Ensnared

by I N Foggarty

  Images flashed through his head while the van burst uncontrollably through the thicket. His mother, stern looking as she scolded him for hitting someone. The old preacher, whose knobbly stick had wrapped his knuckles on many an occasion for failure to adhere to the Lord's teachings. Sergio, enraged and with murder in his eyes after having discovered the outcome of the pier five deal. Then came Maria, her deep walnut eyes ablaze with passion. A kiss from her sweet lips morphed into a hand across his face. The open palm then became a fist and he found himself staring at the Anna girl, crimson hair framing her hard features and icy green eyes. He had wronged each and every one of those people in some way, shape or form. Was it too late to make amends?

  Thrusting the wheel to the right the van narrowly escaped becoming totalled by a boulder twice the size of Roca. Over the top of the grass, he could just make out a motorcycle helmet chasing after the black vehicle. They were not far from the highway now and so long as he did not lose sight of at least one of them he could still catch up. Perhaps some form of redemption could still be possible.

  ##

  The bike stopped abruptly and Dylan’s neck was thrust from side to side. Dizzy and disorientated he struggled to take in a breath through the crash helmet; his lungs empty from screaming. Twice before had he felt this sick. The first being a trip on the back of the very same motorcycle and the other his one and only ride on a rollercoaster. After both incidents, he had sworn never again. Yet he would gladly take both, one after the other, over his current predicament.

  Opening his eyes brought the sight of several black vans blurring together and a fresh wave of nausea. Frantically his fingers clawed at the helmet clasp to try to open it; he needed air. Eventually, it popped and he tore the protective shell off his head. Sucking in a mouthful his senses were overcome with the smell of burnt rubber, it was too much for him to bear. Throwing his head to the side Dylan projected vomit away from the bike and onto the compacted dirt below; bits of undigested protein bar clearly visible amidst the water and stomach acid.

  Gasping for breath, he succeeded in preventing a second bout purely by virtue of having lost the entirety of his meagre stomach contents in the first. Around him, he could hear a sound that video games and movies told him must be gunfire. This was absolutely, one-hundred percent beyond insanity. The idea of Matt attempting to overpower the kidnappers had been crazy enough. Driving straight into the dragon's jaws when it became apparent that there were extra teeth could only be described as pure suicide. If Matt did not stop they would surely both end up dead.

  Turning his head, Dylan stared in utter shock, his gaze following Matt’s outstretched arm down to his hand. His mouth dropped open, a gun… Matt had a GUN! In an instant, his blood turned to ice, and he did not know what terrified him more. The fact that his friend had procured a firearm, that he knew how to use it, or the contorted look on his face that held a mix of pain, anguish and hatred. Regardless of what had happened to himself over the past week, he was still Dylan. His best friend on the other hand… He could not comprehend what had brought about such a horrific change. Did Anna really mean this much to him?

  The sudden lurch of the bike followed by a curse from Matt snapped him back to reality. He glanced around, where had everyone gone? The kidnappers were still there but everyone else, including Anna, had vanished. In front of him, the black van had started to move.

  “Oh no!” he exclaimed, realising that the men in suits had put Anna into their van and were in the process of escaping. To his left Matt furiously fought to restart the bike engine. “Matt, don’t be an idiot. You can’t possibly stop them!”

  The only response he received came from Mark’s bike bursting back to life. For a split second, he considered bailing out. Matt had lost all sense of reason and would be lucky to avoid being killed. What could possibly be gained from going along with it? Had he not suffered enough already? Unfortunately, by the time he had rationalised his thoughts they were in motion again. His opportunity to escape evaporating like a chemical he had once spilt in chemistry.

  The wind bombarded Dylan’s exposed face when Matt increased the throttle. The black van had already started making its way down the dirt track and for some reason unbeknownst to him the kidnappers had followed suit. With great difficulty, he stuffed his head back inside the crash helmet. From here on out he could do nothing but watch the two vans slowly pull further away from them. The bike may have been theoretically faster, however, poor handling on the uneven dirt track coupled with Matt’s reckless driving put it at a severe disadvantage. Perhaps the other vehicles would manage to escape and his friend would have no choice but to concede defeat. At least it would save his life.

  Jostled around once more the need to vomit quickly resurfaced. Every time Matt skidded around a corner Dylan felt the burn of bile in the back of his throat. When the first gunshots sounded he looked up to see that they had done nothing to deter his friend from pressing onwards. For what reason the kidnappers were shooting at the black van, he could not fathom. “Matt, please,” he screamed. The bike rocketed over a crest and left the ground for a second or two. “Call the cops or Janine. Just stop this madness!”

  If anything his protest only encouraged the other boy to increase his speed. A loud crunch echoed from the two vans and Dylan saw that for the briefest of moments that they had touched. A minute later and the white one seemed to miss the turn and shot off into the grass. It did not take long for this observation to be proven true. Rounding a near ninety-degree bend he could see that the tall blades had been flattened and that the white van had indeed left the track; Matt did not make the same mistake.

  Five minutes later and they reached the highway. Though it had a substantial lead, the black van could still be seen off to their right. So much for it managing to get out of sight, Dylan moaned as Matt hit the tarmac and hammered down the throttle. On a straight asphalt road, the bike would be able to reach its maximum speed. Unless the opposing driver took an early turn-off they would catch up to it sooner rather than later. Panic seeped in once more upon realising this eventuality. What on earth would Matt try, or what the occupants of the van would do, when that happened he dreaded to think.

  Slowly but surely they began to reign in the black vehicle. Glancing up at his friend gave him no hope that they were going to stop. A breath caught in his lungs. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just make out something bulldozing its way through the grass on their right.

  “MATT, LOOK OUT!” he bellowed as the white van burst out of the thicket and headed uncontrollably towards them.

  Collision course

  Images raced through Anna’s brain as she tried to picture the scene around her. Unable to see anything but the black material that covered her eyes, she had to make do with the barrage of sounds. Upon hearing Matt yell her name she had been filled with the resolve to fight, however, could do nothing against the bonds that held her. After screaming at him for help, she had resorted to yelling and cursing at the people around her, receiving no response.

  Soon the gurney jolted forward and The Violator commanded she be put inside the van and that they leave promptly. Her stomach dropped before she felt herself being lifted upwards. The air cooled around her and the noise level dropped like someone had turned down the volume. They had put her inside the van. When the doors slammed shut the momentary hope Matt had given her had been obliterated.

  A cool waft of air fluttered the sheet that covered Anna’s body and she slowly began to feel the icy grip of dread take hold. She knew enough about cars to know that Matt was not driving one. No, he was riding a motorcycle and by the sound of it, Mark’s, if she were not mistaken. Her fear deepened. How Matt had found her, she did not know. However, it did not matter. If he had come on a motorcycle it meant he had come alone. For his sake, she could only hope that he elected to give up and go home. Her fate may be sealed but his need not be.

  The van jostled as it hit a bump in the road and a voice from the front that she assum
ed must belong to the driver called out. “Sir, those Mexican’s are gaining on us. I guess they didn’t like the fact that you forgot to pay them.”

  “It must have slipped my mind.” Anna shuddered when The Violator’s voice replied from close beside her. “What about the motorcycle?”

  “It’s further back, but in pursuit also.”

  “Then take us safely back to the highway and we shall reassess the situation.” The man then spoke directly to her and she could feel his fresh breath against her cheek. “I take it the rider of that rather fine motorcycle is in some way related to you.”

  Anna turned in the direction of the man’s voice. “My boyfriend,” she spat with venom, not quite believing that she had entertained his question.

  “Ah. That is… unfortunate.” His words rained down upon her like last week’s thunderstorm. By what form of screwy, bastardised logic could he possibly sound remorseful. “Perhaps if he had not attempted to run us down and subsequently, open fire upon us we could have discussed this in a civilised manner.”

  Anna’s mind boggled and her confusion compounded. This man had to be the best liar she had ever encountered or worse, actually telling the truth. What sort of criminal had she been taken by? “Where’s Chloe?” she demanded, straining to hear some sound that she could associate with the girl's presence. “What have you done with her?”

  Instead of an answer, the sound of gunfire from outside filled the van.

  “Sir, they’ve opened fire on us.”

  “Is that what that noise is?” The Violator’s voice brimmed with a sarcasm that reminded Anna eerily of herself. “And I thought someone had decided to make popcorn. How disappointing.”

  POPCORN! They were in the back of a van under fire and the man thought it appropriate to reprimand with wit? As quickly as it had begun, the barrage of bullets ended. Had the kidnappers given up? And what of Matt? A few minutes passed, the question regarding her former cellmate unanswered and not reiterated.

  Abruptly there was a sharp jolt and Anna felt the van lurch forward against the will of its driver. A second later they turned a corner and… CRUNCH. Her head spun and the vehicle went into a brief skid, making her slightly disorientated. If the kidnappers kept this up they would be run off the road. A mirth of laughter escaped her lips but went unnoticed. She would rather take her chances in a crash. At least there would be someone on the outside to pull her from the wreckage.

  “Sir, they’re…” The driver began before The Violator cut him off.

  “Trying to pitch us into the grass?”

  The van’s brakes squealed as the driver slowed it down. Feeling it take a sharp bend Anna could hear the roar of the other vehicle from close behind.

  “Oh shit!”

  The tyres screeched and they darted forward. The sound of thick grass being forcibly ripped from the ground in large clumps emanated from where they had been moments prior.

  “That sounded a little too close for comfort, Mr Jenson,” The Violator said softly but with an edge of steel.

  “Don’t worry, Sir. That’s probably the last we’ll of them.”

  “Let us hope that you are right.”

  Five minutes later and the low rumble that had been present throughout the journey ceased. “We’ve reached the highway, Sir.” The driver announced. “No sign of the van.”

  “The motorcycle?” The Violator’s words hung in the air and Anna waited with bated breath for the reply.

  “…Just coming off the dirt track now. What should we do sir? It will catch us before long. There’s no way we can outrun it.”

  “No,” Anna whispered in dismay, her heart sinking. Matt should not have followed. The people around her were organised, hardened criminals and he… just a boy. A naïve boy with a deluded belief that ‘true love’ could prevail, just like in the stories. Except this was not a book. Real life did not have a happily ever after. She had learned that once upon a time.

  “Then I would advise that you leave the highway at the next available junction. Unless you want this to become the first car chase in history to involve a pit stop strategy.”

  Though it may have been a joke, there was a serious undertone to the man’s voice. Gone the airy nature of someone who found the entire situation an inconvenience. Matt had become a serious problem for him now. On her left, Anna felt a long finger absentmindedly drag itself through a lock of her filthy crimson hair. Taking a laboured breath in through her nose, she froze, realising that the digits owner had no smell bar the soft hints of soap she had detected in The Violator's neutral scent earlier.

  “I must say, I find the conditions in which you have been housed to be absolutely appalling.” The soft tone of The Violator’s voice in her ear almost caused her heart to stop. A new wave of fear washed away her lingering tears. Her teeth chattered slightly and she suddenly felt like she had been dumped head first into a plunge pool. “I promise you, that at the earliest possible convenience, you shall be given a nice hot bath.”

  Anna’s fingernails dug deeper into the worn leather to the point that she made a small puncture hole. She was not some dog that had rolled around in the mud and now waited for its owner to bathe it. Ragged breaths came between gritted teeth and she could feel the need to lash out at him. An impossibility of course and unfortunately, her mouth felt too dry to make a wad of spit to fire at him. She would have to bide her time… sooner or later he would have to untie her.

  ##

  Matt turned his head just in time to see the white van explode uncontrollably out of the tall grass. For a moment he just stared at it transfixed, unable to do anything but watch it hit the asphalt and careen towards him. His muscles seized, fear took hold and for the second time in as many days, he stared death straight in the face. For a split second, his eyes met those of the drivers. Though he had never been good a lip reading the movement of the Hispanic man’s lips clearly said one thing, “MOVE!”

  Unsure under what force his left arm shifted, the bike veered off-line and over onto the other side of the carriageway. The van shot past them, all the while Dylan screamed loud enough to be auditable over the collective engine wails. Heart almost breaking out of his body, Matt struggled to straighten the bike and prevent it from hitting the dirt. His bullet burn throbbed and he could feel a cold sweat run over his skin. He swallowed a mouthful of warm air, and his body shook slightly. That had been too close.

  Returning to the correct side of the road, he could only thank god that he had not driven into the path of an oncoming car. Up ahead the white van had gained ground on the black one, with both steadily increasing their lead over him. “Shit,” Matt cursed, increasing the throttle. He would have been close to catching the lead vehicle had that bloody Mexican not nearly crushed him flat. In the back of his head, a small voice asked the question, but what then, while from his right Dylan also chipped in with a muffled protest. He ignored them both. He would not lose Anna a second time.

  Hitting top speed, the bike ate up the smooth asphalt in a similar fashion to its owner attacking a bowl of pasta after volleyball. A combination of weight and neglect on the part of the other vehicles allowed Matt to close the gap. Up ahead he could see the turn-off before the black van slid sideways across the highway to take it. The Mexican’s must have seen the manoeuvre too late. Tyres squealed and the white van overshot the turn and wound up doing a full one-eighty. For a brief moment, it sat motionless facing him, before it accelerated around the bend.

  Knuckles white, Matt made no mistake in taking the turn-off himself. He would not let those men escape with Anna. Straightening the bike, he realised that their overshoot had brought the Mexicans to within a few car lengths. Good. He would sidle up to their rear fender and when they hit a relatively straight piece of road, breeze past them. Once they were out of the way, he could focus on chasing down those bastards that had Anna. He was going to save her. Then they could all go home and forget this horrible experience had ever happened. If it was the last thing he ever did, he wo
uld set things right, no matter what the cost.

  “Just hang on, Anna,” he breathed, shifting the bike up a gear. “I’m coming.”

  ##

  Tire smoke rose up around them and the van slid out of Ramone’s control, spinning to a standstill. Roca once more playing counterweight and bringing it back down onto four wheels. The man literally having use equivalent to that of a sack of bricks. The stench of vomit filled the cab and he could tell that his rock sack had just lost some pebbles. Ignoring him, Ramone hit the gas pedal and turned the wheel.

  Successfully negotiating the turn this time, he could see that they had lost ground on the other van and that the bike had caught up significantly. Cursing he tore off after the lead vehicle. This was no longer just about the money. Or maybe it had never been about that. Truth be told, he had even less of an idea of what had driven him to give chase than when he had got in the van. He just had to stop the visitor from escaping.

  The landscape slowly began to change as for the third time Ramone began to reel in the heavy van in front. Grass and farmland gave way to bush and brambles, while out in the distance trees became more prevalent. Though not a simple case of pushing the van to its limit and allowing it to do all the work, like on the highway, the twisting country road made life far easier than the dirt track. Unfortunately, the same principle applied to the motorcycle, which had now firmly planted itself behind his rear fender.

  This time there would be no mistakes. He would close up behind the bastards and tail-fish them properly. With a bit of luck, they would flip onto their side. He and Roca would be able to take charge of the situation with fully loaded guns. It really would be a Mexican stand-off. He let out a small laugh and glanced to his right, Roca had recovered somewhat and now sat straight once more.