Drive

by Mark West

  Perhaps he'd noticed and turned around? She hoped so, otherwise she was well and truly stuck. She stood up, slung her bag over her shoulder and walked back out towards the pavement.

  * * *

  David stopped at a junction and looked at the signs. The train station was left, the A14 right.

  He wished he'd thought to say "keep in touch" to Nat.

  The Zevon song finished and Kool and the gang started telling him that it was a ladies night.

  He smiled and turned left.

  * * *

  There was a car coming towards her, but Nat couldn't tell what it was. In theory, she reasoned, it could be David - he could have reached the lights at the end of Market Street, realised her keys were in his car and turned around to bring them back.

  She stood at the kerb and squinted at the car, trying to figure out what it was. It was driving slowly, as if it thought there might be speed cameras about and that made her more sure it was David.

  The car began to pick up speed and flashed its lights at her. Relieved beyond belief, she waved. The car swung into the oncoming lane, driving the wrong way around a traffic island and she frowned. That didn't seem like something he'd do.

  And then she heard the music.

  "Oh fuck." Every fear that she'd managed to suppress, about living on her own in the city centre, came flooding back. Here she was, standing in a deserted street at half one in the morning, with nowhere to run - if she had to.

  Her phone. Assuming another seam on her bag hadn't fallen apart, she could ring for help - the police, some of her friends, her ex-husband even. But with the best will in the world, how quickly could any of them get to her? She looked around, desperately trying to think as the car got closer. She could hammer on the front door, ring all of the intercoms. She knew a couple of her neighbours by name, she knew that one of them played rugby at the weekend, perhaps he could help. But again, it was late and a work-night - if he was asleep, how long would it take to rouse him?

  She backed away from the kerb, not taking her eyes off the car, which was now about twenty yards away.

  Clutching her bag to her side, she turned and ran into the small car park as brakes squealed behind her. There was a series of dull thuds and then the men were shouting and she could hear the slap of trainers on the pavement.

  * * *

  David was making good time back to the hotel. He hadn't seen anyone for a while, nor any more sign of the Audi.

  A small, dark shape darted into the road from between two parked cars. It took him a moment to realise it was a cat and he jammed his brakes on. He felt the tyres judder against the tarmac and something rattled into the passenger footwell.

  The cat disappeared between cars on the other side of the road and the Vectra came to a stop, David's heart racing. He checked the rearview mirror and slumped back in his chair, rubbing his face. After a while, he leaned over to the passenger footwell, curious as to what had made the noise and saw some keys.

  They couldn't have been Louisa's - she'd have told him by now, since they'd spoken every morning and evening since he'd been away - and they certainly weren't his.

  He pulled some slack in his seatbelt and reached for the keys. There was a wide selection on the fob, none of which had any identification on them. He turned the fob over in his hands and saw the Renault badge.

  Hadn't Nat said she drove a Clio? He checked through the other keys - there were a couple of Yales, a Mortice and two tags, one for a supermarket loyalty scheme, the other with the word ALT Recruitment written on it. Either of the Yales, or the Mortice, could be the key to the house's front door or her flat. And if they were in his car, she couldn't get in. And he'd seen the Audi drive past.

  Hoping against hope that he'd made a huge assumption that just couldn't be true, he did a quick three-point turn and headed back towards Market Street.

  * * *

  Nat didn't know what to do, cold fear coursing through her veins and making her skin clammy, dulling the sensations in her arms and legs and scrambling any sensible thought her brain might have put together.

  She ran onto the path. The men weren't far behind, quiet now but moving quickly. She clutched her bag to her chest, like some magic talisman that would protect her from harm, but knew it wasn't helping her run quickly. But she daren't drop it, because then she lost her phone.

  She passed the main door and kept moving towards the shared garden. Unfortunately, there was no-one in the ground floor garden flat, so she couldn't try to rouse them. Her only hope was to get across the lawn and hide herself amongst the conifers there and, perhaps, climb over the fence into one of the neighbour's gardens on Tennyson Road.

  The block-paved path, becoming ever more shrouded in shadow, ran around the house, reaching out about two feet before the grass started and she knew there was a slight dip. Bracing herself, she jumped off the path and landed gracefully on the grass, keeping her footing. She hoped that none of the men had seen her, would not realise the path ended and fall over. A compound fracture or two would be nice, she thought.

  She only got half a dozen paces onto the grass before the large security light, which she'd forgotten in the heat of the moment, clicked on. It lit the garden as bright as day and she skidded to a halt, looking at the shadow she cast that reached the conifers.

  Someone behind her laughed. "Stupid bitch."

  Nat stood perfectly still, trying to get her breath back. She was desperately trying to think back to magazine articles she'd read about beating an assault, things her dad and ex-husband had told her, but her mind stayed frustratingly blank.

  The men - she couldn't be sure that all three were behind her - were panting and moving forwards, their footsteps muffled by the grass. She looked at the conifers and the wooden slat fence that was barely visible through the branches and realised that escape wasn't going to happen - she couldn't make it that far without them reaching her. That left a straight race - either to her left and back the way she'd come, or to the right and around the other side of the house, still coming out at the road. Neither option felt achievable because the men would be after her in an instant and she doubted she'd have the ability to out-run them over any kind of distance.

  "How you doing, love?" asked one of the men.

  It felt like they were right behind her. As her breathing steadied, the fear seemed to grow thicker, clouding her thoughts. That was no good, she needed to keep a straight head.

  Two of the men started to mutter to each other. Nat put her weight on her right foot and then pushed off to her left. She risked a quick glance over her shoulder and there was the passenger, his hood down now, his face creased into a big grin. He reached for her and she arched to her right, his fingers flailing and she ran. He was after her almost immediately.

  She ran onto the path, keeping as close to the building as she could, the man right behind her. On the block paving, their footwear sounded loud. The security light at the main door had gone out, but as she got closer to the street, she knew the light from there would show him exactly where she was, even if it was only as a blur or shadow.

  She heard the man grunt and something brushed the back of her neck. She cried out, a fresh surge of terror shooting through her - he was trying to grab her, to pull her down. The man's foot caught her right ankle and before she had a chance to do anything, her feet tangled together and she felt her centre of balance go. She threw herself to the right, away from the wall, hoping she'd land on the grass and be able to roll and keep moving.

  Instinctively, she threw out her hands to try and break her fall. Her bag hit the block paving, the contents spilling out and skittering away into the shadows. She had barely registered her phone was gone when she hit the grass, her palms jarring, the shock travelling up her arms. Her momentum carried her forward, onto her belly and she landed on her side, squashing her right breast painfully under her but not getting too winded.

  She rolled onto her side and saw her pursuer sprawl face down on the block paving. He
skidded forwards, his chin catching one of the block edges, pushing his face down so that his cheek and right temple grazed the paving. He came to a halt against the wall and rolled onto his back, his arms limp, a bemused expression on his scratched and bloodied face.

  He looked at her and smiled, blood pooling on his lips and sliding down his chin. "That'll hurt," he said.

  He didn't make any move to stand up, so she took a couple of deep breaths and gingerly got to her feet. Her legs held and she surveyed herself quickly. The heels of her palms were both dark, though she couldn't tell in the poor light if it was blood or dirt. She'd gone through both knees of her tights, but there didn't seem to be any discolouration there, which was a good sign. She touched her breast but that felt okay too.

  Her pursuer pushed himself into a sitting position, his back against the wall. He rubbed his head with his hand, smearing blood across his acne-pocked forehead. "Don't go," he said.

  Nat looked at him, wanting to kick and scream at him for what he'd put her through, but no words came.

  Although her legs weren't as steady as she'd have wanted, she tilted her head from side to side and made her way towards the main road, taking a wide berth of her pursuer.

  She wondered when the security light would activate and then thought of something else.

  Fuck, there's another one.

  She turned and the man behind her let out a roar of triumph and hit her upper legs in a rugby tackle.

  Nat collapsed under him, her arms pulled up against her chest as if she was in prayer, her breath woofing out of her with a raspy gasp. The man fell on top of her, digging his elbows into her back and his knees into her legs.

  Nat cried out, in pain and fear and anger. As the man slid off to her right, she tried to push herself up but couldn't do it - she had no energy left, nor enough breath in her lungs. She gave up and laid flat on the grass, facing her original pursuer, trying to catch her breath.

  The man who'd tackled her got to his feet, grabbed her ankles and twisted her legs so she turned over. She let her arms fall and tilted her head back, taking deep breaths.

  "You shouldn't have run," said the man, standing over her. She could barely see him in the gloom, but guessed it was Mal, the driver. He walked forward, his feet tight against her body and then dropped to his knees, landing on her upper arms. The pain was incredible and she cried out, tears running down her cheeks.

  "Please," she said, her voice whispery, "don't hurt me any more."

  "Any more?" said Mal. He turned to look at the other man. "You hear that Clarkey, she thinks she's already been hurt."

  Nat risked a glance at Clarkey. His head was angled towards her but she couldn't see his eyes, only the pale disk of his face and the discolorations from the smears of blood.

  "Ha," he said and sniffed loudly.

  Mal leaned down, his hands either side of her head, his squarish-face only inches from Nat's. In another world he might have been handsome but not now. His breath stank, a corrosive mixture of cigarettes, alcohol and meat but it was his eyes that scared her the most. They were bloodshot and red-rimmed and he was staring at her without apparently focussing on her. Whatever he was on, he was well and truly riding the high.

  "Nice tits," he said, his spittle pattering Nat's face and making her gag.

  "No," she gasped, "please don't."

  He pushed himself back so that he was sitting on her stomach and she moved her arms quickly, so that he couldn't put any weight on them again. Her biceps stung with the pain but she tried to block it out of her mind - if she had any chance, she had to get him off of her.

  "Why not?" Mal taunted her.

  She heard Clarkey laugh and turned to him. He was gone, the only sign that he'd ever been against the wall a dark handprint of the block paving.

  "Please," she said.

  "You are in some fucking trouble, bitch."

  Nat felt the fight drain out of her. She knew she had to stay strong, had to keep fighting, but she didn't have the energy, even though the alternative was too awful to think of.

  "Why are you doing this, what have I ever done to you?"

  Mal cocked his head to one side, as if the question had completely stumped him. "Nothing."

  "Then why do it? Leave me alone, let me go, I won't say anything."

  Mal leaned closer to her. "Leave you alone? But you have such nice titties, bitch."

  Four

  The lights at Market Street were on red and although David hadn't seen another car since turning around, he didn't want to jump the lights. Why risk getting caught if there might not be a problem? What if Nat had already managed to get in, helped by a neighbour? What if the Audi hadn't seen her and just cruised by without a second glance?

  He moved on amber. Once out of the junction he could see, a few hundred yards ahead, a car parked at an odd angle, as if it had slewed to a halt at the kerb and the driver hadn't bothered to correct the position. The drivers door was open and there was a thin ribbon of exhaust rising up and dissipating just above the back window.

  He put his foot down, quickly covering the distance between the two cars and as he got closer, it was as though his worst suspicion was slapping him in the face. It was an Audi, it was red, it was an R reg. The realisation weighed heavily, thickening in his stomach until it felt like a lead ball.

  He parked behind the Audi and rushed out to see if anyone was in the car. The one in the back was asleep and he looked impossibly lanky, his head lolled onto his right shoulder, where a puddle of drool was soaking through his hoodie. The front seats were empty.

  "Fuck." David looked towards the house and held his breath, hoping to hear something, anything that would tell him where to go. He didn't know where the main door was, didn't know if everything was lit away from the street - bollocks, he realised, he didn't know anything.

  He wasn't the bravest man in the world and, if anything, did his level best to always avoid trouble but that wasn't an option now and the thought of it made him feel sick in the pit of his stomach. His scalp prickled and pulled tight and his throat dried. What if they were armed in some way? What if they were off their heads?

  Shamed, he bit his lip. He couldn't leave Nat alone, he knew that, but what about Louisa? If he waded in and got badly hurt, she'd be on her own. But he couldn't not help, he wouldn't be able to live with himself if anything happened.

  This internal debate was over in seconds and he was already walking across the driveway before he'd ostensibly made his decision. On the path, he realised he didn't know which way to go but then, left or right, how hard could it be?

  * * *

  Clarkey dropped to his knees beside Nat's head and she flinched, closing her eyes tightly as she waited for a blow that never came. She felt Mal climb off her. He stood close to her left ear, treading on some of her hair.

  "Look at me," Clarkey said.

  Slowly, she opened her eyes. He was leaning right over her, his face only inches from hers, the light making his cheek resemble the surface of the moon. His pupils were dilated and she could see a faint blur of herself reflected in them. He smiled, his breath rank, his teeth looking crooked and dark.

  "Nice titties," he said and laughed.

  Now what? Should she try and be friendly, on the off-chance she'd be treated better or tell him to fuck off and die, on the assumption that he was going to hurt her anyway?

  He tapped her cheek, hard enough to sting briefly and she let out a little cry that made him laugh. "You were in that car, weren't you?"

  "Yes," she said, thinking quickly, "my husband's just gone to get some petrol, he'll be back soon."

  "Do I look scared?"

  "You should be," she said, before she had a chance to think.

  In one fluid movement, Clarkey sat on her chest, pinning her arms to her sides with his knees.

  "Wrong answer," he said.

  David leaned against the smooth brickwork and tried to take a full, quiet breath. It wasn't easy, his breathing was rapid and ragged
, his heart thudding in his chest, his pulse loud in his ears.

  He didn't have a plan, had no idea what would happen when he stepped around the corner. He hoped that something would spring to mind when he saw whatever it was he saw, but if it didn't, then he was stuck.

  He took as deep a breath as he could and stepped around the corner.

  * * *

  Clarkey grinned. His face filled her vision and she didn't know what was worse, his staring eyes, the spittle all over his lips or the bits of kebab meat between his dark teeth.

  "The right answer is, you should be scared." He sniffed and rubbed his nose quickly. "There's three of us and one of your bloke, you're down and we're gonna have our fun and nothing ain't gonna stop it."

  "But what have I ever done to you? Why can't you leave me alone?"

  Clarkey hotched down her body slightly, making sure to keep her arms pinned to her sides. "Because I want to lick those titties and stick my cock between them, why waste a good hard on?"

  She closed her eyes as Mal laughed.

  * * *

  The east side of the house was in darkness, apart from a thin wedge of light from a ground floor window, that ran across the grass and cut a faint strip up the bushes.

  "Shit," whispered David, "where are you?"

  He made his way to the rear of the house, keeping close to the wall and risked a quick glance around the corner, but there was no-one there.

  "Fuck," he hissed and ran along the back of the house. He triggered a security light, which made his heart thud, but it didn't seem to attract anyone's attention. He paused at the far end of the wall.

  * * *

  Clarkey's weight was restricting Nat's breath. She coughed and saw stars burst in the extremes of her vision. She took as deep a breath as she could, tried to hold it, took another. "What can I do to make you leave me alone?"

  Clarkey rubbed his nose. "Nothing, stupid."

  Nat's mind was racing, trying desperately to remember what she'd learned on the self-defence course she took a couple of years ago. It had been drilled into them, what to do and say, when to fight and when to give up, all of it designed to be ready at a moments notice. Except that now, with fear clouding her mind and adrenaline pumping through her system, she couldn't think straight for the life of her