for just one of these.’
Suzanne tried to feign interest, but as she glanced up at the door, she caught sight of a set of keys hanging on a hook. The man’s huge bulk blocked her way. He had taken her penknife and had a gun. Suzanne was unarmed.
‘That not enough for you?’ The man grinned. ‘If you suck my dick again I’ll throw in a slice of bread.’
Suzanne looked up into the man’s mocking eyes. She wondered how many other girls like her he had taken advantage of, and even though until now she had felt nothing for him other than revulsion, suddenly she felt a bloom of hate.
‘You’re a bastard,’ she said.
‘Look, girl, you came knocking. I was minding my own business.’
‘I have to go,’ she said, taking the beans and pushing past him, wondering if she could snatch the keys on the way out. He would catch her, though. He would surely catch her.
‘Hey, why so fast?’
He reached out, grabbing her arm, pulling her back. Suzanne didn’t think as she swung round, lifting the bag containing the two hard cans and smashing it into his face.
The man groaned, staggering backward. Suzanne swung a kick into his groin, then as he doubled over she swung the bag down over his head, one can finding its mark with a loud clump.
As the man hit the floor, Suzanne grabbed
the keys off the hook and ran for the doorway, kicking it open and barging outside.
It took a few desperate seconds to find the right key. Naively she searched for a lock hole in the door before realising the vehicle’s locking system was auto-operated. As the doors unlocked with a click and a flash of the indicators, a crash came from inside the cabin.
She had never driven before, but she had watched Patrick in the electric car long enough to get the general idea. Still, she stuck the vehicle into reverse first, slamming back into a tree before figuring out which control made it go forward. Hacking around in a circle that involved hitting another tree with the front bumper, she finally got it going straight and drove along a track, pulling up outside her cabin.
Leaving the engine running, she dashed inside. Kelly was still in the bed where Suzanne had left her, and groaned as Suzanne slapped her awake.
‘We have to go,’ Suzanne said, dragging her sister out of the bed. Kelly was barely more than a dead weight as Suzanne carried her outside, pulled open the vehicle’s passenger door and shoved Kelly ungainly into the front passenger seat.
Behind her, the door to the man’s cabin opened and he staggered out. Suzanne stared as he stumbled after them, shouting obscenities, one hand on his groin, the other on his head.
Her bag with the food and medical supplies she had assembled was inside the door. Suzanne judged the distance the man had to come, then ran for it, suffering one agonising moment as the strap got caught on a nail by the door.
The man was barely ten steps from the vehicle when Suzanne threw the bag inside and slammed the door. She clicked the locks down as the man banged on the rear windscreen, screaming, ‘You fucking cunt! I’ll cut your throat!’
‘Patrick, I’m so sorry,’ Suzanne whispered, as she slammed her foot on the accelerator and sped away.
27
Patrick
The door opened, bathing Patrick in a triangle of light. He tried to roll away, but his hands were still tied behind his back, his legs tied together behind the knees and ankles.
‘Let me out, you bastard,’ he groaned, talking around the swelling in the side of his jaw where he had taken one of Tommy’s punches.
From where he stood in the doorway, his uncle looked down at him. ‘Still not learned any respect, have you? I always told my sister you were a brat.’
Tommy came inside, reached down and cut through Patrick’s bonds. He pushed Patrick away and stood up. Patrick lay still for a few seconds, willing blood back into his numb muscles. His stomach ached with hunger, his bowels with a need to empty themselves, and his face from the flurry of punches he had taken from Tommy when he stepped out of the car by a roadside.
‘How long have you kept me here?’
‘Not long enough by the sound of it.’
Patrick stumbled to his feet. Tommy came forward a couple of steps, his fist raised. From the anger in his uncle’s eyes, he expected another round. He had lost count after the first five punches, his uncle’s fists like iron. He had blacked out, and when he came to, he was here, tied up in this featureless room.
Punishment for insolence, for daring to threaten Tommy Crown, gangster extraordinaire.
‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, looking down. ‘I should have shown more respect.’
‘You’re an idiot, Patrick. Wandering around the streets like that while the DCA are on your tail. Moose is dead, but they didn’t just shoot him like you thought. They took him in for questioning. He died tied to a DCA interrogation chair, but not before spilling as much as he knew about me. Another contact has also disappeared. These are bad days, Patrick, and you’re wandering about, throwing your weight around like some vigilante. You dumb prick. You should be—you deserve to be—dead.’
‘I have to get back to Suzanne.’
Tommy took a step forward. ‘I kept you off the street while the DCA hunt was at its worst. Do you think you would have survived out there?’ Tommy laughed bitterly. ‘You couldn’t even get the better of one old man. For what it’s worth, if at any time in the future you decide to throttle someone, never, never let them go.’
Patrick said nothing. His cheeks burned with anger and shame.
‘I can help you, but I don’t jump when someone clicks their fingers. You want to dance, make your own fucking dance. And never question my associations. I work with who it is necessary to work with. It’s no concern of yours.’
‘I need to get back to Suzanne.’
‘For what it’s worth, I’ve kept my ear to the ground and heard nothing of a girl being captured. She’s still out there, despite your best efforts to create a trail.’
‘Thanks.’ Patrick looked up. ‘I need to take a shit.’
‘Second door on the left.’ Tommy smirked. ‘Close it behind you.’
‘Sure.’
Patrick made for the door, but as he passed Tommy, his uncle grinned and said, ‘Then when you’re done, we can talk about how you’re going to deliver the girl. I’m still waiting for payback for getting you out.’
Anger bloomed like a field of wildflowers. Patrick swung his fist, backhanding Tommy across the face, turning as he did to throw another punch with his left.
‘Jesus, Patrick, it was a fucking joke—’
Tommy caught the second attempted blow, but as he pulled Patrick off balance, Patrick stamped down on his knee. Tommy howled and crumpled to the ground. Patrick pushed his uncle over and battered him until his fists ached.
‘Don’t you ever talk about her like that—’
‘You’re a dead man,’ Tommy groaned, fighting to avoid Patrick’s fists. ‘A walking dead man.’
Patrick leaned back and kicked Tommy one last time in the stomach, then turned and ran. He was in a town house, so he ran along a short corridor and let himself out of a backdoor into a paved yard. A back wall reached to his shoulder, but he jumped and pulled himself up, only realising after he had climbed down the other side that he wore no shoes.
He was in an alleyway he didn’t recognise. There was no time to worry about where he was, because Tommy would be after him. He picked a direction and ran at random, then zigzagged down alleyways until he was completely lost.
Finally, he climbed over a hedge into a small park. The rusty swings and climbing frame were deserted. A small toilet block stood to one side, the kind of place Patrick would once have never entered for fear of what lowlifes might be inside. Now, though, he didn’t care. He went inside and took a long overdue shit.
Essentials were a frustrating necessity before he could get anything meaningful done. It took him a couple of hours to find a house with an unlocked door where he sneaked in and stole a pair of shoes. They more or less fit if he let his socks bunch a little, but he wished he’d had time to hunt down his old trainers.
After walking for a couple more streets, he began to recognise his surroundings. Tommy must have held him in a local safe house, because he was only a mile from his mother’s place.
Tommy had called him an idiot, reckless. It was stupid to go back to his own house, but he had some vague notion that his mother, in all her alcoholic excess, might have kept a packet or two of antibiotics around in case she caught something from the suspect drink Race used to provide her.
Peering out of an alley at his house across the street, however, he quickly realised it was a foolish idea. From the way the front door had been broken in and then padlocked shut and stickered with police tape, he knew the DCA had been here.
Taking a circuitous route, he approached again from the rear. For an hour or more he lay in wait, watching for any sign the house was under observation, but also plucking up the courage to approach. When he finally did, he found the back door also broken in, swinging on one remaining hinge.
He smelled his mother’s body before he found her, lying in her own filth and blood on the kitchen floor. Her face had contorted in a death caused by multiple injuries designed to inflict as much pain as possible. Patrick wiped away a tear. While he had never felt much lov
e for her, it was clear how she had suffered in his name. It didn’t matter that she had likely told them anything they wanted to hear; his escape had brought them here.
From the living room he took a sofa drape and laid it over her. Then, aware he was already compromising his situation by being here, he went through the drawers, looking for anything the DCA—and possibly subsequent looters—had missed.
In his bedroom upstairs he found a pair of old shoes, so he jettisoned the ones he had stolen. He changed his clothes and quickly cleaned himself up, then rooted through the bathroom for anything of use, but found only an old packet of painkillers that was several years out of date.
‘Goodbye, Mother,’ he said to the shape under the sheet as he left, wishing he could do more.
As the crow flew, it was several miles out to the lake where Suzanne was hiding out. Patrick couldn’t go back there empty-handed, but where could he find medicine?
A few doors down from him, he remembered a neighbour had owned a bicycle. The government was in the process of banning them from sale, citing a shortage of materials, requesting that unused bikes be handed in. They had so far fallen short of banning them outright, and Patrick remembered his neighbour boasting about how he kept it hidden.
Now, as Patrick climbed over the back wall of his neighbour’s garden, he found the bike inside a locked wooden shed, visible through a window. With everyone at work, he didn’t care about the noise as he kicked the door in and hauled the bike out. A lock took a little more time to break, busted open with a pair of pliers found in a toolbox. As Patrick lifted it and dropped it over the wall into the alley, he wondered why breaking and entering—something he had always thought the domain of criminals—was so easy.
He did his best to keep out of sight by sticking to the alleyways as he made his way across town. The weather had turned, the clear skies turning grey and threatening rain, and as evening drew in he felt more comfortable cycling on open roads, diving for cover whenever he heard cars coming. As he reached the town limits, though, the tarmac roads gave way to gravel. The bike was a basic road bike, not designed for uneven surfaces. After a few minutes of struggling over rocks, he got off and pushed.