The Way Back

by Dominique Kyle

  They carried him out then came back for me. Nasty big bro pushed me by his favourite hand on the neck method ahead of him into the cottage. It was charmingly picturesque, isolated up a track and surrounded by woodland. Ideal, I thought. Yep, the one I’d ‘innocently’ pointed out to Shafif.

  “No down there,” Shafif said glumly, pointing at his feet. “Only bedroom.”

  No cellar? Brilliant. We might get a soft bed…

  They put us in the upstairs back bedroom which overlooked the woods, where there was no chance of us signalling to anyone. Shafif still drew the curtains though. There were two single beds in there and an old-fashioned porcelain sink. Running water suddenly seemed like the most amazing luxury. There were two glasses on the shelf over the sink. I filled one and gratefully drank it down to the bottom. Nish was lying in the recovery position (my doing), on one of the beds. I had no idea how long the drug would last. So apart from one bottle of coke, Nish would now be on day five of no liquids. Suddenly, ten minutes after the water hit my stomach, I cramped up all the way through as my bowels decided they wouldn’t be held up any longer.

  “Toilet, please,” I pleaded desperately

  Shafif glanced at Nish, realised that he was spark out for hours yet and took me to the toilet. I slammed the door and pulled my trousers down with relief. And there was even loo paper… Thank God for that!

  Back in the bedroom, Shafif and I still had to pass the time as Nish lay there like a corpse.

  “That was you broke into my flat, right?” I asked him curiously.

  He looked warily at me. Though why, when he’d be in far worse trouble with the authorities now than with a measly break-in. He’d well and truly burned his bridges.

  “Why’d you break in? What were you looking for? I presume it was you who took Nish’s computer? Why’d you do that? Where is it now?”

  His eyes flickered and he frowned. Ok, I was probably talking too fast and he wasn’t following me. Too many questions at once. I started again slower, one question at a time.

  I still never quite got to the bottom of it. His answers were limited and confusing, but I kinda picked up that they were information gathering – checking out by nicking his computer if they had the right guy, searching for means of leveraging the family – hoping first off to find some sort of political or blackmail hold. And me? He shrugged. When watching Nish they’d seen me around so much that they needed to check out where I fitted in. Whether I could usefully be used alongside Nish to put pressure on the Gilbraith family. They figured out soon enough that I was nowt special, I guess. But it sounded like outright hostage taking was their last resort. So maybe that’s why they were so useless at it? All very amateur and ill-prepared. And the computer? Tossed into one of the local abandoned chalk quarries, apparently. Nish would be pissed.

  I jerked my head at his gun. “How’d that thing work?” I asked curiously.

  “You want me shoot it?” He offered, brightening up. Then he sagged again and shook his head irritably. “Too much noise.”

  “No, I meant – show me the mechanism inside. Strip it down for me.”

  He hesitated. Glanced at Nish. No signs of life. Stared at me with his nostrils flaring slightly. Decided he could take me if I tried to jump him. Then got up abruptly and came back a few minutes later with a large cloth which he laid out on the carpet and placed down on it an old rag and a couple of plastic tubs. They looked to me like standard solvent and lubricant. I sat expectantly down on the floor beside the promising lay-out.

  “What kind of gun?” I ascertained.

  “AK47.”

  I’d sort of expected that answer.

  “Simple,” he opined. “Eight year old can do it.”

  “Is that how old you started?” I asked interestedly.

  His eyes lashed coyly and he smiled.

  “See-” After removing the magazine and putting it carefully well out of my reach, he cracked off the cover and removed only two parts – some sort of bolt carrier with piston, and a long spring.

  I was a bit gobsmacked. “Is that really all there is to it?”

  He shrugged. “Kalashnikov simple. Five year old do it.” He paused for a moment and wrinkled his nose “AR15-” He sort of mimed little parts and twiddling things and pushing sharply at tiny things while squinting.

  “Fiddly?” I hazarded.

  He tipped his head, clearly not knowing the word. Then he mimed losing something on the ground and scrabbling around wildly for it with his eyes screwed up while mimicking the sound of gunfire in the distance

  We giggled.

  “No good for dust and desert and hurry,” he confirmed.

  He picked up the spring, wiped it and held it to ear and sprang it together in lengths.

  I frowned. “What can you hear?”

  He handed it to me. I copied him. “I can’t hear anything,” I said, confused.

  “That good.” He nodded emphatically. “Hear something is bad.”

  Corrosion or damage would creak a bit I guessed.

  I watched him wiping things over, carefully cleaning the end of the bolt and into crevices.

  “What are those bits called?”

  But he only knew the names in Sindhi and Urdu. I’d have to be doing some googling if I got out of this alive, correction when I got out of this. Don’t allow any doubts to creep in.

  He reassembled it in seconds and was clicking the trigger, slamming a switch, and clicking the trigger again to test it.

  “Can I try?” I asked, dying to get my hands on it.

  He shook his head sharply and held his pride and joy protectively close to his chest, reached behind him for the magazine and slapped it back in with a decisive crack.

  I sighed. Guys got to have all the fun.

  “Bed,” he ordered with a yawn.

  It soon became clear that Shafif intended to take the other bed. He stretched out on it with a groan of relief. When I sat down on Nish’s bed, wondering about curling up on it with him, he glared at me. “You and he married?” He established.

  I shook my head.

  “You bad western woman!” He exploded. “No bed together!”

  I was forced to curl up on the floor using the puked on duvet and tried to avoid breathing in the sour smell. But at least Shafif went and got me a clean pillow from one of the other rooms.

  Shafif lay watching me from his raised position. His dark eyes unblinking on my face. I avoided meeting his gaze but didn’t dare let down my guard and close my eyes. My skin prickled with tension. Nish was unconscious there. No use to me at all. Now would be the time Shafif would make a move if he was going to. All day he’d seemed like a little brother, but now he didn’t. Now he was a man with a gun, with bad ideas about western women, locked in a bedroom alone with me in the gathering dusk.

  “You married?” He asked suddenly.

  Uh oh, I thought. “No,” I admitted, trying to keep my voice calm and neutral.

  “Your parents got someone in mind for you?”

  What was the best answer to keep him respectful? Yes or No? “I no mother,” I explained. Damn, I was beginning to pick up his grammar now! “My father did have someone in mind for me once,” I agreed with a slight laugh at the memory of Dad trying to match-make between myself and Quinn.

  “He good man?”

  “Yeah, he good man,” I agreed with a smile. “But I say no.”

  “Why?” He asked curiously.

  “He make bad husband – too many girls and not enough goats,” I said facetiously.

  Shafif actually sniffed and said nothing, as though he thought it was a pretty good reason to turn someone down.

  His tacit acceptance of my claim gave me the giggles big time.

  “Why you laugh?” He asked suspiciously.

  I was wheezing with hilarity now. I tried to wind it back in. I wiped at my eyes. “And you, Shafif? Have you someone waiting for you back in Pakistan?” Make him think about living and getting back home safe and sound.

/>   There was a short silence. He suddenly refused to answer.

  Did I really think he’d stay alive long enough to get back to Pakistan safe and sound to get married? Not if the SAS turned up. Not if he waved that gun at them he wouldn’t. I doubted the army marksmen would be messing. I hoped that girl didn’t love him. Nah, she was probably about fourteen and hadn’t even been informed of her fate yet.

  If there’d been any sexual tension in the air, and hey, that might just have been a figment of my own overwrought imagination, there wasn’t now. The laughter and talk of marriage and goats had completely dissipated it. A gentle snore rumbled across from above me. I flopped back in weak relief. I didn’t know what sort of opportunities rural boys in socially restrictive Pakistan had to – you know – try out their wares – but there was always the chance that Shafif wouldn’t actually know how to get his shit together when locked into a bedroom with a bad western girl all alone… Let’s hope so anyway. Wake up, Nish, please.

  Nish woke up next morning in a normal sort of way about the same time as I did. He stared in an even more bewildered way around the third completely new environment. It must seem like falling down the rabbit hole. I reached up a hand and rubbed his arm gently again to let him know that I was still here and he was still ok. He groaned and flopped back again. I could see all his skin was wrinkling up and his lips were cracked and he could barely speak as his tongue was all swollen. He was looking a bit yellowish too. The whites of his eyes off-colour. I fetched him a glass of water.

  “Drink, drink, drink, and keep drinking till you finally pee,” I urged.

  I had to hold the glass up to his lips as he seemed too weak to do it himself, and it rattled against his teeth.

  Shafif woke up and thrashed quickly upright, looking embarrassed that he’d been caught off-guard. In actual fact he’d been snoring loudly most of the night, so if I’d only managed to get him to teach me how to use the gun, instead of just how to clean it, and I’d been sure that the brothers weren’t sitting on a stack of explosives, and if Nish had been capable of moving, I could have dealt with him anytime over the past six hours.

  “How about some food?” I suggested cheerfully, half-way through the morning.

  Shafif looked glum and shrugged. I’d heard his stomach rumbling really loudly just ten minutes ago, so I figured they were as deprived as we were due to having to leave the last house so quickly and not daring to be seen.

  “How about I give you a shopping list and when you get back with it I make you a really good curry?” I suggested with a bright smile.

  His eyes darted at me, he sniffed and he bit his lip.

  “Come on, get your phone out and let’s write this list,” I persuaded.

  I was taken down to the kitchen to unpack the bags, and then I spent the rest of the afternoon, chopping and frying. The older men’s noses twitched and they came over every now and again to check what I was doing. I wasn’t sure if they were double checking that I wasn’t secretly trying to poison them, or if it was just that their mouths were watering. I tensed whenever they came near me, but there was no sexual vibe going on there either. Maybe gang bangs are more about showing off to each other? Maybe three close family members aren’t in need of establishing who has the biggest cock? Whatever, these three only had one part of their anatomy on their mind right now – their stomachs.

  Finally, they were sat down at the table with their plates piled high, and I was sent back upstairs to eat mine with Nish and Shafif. I was pleased to see that Nish had got the message and had become best buddies with our youngest captor by having spent the last hour bonding with him over animated discussions of the comparative talents of each member of the Pakistani cricket team, and the dark arts of spin bowling. Shafif gobbled his plateful down then rubbed his stomach at me in a complimentary gesture. I only let Nish eat some plain yoghurt. He was complaining of feeling nauseous, as well as splitting headaches. I figured the priority for him at the moment was water, and a mouthful of food at this stage was neither here nor there.

  “How’re the demands going?” I asked Shafif. “Is your brother still ringing up to find out if they are going to do any of the things you’ve asked?”

  Shafif looked gloomy and didn’t answer.

  “How long are we going to have to stay here?” I pressed.

  He shrugged, gathered up the plates and abruptly left the room.

  It was then that Nish finally needed his first pee in nearly six days. It came on so suddenly he was desperate.

  “Pee in the sink,” I suggested. “I won’t look…”

  He hesitated, but he really needed to go, and we didn’t want to get Shafif back in to beg permission for a toilet trip. Shafif so rarely left us alone that it felt good to be without him. From the chanting we could hear wafting across from some other upstairs room, it sounded like it was their prayer time again, so we’d be safely undisturbed for a few more minutes yet.

  “Put the plug in,” I ordered. “I want to see it afterwards.”

  “Urgh, don’t be silly!” He pulled a disgusted grimace.

  “If you won’t put the plug in I’ll have to watch you,” I threatened.

  He put the plug in.

  His piss, when I looked in afterwards was a weird colour, sort of dark brownish with pink streaks, and white floaters. He stared at it too.

  “There’s blood in that,” I said.

  He looked worried and pulled the plug out with a jerk of the chain, and rinsed the sink round with a blast from the cold tap.

  “Keep drinking,” I ordered sternly.

  Shafif brought us some plain boiled rice for breakfast. I could see I’d be needing to get back into that kitchen if we were going to have anything decent to eat today. After I’d been allowed a toilet trip, I was actually taken downstairs and they pointed at the sink full of dirty dishes and pans. What did your last slave die of? I thought. Oh yeah, a bullet to the head. Better get washing up, I guess.

  As I stood reflectively watching the hot water steaming into the bowl, I wished I’d got Nasim to teach me some Sindhi when we were kids. But how could I ever have possibly imagined that it might come in useful? I’d garnered a few polite basic phrases from Shafif by now to use as socially lubricating coinage with the older brother. Oh yeah, and the names of all the removable parts of an AK47 – which I devoutly hoped that I’d never have to find a use for again. Just as the bowl was nearly full of hot foaming bubbles and I was reaching to switch the tap off, Shafif rushed into the room, almost hysterical, yabbering a hundred words a minute in Sindhi. I stared at him. “What’s up?” I asked. My heart was hammering. Had Nish collapsed and died? Or had Nish done something stupid like try to escape?

  Evil bro grabbed me and dragged me upstairs at top speed and threw me into the bedroom, where I could see that Nish was lying safely on the bed, looking no worse than he had an hour ago. Bro stood in the doorway pointing a gun at us. Nish looked mildly surprised. Shit, I thought. What’s happened? They were all really agitated about something. I could see through the open bedroom door a lot of rushing about. They were pulling on some kind of bulky belt and jacket and slinging magazines of bullets over their shoulders. I tried to keep my breathing even. Was this the moment we’d been waiting for?

  Once Shafif returned in his bulky laden state, his brow beaded with sweat and panic in his eyes, his older brother slammed the door on us and presumably went to kit up the same.

  “What’s happening, Shafif?” I whispered.

  “Shut up you!” He hissed. He crept to the window and peered sideways out of it, his back to the wall, keeping out of any sight lines.

  They had to have seen someone sneaking around in the woods. I so hoped it was someone professional, and not just Quinn on some idiotic one-man mission.

  “How can we help?” I whispered.

  “Shut up!” His face contorted up, but I saw that his hands were shaking slightly on his weapon.

  “What have you seen out there?” I persisted.


  “Soldiers,” he snapped irritably.

  Nish and I glanced quickly at each other. Nish looked grim. This was it then. And in this moment things couldn’t be more dangerous. For a millisecond a slash of fear stabbed, and then a sudden wave of super coolness flooded through me, and a sensation of complete alertness.

  “Is your brother intending to fight them?” I said calmly. “Or are you going to negotiate?”

  He glanced at me. “Soldiers don’t negotiate. They say whatever to get you to come out, then-” he mimed two fingers to his head and a shot.

  “Maybe in Pakistan…” I reasoned. “But here in England we prefer not to kill people, and put them through the justice system…”

  His eyes were darting backwards and forwards, quartering the woods. “My brother will never go to prison! None of us will! We have pact!”

  “What sort of pact?” I asked conversationally.

  He patted some of the bulk around his waist. “If one go – all go!”

  I frowned and Nish and I exchanged glances again. This seemed so surreal.

  “A suicide pact?” I clarified carefully.

  He didn’t look at me, kept his eyes turned out of the window. “They linked. If one of us shot, or one set off bomb – all others go – Boom! Boom! Boom!”

  So that meant that if the soldiers shot one of the ones downstairs and set off the explosives in the vest, the other two would also blow up, taking whoever was nearest to them with them – any other soldiers in the vicinity, as well as us. Or at any time of his pleasing, evil bro, once he had all the ducks lined up, watching all the pieces like a game of chess, could just pull the cord (or however they did it), and take as many with him as possible. Despite myself, my mouth went completely dry and my heart speeded up. Shit, this was about as serious as it got.

  “Can you see anyone now?” I asked.

  He strained on tiptoe. Then he shook his head.

  “Are you absolutely sure you saw them?” I checked. It could have just been nerves and an overactive imagination on his part.