by Unknown
Daz was coming out. I could hear him scraping the wall, shuffling sideways in the narrow space. Coming out to die. The guy with the torch, Mick, shone it in his face as he emerged. Daz lifted a hand to shield his eyes, looking for Cal.
‘Okay, you got me. Let her go.’
Cal smiled. ‘All in good time, lad. We don’t want her fetching the law before we’re through here, now do we?’
Daz squinted at him. ‘How long does it take to kill a guy? You’ll be through before she’s up the stairs.’
Mick sniggered and Cal said, ‘Oh no, lad. You don’t understand. What we have here is a breakdown of understanding. Killing can be pretty quick, that’s true, but it can also be – how shall I put it – dragged out.’ He gazed into Daz’s eyes. ‘Take Pete now. You remember Pete of course – my good friend Pete, whom you shot in the back? Yes, of course you do. Now Pete’s death was one of the quick ones. In fact you could say he never knew what hit him. You on the other hand, will know exactly what hits you. We’ll begin, I think, with a kneecap. Young Zoe here can watch.’ He turned to me, ‘Tell me, have you ever seen a kneecap blown off? Have you heard the noise the victim makes? No?’ He shook his head, sadly. ‘Terrible, it is. I don’t even like to think about it.’ As he spoke, he drew a revolver from the pocket of his raincoat. He gestured to the two men. ‘Bring him over here and keep a good hold of him.’ He leered at Daz. ‘This is going to hurt you a lot more than it’ll hurt me.’ He stooped, thrusting the gun into the crook of Daz’s knee. I cringed and turned my face away as the shot rang out.
The shot, and the agonised scream which followed it echoed deafeningly through the basement. Sick with horror, yet driven by a compulsion I was powerless to resist I turned. Daz, supported by Mick and Smithy, was still on his feet. Cal was kneeling on the floor with his arms wrapped round his stomach, screaming. His broken glasses lay in a crimson splotch on the floor. As I gaped, the two men let go of Daz and turned toward the stairs. I turned, too. Pohlman was crouching on the bottom step with a smoking gun in his fist. Smithy was raising his own weapon when Pohlman fired again. The gunman spun round and crumpled, his pistol skittering away across the cement. Mick, seeing Pohlman momentarily distracted, doused his torch and made a dash for it, knocking the policeman sideways and leaping on to the stairs. There was a shot, a cry and a metallic clatter. A light which had been shining from somewhere behind Pohlman went out and the basement was plunged into blackness.
A grip clamped my arm, Daz yelled, ‘Come on!’ and I was dragged, totally blind, across the floor. I don’t know how he knew where to go, but almost at once I tripped on the first step and then we were climbing. There was a heck of a racket – shouting, shooting, some sort of motor. Anyway, there we were, going up into blackness and then I saw light – a glimmer and some flashes and we were up in the lobby and somebody had a spotlight on it so I couldn’t see much more than in the dark.
I’m not sure, but I think we were shot at as we burst out on the street. Who shot at us I don’t know – it might’ve been DRED, or the cops, or both. Or they might’ve been shooting at each other and we got in the way. Anyway, DRED was there in strength to engage the cops in a fire-fight, and that’s what saved us. We ran through the flash and rattle of small arms fire and everybody was too busy keeping their heads down to worry about us. DS had a fan on the roof of the block and as we set off along the street it came swooping down, chasing us with its spotlamp, but when it slowed to keep pace with us it became a soft target for DRED, whose concentrated fire forced it to climb away. We ran on, gasping and sobbing, and when we stopped there was darkness all around and the fight was far behind.
We rested briefly to catch our breath and to marvel at our escape. I told Daz about the letter and what had happened at school. Daz hugged me and said I was a hero and I said no, he and his mother were the brave ones, and then suddenly we both burst into tears, which never happens to heroes in the movies.
We weren’t safe yet, of course, and so once we’d got our breath back and dried our eyes and decided which way was west we moved on quickly, intent on putting as much distance as possible between ourselves and the city by dawn.
I was hungry, which isn’t surprising when you remember I hadn’t eaten anything all day unless you’re going to count Grandma’s letter, but I was too happy to care. We’d almost died, but here we were alive. Instead of the end we were moving toward the beginning of something. I knew we were. I felt it getting closer.
I could feel it getting closer.
DAZ 4 ZOE
There’s this hill, right? Pinkney Hill, a few miles west of the city. It’s a long climb, but quicker than going round, and beside there’re woods on the far slope where we knew we’d be safe through the day. It was still dark when we started up, but dawn was breaking as we reached the top.
Well, we stood for a minute looking back, and though the sky was lightening in that direction the plain was still in shadow. There was Rawhampton and there was Silverdale, and as we watched the bouncers switched off the spot lamps and then it was impossible to tell where the city ended and the suburb began.
Table of Contents
Cover
About the Author
Title Page
Copyright Page
Daz 4 Zoe
A TRUE STORY
DAZ
ZOE
DAZ
ZOE
DAZ
ZOE
DAZ
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DAZ 4 ZOE