In The End Box Set | Books 1-3

by Stevens, GJ

  With an ache in my hand, I let my grip relax. Head darting left and right, I sought out shadows, but the only disturbances in the light were thin flashes through the remains of the front door’s glass to my side.

  Twisting my wrists still held tight by the cuffs, I turned towards the back door and my bare feet found the pricking remains of the missing glass panel. Sucking up the pain I stepped with a light touch whilst trying to ignore the tacky suction of the floor.

  Passing the sideboard whilst squinting under the stairs, looking for the trainers I’d been wearing or anything I could use to protect myself.

  Seeing a rabble of disorganised shoes, I stopped and pushed my feet into a pair of white trainers which were way too big and slid on with no need for my hands.

  Urgent but muffled calls came from upstairs and I looked to the back door, hesitating as I ran towards it searching its surface for some lock or a mechanism I could use to slow their return. I found nothing I could operate without my hands. I would have to hope the slowing gunfire had been enough to hide the call.

  Contorting my hands around the side, I ignored the tension at my wrists as I tried the handle. I couldn’t stop the gun slapping and scratching against the metal.

  It was locked. Still locked, I thought, as I remembered the last time I’d tried. The last time I was desperate to escape.

  With my night vision improving, I looked to the wide windows at its side, shuffling along the dining table to follow. Not able to raise my hands high, I angled the handle of the old-fashioned window with my nose. It moved just enough for me to push it wide with my forehead, feeling the chill air wash over me. I used my foot to hook a chair from under the dining table. Its metal legs scraped across the tile floor, the loudest sound in the moment. My actions were no longer drowned by gunfire, my noise only competing with the footsteps above.

  Teetering for balance on the frame, I toppled headfirst. My hands let go of the grip, the gun landing before my shoulder.

  Thankful for grass under the window, I shook off the ache, pausing for the pain to dissipate. Taking a deep breath, I tried not to think what would have happened if it had been concrete under the window.

  After the darkness inside, the outdoors glowed bright with moonlight.

  Standing, the gun caught my eye. I dropped back to my knees and fumbled it from the ground, adrenaline racing as I heard shouts inside the house, but still no one came racing down the stairs.

  Not able to stop myself as I stood, I looked back inside through the window. Ignoring the hurried sounds, I froze on the fat guy’s body; his face a bloodied mess, his mouth hanging open, jaw at a contorted angle as he lay on the floor. I knew who had caused the wounds. I knew who had gone to town on his face. I knew she wouldn’t have been able to control herself when she saw what it looked like he was so close to doing.

  It was his blood sticking to my feet and I didn’t know how it made me feel. There was no space in my head for any more right now.

  I ran, could do nothing else, but instead of trying to figure how I could climb the tall fence growing in my vision, my mind played over the three frames of light as the bedroom brightened in each of the bullet’s flashes.

  The frames hung for a second at a time and I fixed on Toni’s evolving expression with each pull of the trigger; her body forced back, unable to absorb the momentum while she watched as I desperately tried to correct my aim to my intended target.

  55

  The smash of glass brought me back to the present. Still running and with no time to turn and check the source of the noise, I was upon the fence, blinking away the tears.

  With my face set with no expression, I felt numb to emotion as I looked left, not slowing until my shoulder hit hard against the wood. Pain forced through the ache I already felt as the wood stayed firm, not creaking as I slammed hard against it. My wrists screamed against the cuffs.

  Running to the left and the neighbour’s boundary, there was still enough light to see the fence was only half the size and made from wire mesh.

  I was over without slowing.

  I’d expected the fall. Expected the agony, but did my best to roll as I landed.

  Shocked at my grace, I was up again in one swift move and amazed the trainers had remained on my feet, the momentum still with me as I headed towards the next line, a bushy barrier I wasn’t prepared to find out what lay beneath.

  The garden’s rear fence was just as tall as the last, but my excitement grew as I spotted a wooden structure only half as high in the corner; the type used to store bikes or other garden clutter.

  At the base, a haphazard collection of pots stood with wooden boxes I hoped would make the perfect set of steps.

  As I ran, I tried to think the motion through. There wasn’t enough time to do anything but give myself a yes or no.

  I committed, buoying myself up, taking comfort in the graceful forward roll I’d just accomplished only seconds before.

  Plotting the line, my right foot aiming for the larger box, I would push up as hard as I could, expecting to land my left on top of the roof, leaving myself to hope I hadn’t lost my athletic, school-aged skill. In my head I’d Fosbury Flop over the next fence, but didn’t care to think about the landing.

  With the time to plan over too soon, I committed and any more thought would just add corrosive doubt. I had it all planned out in less than a second.

  I took a great breath of air, filling my lungs in more than just a symbolic act. I adjusted my stride so my next footfall would be on the wooden box whilst trying not to envisage its collapse under my mass.

  It took the weight of my body and right foot. It didn’t collapse as I pushed off, but my left foot went only as high as the lace caught under my right would stretch. My leg stopped before the top of the box and my shin smacked against the roof of the container. The momentum carried my knee down the sandpaper-like roof before my right foot raised.

  Skin scraped away as I came to a halt, but my concentration was elsewhere as I tried to stop my nose cracking to the wooden roof, with my torso falling forward and hands not able to break the fall.

  I paused, took a breath of thanks I’d turned away and let my right shoulder bear the brunt.

  Holding there for a moment, I relaxed the grip around the gun, surprised I’d kept hold.

  The sound of a pack of dogs barking pulled me out of the pause, the noise getting greater, the chaos racing ever closer.

  With air sucking through my teeth, I stood and took a single glance back, watching torch beams scour the garden I’d left. I let myself flop over the tall fence, bracing for whatever came next.

  Thorns. A blackberry bush, or something else with spines. My shoulders were thankful for the jabbing; much better than being crushed hard under my weight for the second time in a row.

  I rolled off the thorns, landing on my knees with my breath still intact, the gun still tight in my hand.

  I ran as hard as I could along the fence in the darkness, lunging forward every other step to keep my balance on the uneven ground. When I caught the first hint of the stench, I veered off into the field.

  The only feature on the horizon, apart from the dark rolling hills was the silhouette of a tree and that’s where I headed. I didn’t look back. Nothing had changed. I had to run. There was no other choice.

  The tree was a great wide species that had been there for years. Like me, it was alone in the wild, its branches bare and gnarled and sloped heavy to one side.

  Fighting against my breath, I let the solid trunk take my weight. Leaning with its girth between me and whatever chased, I gripped the gun and peered around the bark.

  I saw nothing but the building darkness, heard the dog’s calls getting louder, remembering their training.

  The thought passed with Toni clear in my thoughts; her eyes wide in the flash from the muzzle, reflecting my alarm as I tried to move the gun whilst my finger pulled at the trigger with a mind of its own.

  I'd yet to prove what she’d done, the
bullets not intended for her. Her mother’s part already clear. Now I wouldn’t be able to question Toni; couldn’t give her a chance to tell me I’d got it all wrong.

  I wouldn’t be able to fix us.

  Was I as bad as her?

  The urgent call of dogs gripped my insides with fear as Toni's vision fell from view.

  I ran with the new rumble of engines and looked to the sky, looked for blinking lights on the horizon. The hard, cold ground became tarmac as I stumbled and a joy filled my chest as I scoured the road.

  The engine noise grew, as did the cacophony of barks with smaller, whining notes.

  I imagined motorbikes chasing after the hunter dogs they’d let loose and turned again to see two headlights bright and coming towards me.

  Standing in the middle of a road, my feet fixed to the spot, I couldn’t move.

  The lights were so close I could see the young driver, his face pale and white. His gaze disbelieving as he raced towards me, eyes locked with mine.

  56

  My lungs emptied as I hit the bonnet.

  Instinct bent me at the waist to slow the impact as the bumper hit. It worked and worked well; so well it took a few seconds of resting on the warm bonnet to realise the car had slowed before it hit.

  My feet were still under me. The borrowed shoes scraped along the floor. I felt no pain as I pushed up from metal and stumbled back into the blinding headlights.

  I listened to the click of the driver’s door as I struggled to walk sideways out of the dazzle. The man climbed out of the car, but he’d turned away. Instead, his gaze snapped toward the way he’d come, looking long into the distance with his neck extended, his head pushed out like a meerkat.

  The rev of motorbike engines grew stronger and he turned away as if he hadn't noticed me, his brow low, forehead pale and bunched in the near darkness.

  About to jump back in the car, he hesitated before looking again in my direction where surprise lit his face.

  “Get in,” he said, his voice higher than I’d expected and full of confusion. “Quick,” he added, when I hadn’t moved.

  He didn’t wait and was back in the car, leaning over the seat to push open the passenger door. I lingered, my ears ringing with the sound of the small, high-pitched engines.

  I stared past the car, searching out what he’d been looking for. The car rolled forward and he nodded with impatience to the open passenger door.

  Motorbike engines continued to ring through the night. Dots of light bounced over the countryside, not so far in the distance. I swear I could hear the heavy breath of the four-legged beasts racing in our direction.

  I had no choice.

  My butt scarcely touched the fabric before being forced back in the seat, my hands crushed together against the gun as the car sped. Lunging forward, metal clattered in the footwell as he dabbed the brakes and the door slammed at my side. With no seat belt to hold me back, I caught the mirror image of ambling legs in the red light's glow before being enveloped again by the darkness.

  “Where are we going?” I said, my voice unsure as I stared out of the side window to search the dark horizon. I caught the tang of alcohol in the air. My gaze roved along the line of the land in the distance, lingering on every imperfection as I squinted. The car moved too quickly to make out all but the direction we were heading.

  When he hadn’t replied for what seemed like a long time, I turned to watch his profile. I stared at his concentration, trying to get a measure. I studied his clean-shaven face, his smooth skin as he leant forward with his muscular chest pushed up towards the steering wheel, peering out wide into the distance.

  The beat in my chest refused to settle, doubt filling my mind as I looked at his face, only just more than a silhouette.

  Had I left the hornet’s nest only to jump straight into the web of a poisonous spider?

  From what I’d already seen, he was young, a similar age to myself. In the darkness he looked like he’d not seen the sun in years. He was tall, but not lanky and wore a black t-shirt under a dark shirt half tucked into his jeans. His short back and sides hair matched the black of his clothes. If first impressions were anything to go by, he didn’t look like he scared easily.

  I’d seen many men like him before; had felt sorry for their choices in my early days as a court reporter.

  “Where are we going?” I said again.

  This time he replied, his voice calmer than his focused expression portrayed.

  “Anywhere,” he said, coughing away the tremble in his voice as it wavered. “You saw those things? Right?” he said, as he gripped his hand back tight to the steering wheel. He turned to catch my reply and I nodded. “What are they?” he added, his eyes wide on me for the first time.

  I shook my head and he turned back to the road, leaving behind a feeling of unease I just couldn’t shake. With the moon high in the sky, my night vision had improved. His must have too and he turned back, for the first time seeming to take note in the dark, looking back with what could have been concern at how I sat uncomfortable with my hands at my back.

  The car slowed as we took a corner, both of us pulled up in our seats as we couldn’t help see the floodlights lighting up the road ahead, the dark trucks parked across its width. Dots of figures moved around in the light. A roadblock.

  His hand jumped at the switch for the headlights and he slowed the car to a stop. Twisting around, his brow furrowed in my direction.

  “What’s wrong with your hands?”

  I took a deep breath, my options racing through my head. I could jump from the car and run in to the darkness. The dogs would have lost the scent by now. We’d travelled far enough to get from what had frightened him, but would he risk following me? It all depended on his intentions.

  I shouldn’t take a chance. I should run, my gut told me over and again. If only I could get the door open.

  I twisted in my seat, showing my cuffed hands, leaving the gun still resting in the small of my back. I waited for his reaction, trying to suppress my urge to scream as I questioned why I was giving myself up to him.

  “You weren’t running from those…” He paused with the same hesitation I’d seen before; the same stall in the brain people have as their minds try to come to terms with a new reality. “Those things?”

  I shook my head whilst trying to keep calm, opening my eyes wide and holding my breath.

  “What were you running from? Did you escape from the police?”

  I gave a shallow shake of my head.

  “A man,” I said, letting my voice catch. “He tried to…,” I said. “He… He…” I stuttered.

  “It’s okay, you don’t need to say,” he said, pushing out his hand in my direction.

  I backed away, pushing myself to the door, conscious of the pistol pinching in my back as he snapped his hand away.

  “But, he, he’s a soldier. I can’t,” I said, looking up to the roadblock. “I can’t let them find me,” I said, peering straight into his eyes. He stared back, then looked down to my hands still twisted down on show at my side.

  He turned to the lights ahead, twisting back to me with a nod. He grabbed the wheel, pinning me in my seat as he sped up and swung the car out to the side, bumping us off the road.

  The car jumped up and down, metal clattered in the footwell, the underside of the car scraping against what sounded like giant boulders.

  We kept going. Kept bouncing along the rocks. The ground undulated beneath us until the impacts stopped. With a great thud against the tyres I felt the smooth road and our world calmed.

  As we drove through the darkness, I felt an overwhelming urge to stop, to get the cuffs from my hands. I had no idea what this guy’s intentions were.

  “Can you let me out?” I said, as buildings grew on the side of the road.

  “Do you know where we are?” he said, still facing forward.

  “No,” I replied with the truth.

  “So you plan on just knocking on doors and hoping they won't turn
you in?”

  “I think they have more on their plate than me.”

  He kept quiet for a moment.

  “I guess, but do you want to take that chance?” he said after a letting the silence hang.

  My turn to pause. I didn’t want him to change my mind. I didn’t want him to think I was even considering his words.

  “I should be able to get those off. The locks are straight forward. If not, I've got a hacksaw at my house,” he said, making eye contact.

  “How far are we?” I replied, keeping my scowl fixed. I didn’t want him to think I took any pleasure from the suggestion, despite my obvious eagerness to rub my wrists free of the ache.

  “Five minutes,” he replied, turning the headlights back on at the sight of another pair of lights on the horizon.

  Flashing a look inside the car as it passed, I could see it was full of teenagers. The back windows were steamed, the driver’s face fixed forward. He looked half asleep.

  “What day is it?” I said.

  He turned in my direction and stared, raising, then lowering his brow. “New Year’s Day. Weren’t you at a party when all that happened?” he said, looking back down to my wrists hidden behind my back.

  I shook my head and turned away to look through my window.

  We passed a building on my side, but it had gone out of view before I could take a proper look. Another building shot by and I realised we must be in a village, but the lights were off here too. Even this late, shouldn’t there be someone awake on New Year’s Day? I caught the guy’s concentration just before he spoke.

  “Power’s out here as well,” he said. “I’m just up there.”

  “Wait,” I said, as he slowed the car, pulling up to a house whose front door was level with the thin pavement.

  The car stopped with a lurch and he turned in my direction. Twisting in his seat, I took in the view, moving my head slower than I would have liked. But any quicker, I could feel my vision blur.