Black water lapping the boat, the tang of salt strong on the night air. She’d watched the other girls’ glittering eyes as they huddled in the stern.
‘Who’re they?’ she whispered. ‘What they doing here?’
‘Siddown.’
‘But Zamir,’ she said,. ‘this is our new life. Why we got them with us? You said –’
‘Shut up!’ A slap cracked the darkness. ‘I said siddown.’
She sat anyway, the shock tipping her backwards to the seat in the bow.
‘I don’t unnerstand,’ Alina wailed. ‘You said it’s only us going. A new life.’
‘Stop her whining. Or she’ll go overboard.’ The older man pushed the dinghy away from the quay with an oar. ‘Who needs the troublesome ones? Plenty like this one here.’ He chucked one of the other girls under her chin, laughing when she wrenched her face away.
‘You said you loved me.’ Alina’s voice was shrill, wavering. ‘Why we got these people with us? Only us, Zamir. You said only us.’
The punch silenced her. She slumped to the bottom of the boat. The other girl whimpered and drew her coat more closely around her throat.
Thirty-seven
Lauren brushed her sleeve over her forehead, wiping away the cold sweat that stung her eyes, that made her brow icy. Her breath still shuddered in her breast, coming in short bursts, catching at her throat in involuntary sobs. Have to get away. Have to hide. Cover my tracks.
She shot jerky glances in all directions. Where? Where hide? Where?
A few feet away a tangle of bushes crouched low on the ground. If she could get to the far side of them, keep close in to them, as close as possible so her footprints couldn’t be seen, she might have a chance of getting away. The shadows of the trees, the bushes themselves, would hide her passing.
She trudged across the clearing aware of how visible she was against the white blanket of snow – visible perhaps to someone even now at the top of the slope. Someone with a gun cocked ready. Her neck prickled in expectation of a ringing shot.
But you won’t hear it, she told herself. You won’t hear the shot. You’ll feel it before you hear it. Feel the heat of the bullet sear through you before the birds explode from the trees. Or if his aim is good, maybe you won’t see the birds disturbed. Maybe you won’t ever hear the shot at all.
Hunching her shoulders, as though to reduce the target she made, she pressed on towards the bushes. Her trail up to them would remain visible, even if she hid herself behind them. But she had no option. She had to move, to put distance between herself and the gunman.
Shivering violently, she ducked down behind the undergrowth, hugging herself tight. No fleece. No gloves. Damn. No rings or watch. How long could she last like this? The soft nap of her lambswool jumper was jewelled with snow, the teeshirt beneath it damp with sweat. Her jeans were soaked to the knees. She had to move – for warmth as well as escape.
She pressed on, covering her traces where she could. At least the air was fresh and dry in the clearings, where the sun filtered through the pines. There was even warmth in it, respite from the chill that seeped into her bones.
Edging along by the scrub, she zigzagged from one side to another where there were breaks in the denseness she could scramble through. Anything to blur her trail, to throw the gunman off the scent. She strained to hear his footsteps, the sound of his passage through the trees, but heard nothing. She peered between the branches: no gleaming head, no yellow eyes. Perhaps he paused as she did, listening, waiting, watching for the movement that would give her away.
The bushes meandered in between the trees, sometimes sidling up close to the trunks, sometimes veering away. Trembling, her skin stinging with cold, Lauren crept through the undergrowth. Her side ached from where she’d hit the tree but nothing seemed to be broken.
Every twenty metres the sloping ground shelved, grew steeper. Feet slipping from under her, she grabbed at twigs and branches to halt her fall. Her bare hands were torn and scratched. When she found purchase on a flat ledge of ground, she blew on them, wincing, and tucked them in her armpits. If only she’d had time to put on the rings. Her ring. Katti’s ring. It was her talisman and she’d left it behind in the motel.
She progressed slowly down the valley, keeping fear and regret at bay by movement. She would curve back up to the road soon. Not immediately, but soon. When she felt she was safe.
The trees grew densely, towering above her, closing in. The gunman would not find her now. He was no longer behind her, stalking her through the forest. She sensed his absence. Stopping to listen, she felt the silence come down around her, the blanketing peace of the snow and the trees.
Thirty-eight
‘What happened, Baba? Are you all right? You’re not hurt?’
‘We’re not hurt. Kristo banged his head, that’s all.’ Viktor chuckled into the phone. ‘No harm done there.’
‘Pity.’
‘Now now, Bebe. Don’t be a naughty little girl. For the moment we need him. As soon as we no longer require his services...’ For his own amusement, Viktor raised two fingers like the barrel of his Luger and used his thumb as the trigger.
‘And the English woman?’
He sighed. ‘The bitch got away again.’
‘Oh Baba. The simplest task.’
‘It couldn’t be helped, my darling. Don’t worry. I’ll deal with her next time.’
‘No Viktor. I will deal with her. I have an idea. Something that will serve more than one purpose. What is the name of that motel?’
Thirty-nine
Toes so numb they may well have dropped off, Lauren trudged on, curving through the forest back up towards the road. She’d given up concealing her footprints. It was hard enough walking through the deep drifts of snow, never mind leaping from bush to bush to hide her passing.
She’d been walking – well, stumbling – for over an hour now, though she probably hadn’t gone more than half a mile. She’d doubled back when she thought she’d gone far enough to avoid coming on the wrecked van again. She’d imagined breaking cover, scrambling up to the road, waving her arms at a passing motorist. But where the hell was the road? She seemed to be going deeper into the woods.
Lauren cursed. There must be a road. A path even, a track, anything to lead her out of here. Were the bloody trees never going to come to an end? She began to think she’d made a bad decision after she jumped out of the van. Should have made the effort to climb back up to the road then. Flagged down a car then. But the gunman was behind her. She wasn’t thinking clearly, wanted only to put as much distance between herself and him, as she possibly could. She’d not even given any thought to the vehicle that crashed into the van.
She stopped, her breath forming white clouds. God, she’d been so intent on getting away she hadn’t thought about the accident for a second. What had happened? The van had been hit several times, as though they were being attacked. That was weird. She shook her head. That was no accident! Someone had deliberately knocked them off the road. But who?
Gunther, of course. It had to be him.
Oh shit, she thought. Maybe it was Gunther calling my name. Maybe it was him following me. Shit shit shit. She could have been safe and warm now, instead of trudging around freezing and lost in a bewildering wood. Fat chance of him finding her now, when she’d put so much effort into covering her tracks.
She beat her hands against her arms to warm herself but the action was painful. Her fingers were raw and stiff, her knuckles swollen. She tucked them into her armpits and sighed. She didn’t know for sure it was Gunther. Couldn’t have risked letting herself be caught or shot.
Perching on a fallen tree, she paused to consider her options. Options? What options? Depression enveloped her like an avalanche as soon as she stopped moving. She’d better find a way out of here soon or there’d be no light left. It would be dusk by mid-afternoon, and the light in the forest was gloomy enough to start with, except in the clearings. And there were fewer of those now. All
around, the pines rose inexorably to the invisible sky, like bars caging her in the forest.
Lauren glanced back the way she had come. She could try to retrace her steps. A deep track led across the floor of the forest and up to where she sat. She’d have no trouble following that sluggish trail, but what about when she got back to where she’d still been hiding her footprints? Would she remember where she had criss-crossed through the bushes? Would she remember which trees she had hopped between and smoothed her footprints over before she hopped again? The answer to that question was easy: No.
Shoulders hunched, Lauren rested her head in her hands. She was hungry, thirsty, chilled to the bone and pretty well exhausted, and all this on top of the terrors of yesterday. Yesterday! It was only about this time yesterday she’d been with Wolf and Clara, in a nice warm apartment. Twenty four hours. It seemed more like a week ago.
She closed her eyes. What was she to do? What could she do? She was lost. She had escaped one enemy, but others pressed in on her. Cold. Darkness. Night. If night found her here, she would be just as dead as if the gun pointed at her had been fired. Just as dead and just as missing.
For how would anyone ever find her here?
Forty
Alina knew Kristo would let her go soon. He’d said so.
‘Sure, I’ll let you go.’ Kristo had eyed her up and down. ‘You’re getting a bit old for me anyway. I’ll let you go all right. Won’t be long now.’
When that happened, she would get a job – a proper job. Her German was improving, and so was her English from listening to pop songs. She would work in a café. A nice café with chocolate cake and fragrant coffee. Like the one in the Hauptmarkt near the fountain, the one Katti took her to once. She wouldn’t wash dishes. No. She wouldn’t do that. She would serve the customers. The wealthy, tourist customers, with their nice clothes and leather handbags. They would leave her tips.
Alina closed her mind to the thought that always came when she had this daydream; that it was the wives of the men who visited her who sat chatting in those cafes, sipping hot chocolate and crumbling almond cake onto their plates. The wives who did this while their men – Don’t think of that, she scolded herself. It will be over then. I will be free.
She hated Zamir for he’d done. Making her think he loved her. Tricking her into coming here.
‘Stupid little bitch,’ he called her. ‘What would I want with you? I have a better woman than you. A beautiful woman. A rich woman. Stupid little bitch.’
Forty-one
Lauren roused herself. Had she slept? Surely she couldn’t have slept, sitting on one tree trunk, leaning against another. She peered into the forest. The first chilling hint of twilight filled the hollows with shadows. She was still lost and even colder than before.
Standing, she shook herself, stamped her feet, pummelled her arms with her sore hands. No, she had been lost – lost in self-pity and apathy. Those enemies of action. But the nap had refreshed her. She would find a way out of this wood if it killed her. She rubbed vigorously at her cold face. Revise that thought. She would find a way out without it killing her.
But which direction was the road? Think, she told herself. Use some logic for a change. What do I know that can help me? She steadied herself against the mossy trunk of the tree. Moss! Moss grows more to the south of the trunk in the northern hemisphere, doesn’t it? Yes. It must do. That’s the most protected side. She checked the trunks of the nearest trees. I’ve been walking north, then, since I doubled back and I’m still going north. But how does that help?
‘Begin at the beginning,’ she said. She spoke out loud to reassure herself she still could. ‘This morning. Which way did we go?’
The sun, hot in this area despite the snow, had shone directly in her window at the motel. Her window had looked out onto the car park that faced the road. She saw again the gleaming roofs of the snow-capped cars, the grey tracks incised into the crisp white roadway. So that way was east. The van she’d been bundled into turned right out of the car park, she was sure of it. South then. They had gone south, towards the Austrian border.
But which side of the road had they come off? The van had spun, might have crossed to the other side of the road. Think. Did she remember traffic rushing past above her when she’d scrambled down that first slope? She thought so. Which way was it going? She screwed her eyes up to concentrate. Can’t remember.
When she’d run away from the road, pushing further into the forest, the sun had filtered through the branches and she’d headed towards it. This time of year, early afternoon, the sun would be to the south-west, wouldn’t it?
‘Yes.’ Her words clouded the air. They’d been run off the road on the western side. ‘So how the hell does that help me?’
Think. Think, damn you! She picked up a twig and attempted a diagram in the snow. If I’m right about the direction we came in, the road is to the east. So, let’s see, moss, south, so, less moss north, so, west is left and... I want to go right, east. Keep going east and I’ll come to the road.
She looked at the darkening sky. The patch of cloud visible above her head was plump with snow. Shit. What have I got to lose? Only my way, and I’ve lost that already. Keep calm, she told herself. Don’t get hysterical. Go east. It makes sense. Sort of.
~
An hour later she reached the top of the ridge. This could be close to where she’d fallen but the gunman would be gone by now. Someone would have seen the wrecked van. Police would have been called. This was Germany. Someone would have reported it, even if the murderous bastards themselves hadn’t. Lauren pressed on towards where she thought the road should be. He couldn’t still be there, the gunman. It was three hours now since she got away. Three and a half maybe. Still, take no chances. Carefully does it.
Pulling on her last reserves of strength, Lauren hauled herself over the lip of the steep bank. Press on through the trees, she thought. They were sparser now, as she headed east. Keep going. Keep – She stopped. She could hear traffic. Yes, listen. The sound of a vehicle grew louder then quieter as it passed. Not much traffic. But someone else would be along soon.
With renewed vigour she trudged through the towering pines, slowing before she left their shelter altogether, checking the verge in both directions. No van. Nothing. Good. She stepped out of the trees and onto the deserted road.
Lights in the distance, twinkling in the twilight. Lauren waited for the vehicle to draw close before she stepped into the road to flag it down. Stiff with cold, shuddering violently, she edged off the snow-thick verge onto the salted road.
As she raised her arm some flicker of recognition prickled over her scalp. A van. A big white van. Shit. She swung on her heel and ran back towards the trees, blind panic urging her on. The van skidded to a halt and she heard a door open, a voice shout something.
Déjà vu.
Forty-two
Nonononononono. Not again. No! Not again.
Lauren slithered down the icy slope, her knees trembling. Slipping and sliding, arms flailing, she sobbed with exhaustion. She couldn’t do it all over again. She couldn’t. She was finished. Depleted. She couldn’t –
‘Laau-aauren!’
She grabbed a low branch to stop herself falling. That sounded like –
‘Laau-aauren!’
She clung to the tree, her breath ragged, her legs splayed, snot and tears freezing on her face. She was hallucinating. The cold was affecting her brain, causing an image of what she most desired to appear before her, like a mirage of water in the desert.
The mirage yelled her name and scrambled down to her. ‘Lauren! Lauren, Gott sei danke. Thank God you are safe.’
Warm arms wrapped themselves around her. She was lifted momentarily off her frozen feet.
Bewildered, Lauren could only slump in his arms.
‘Wolf?’ she murmured, half to herself, not trusting this hallucination to be real. She gave up trying to understand. It was enough that he was here. Enough that he had found her. Explanati
ons could come later.
Wolf ripped off his jacket, and wrapped it around her. ‘Arms,’ he said. ‘Here, put them in the sleeves.’
When she’d got herself inside the jacket, he zipped her up then chafed her hands between his own to bring life back into them. He took off his gloves and pushed her hands, red and sore, into them, pulled his woollen hat down over her ears, and wrapped his scarf around her neck and cheeks.
‘How... how come you’re here?’ Lauren could barely form the words. Her face was stiff, teardrops froze on her eyelashes. Why am I crying now? she thought. Now I’m safe?
‘Shh. Save your strength till you’re warm.’ With his arm around her shoulder, he led her back up the slope to the road.
‘What happened to your van?’ The side panels of the Transporter were scratched and dented, the bonnet crumpled.
‘I ran them off the road.’ Wolf searched her face then grinned. ‘You can’t have slept through that, surely?’
‘It was you?’
‘Well who did you think it was?’
Lauren said nothing.
‘I yelled after you,’ he said. ‘but you ran away. I followed, but you can move fast when you want to.’
Lauren’s shoulders slumped. ‘You mean I’ve been freezing my bits off in a forest for no reason?’
‘Natural instinct,’ he said. ‘To run. I shouted, “It’s me” but you must have been focussed on getting away. I lost you. Still, you’re safe now.’
Though battered, Wolf’s van was dry and warm. The engine idled quietly and hot air blasted from the heater. He put his arms around her, rubbing, chafing, warming her with his body. His breath was hot on her neck. Lauren resisted her initial urge to pull away. So pleasant, this feeling, she thought, so comfortable. She burrowed in closer.
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