by Mat Ridley
“Jo! Jo! Jo!”
Even through the downpour, I could see that the front door was still closed, and I suddenly realised that in my mad dash to the house, I had left my keys in the car. I turned to fetch them, but just as I did so, a van pulled into the end of the road. It paused there for a moment, its headlights throwing the street into harsh shadows, the back of my car centre stage. I could almost imagine the van’s eyes widening with surprise as its occupants registered my presence, and then suddenly it lurched forward. I forgot about the keys and turned back to the house instead, thumping on the door and hollering for Jo to come and let me in with even more urgency than before.
“Jo, damn it!”
“Alright, I’m coming, calm down!” her voice came, muffled through the door. From inside the house, I heard the regular thump of footsteps descending the stairs, followed by the rattling of the safety chain coming off; behind me, I heard the van doors opening, gruff voices, running feet, but I refused to turn around. My world was consumed by the door.
“Hurry up!”
Finally, the door opened. “For goodness sake, Dan, what…”
“Get in, quick!” I pushed my way into the house and slammed the door shut, locking it and reattaching the safety chain.
“Dan, what’s happened?” she breathed, taking in my appearance. Her face paled.
“There’s no time to explain that now, Jo.”
“But you’re bleeding! I’ll call an ambulance.”
“Listen, I mean it. We’re in trouble. If we don’t get out of here now, right now, we’re probably going to die. Come on, let’s go.” I started leading her towards the kitchen, the back door, the garden and freedom. Even just feeling her by my side again, my arm around her, calmed me, despite the danger we were in. She was still alive.
“Okay.” Even terrified, she looked beautiful. The silk dressing gown I had got her last Christmas accentuated all the right curves, including the subtle bump that was beginning to show at the front. I had obviously arrived back just as she was about to go to bed; she always brushed her hair before doing so, and it shone with a gleam that put the material of the dressing gown to shame. Her eyes were wide with concern, but all I could do was wonder at their blueness, even after as brief a glance as I could afford. I reluctantly tore myself away from her gaze, knowing that I didn’t have time to linger there, but at the same time basking in this simple reward I had earned by getting back in time to save her from Sam.
Right on cue, there came a series of knocks on the front door, followed by the spectral sound of his hateful voice. “Dan? Was that you I just saw scurrying in there?”
Jo looked at me questioningly, but was wise enough (or scared enough) not to make a sound. I nodded to her, and we hurried along the hallway towards the kitchen. I flicked off the light switches as we went, plunging the house into shadows.
Behind us, Sam continued to talk, his voice seeping around the door like poisoned honey. “I’m very impressed, Dan. Really. I didn’t expect to see you alive again. But it’s nice that you could make it. Now you can enjoy a front row seat while I settle the score with you and your missus. Ladies first, of course.”
Rage once again swelled up inside me at the thought of this animal hurting Jo, and I almost turned back to the door, fully intending to rip it open, grab Sam by his throat, and tear him to pieces. But Jo sensed the tension in my muscles, and for a moment our roles were reversed as she took control of steering me towards our escape route instead.
“No, Dan,” she whispered. “We’ve got to get out of here, and get you to a doctor. You look terrible.”
“That’s never bothered you before,” I quipped, but her words made the anger boil off, leaving nothing but perfect love for this wonderful woman by my side. I knew that she had to cope with stress, injury and pandemonium every day in the accident and emergency ward where she worked, but I still marvelled at how quickly she was adapting to the mess that she had suddenly been thrown into.
“Open the door, Dan,” called Sam, a hint of steel now colouring his voice. “I can hear an awful lot of sirens in the distance, and I’m sure it won’t be too long before some bright spark thinks to follow the trail back here. Or did you already call the police? Maybe you had more luck getting through this time, eh?”
I ignored both the accusation and the insistent tattoo that Sam was beating on the door. By now Jo and I had reached the back door. The doorknob was cool with the promise of freedom in my hand, but as I went to unlock it, the small window directly above shattered inwards, spraying the kitchen floor with shards of jagged glass. Jo uttered a short scream. A gloved hand snaked in through the newly created hole, groping for the lock. It was easy to see what was going on; Sam had positioned himself at the front of the house as a decoy, trying to focus our attention there while he sent his forces around the back of the house to break in.
I frantically searched for something to discourage the hand in its quest, and my eyes alighted upon a heavy iron frying pan that we had recently bought. Little did I know at the time what a valuable purchase it would turn out to be. I grabbed it with the hand of my uninjured arm and brought it down solidly on our unwelcome visitor. A bellow of pain surged through the door, and the hand disappeared like a figment of my imagination. With a bit of luck, I thought, Sam had sent only either Dave or Charlie round the back, and with the aid of the frying pan, Jo and I were now free to leave. I refused to consider the idea that the reason I had won the race back to the house was because Sam had stopped to pick up reinforcements on his way over. But any hope that I had incapacitated the only obstacle blocking our escape route vanished as voices came through the hole in the door.
“Dave? Dave! What’s up, mate?”
“Bastard! Charlie, that bastard broke my fucking hand! God damn it!”
I turned to Jo, my mind racing with possibilities now that our chance for a stealthy escape had been foiled. One option would be to press on, taking advantage of the chaos outside the back door and barrelling our way through to freedom. But that was still assuming there were only two of Sam’s henchmen out there, and besides, it was a long run across the lawn, with little cover. In her condition, I wasn’t sure how quickly Jo would be able to move; certainly not quickly enough to avoid a bullet aimed at our retreating backs. Alternatively, we could double back and try to go out the front; perhaps the commotion on this side of the house would lure Sam away from his post, leaving us with a clear route of escape that way. But perhaps it wouldn’t, and I wasn’t very keen on running blindly out from our shelter, not knowing what might be waiting for us on the other side of the front door. Neither of these ideas seemed very appealing, since both would put Jo in direct danger. The only other option was to make a stand in the house, barricade ourselves inside somehow, and wait for the police to turn up. Hopefully this time they wouldn’t be so late. I didn’t like this plan much either, but it seemed like the least risky.
“Jo, I want you to go upstairs and hide,” I whispered fiercely, ducking down below the kitchen window and pulling her down beside me. “Get in the loft if you can manage it—you’ll be safe up there. They don’t know you’re here yet, and perhaps I can keep them busy until the police turn up.”
She looked at me, horrified. “And leave you down here on your own? The state you’re in? No way. We’re in this together. And besides, I doubt they’ll think it was you screaming just now.”
“Look, I can probably hold them off, but not if I’m going to be worrying about you all the time. Please. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt, either. I can watch your back.”
“And do what, exactly? You’re pregnant, for crying out loud.”
“Yeah, pregnant; not disabled.” Her lower lip jutted out slightly in a fetching statement of defiance.
“You don’t understand. They’ve got guns,” I said, and as if to make my point, gunfire suddenly raked across the window above our heads, smashing through it and pummelling the tiled w
all opposite. I pulled Jo towards me, sheltering her from the glass cascading down over us. From the front of the house, more gunshots sounded, each punctuated by the sound of splintering wood that I assumed meant Sam was trying to shoot the lock off the door. I felt an instant of grim relief that we hadn’t tried to escape that way after all; but the relief was short-lived. The sounds of the kitchen doorknob rattling insistently and a gun being reloaded outside the window gave every indication that if I didn’t act quickly, we would soon be overpowered.
I took advantage of the lull and scrambled across the floor, reaching for the leg of the kitchen table. In the dimness of the hallway, I could see the front door jerking in its frame as Sam continued to smash against it, but his shots had missed the safety chain, and for the moment, it was holding. Even so, I was sure that we had only seconds before it gave way or before he tried to blast his way in through a window instead. Ignoring the pain in my shoulder, I heaved on the table, manoeuvring it to block the back door as best I could. Jo leant across to help.
“When I say ‘now’, I want you to go through into the dining room,” I whispered in her ear. “I’ll be right behind you.”
She nodded her agreement, and with that, I picked up the frying pan and leapt to my feet, yelling “Now!” as I did so. Behind me, I could hear Jo scrambling across the kitchen floor through the glass, but by necessity, I was more concerned with what I could see through the now-shattered window. I had a split second to register a shocked face, drops of rain streaming down it, eyes wide with disbelief, and then I lofted the frying pan towards it. The pan spun through the air and connected solidly with its target. The face sunk and a howl rose. But much as I would have liked to have stood there admiring my handiwork, the front door had never been designed to withstand a temper like Sam’s, and the noises coming from the hallway told me that it was on its last legs.
I had just scurried into the dining room after Jo when more gunfire strafed the kitchen. It seemed that at least one of the assailants outside the back door wasn’t as badly injured as I’d hoped. This time, there was only a short burst of gunfire, and as soon as it stopped, Sam’s voice roared out.
“Stop firing, you fucking moron! You almost hit me!”
“Sorry, Sam.”
“Just keep the back of the house covered. I’m coming in. Let’s finish this off quickly, we haven’t got all bloody day.”
This shouted exchange only registered faintly, pushed to the back of my mind as soon as I noticed Jo lying on the dining room floor, nursing her foot. Even in the dim light, I could see black smears of blood all over the tiles. I scrambled over to her side.
“Are you hit?” I said, as quietly as I could, struggling against the instinct to yell for a medic.
“No, I just stepped on a piece of glass. But it still hurts.” She turned her tearful eyes towards me. The determination that had been there a moment earlier was gone, replaced by fear. I hoped the same fear wasn’t as obvious in my own eyes.
“Let me see.” I gently pulled her hand to one side and examined her foot. A gash in the sole was steadily seeping blood, but there didn’t seem to be any glass embedded in the wound. “Can you walk on it?”
“I’m not sure. I think so. I’m sorry, Dan.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” I kissed her. “We’ll be fine. I’ll get you out of this, I promise. I’m your protector, remember?”
A tentative smile graced her lips, but the final crash of the front door yielding to Sam scared it away. I touched a finger to my own lips, and indicated to Jo that she should position herself next to the door that led through to the lounge. From there, we would be able to get back into the hallway, and out of the front door (or what was left of it). All I needed to do to keep the escape route clear was to get Sam to come straight through to the kitchen instead… but perhaps the same trick I had used at the warehouse with my wallet would work here, too.
“Dan!” sang Sam’s voice over the ever-present, ever-useless background of sirens. “Where are you, Dan?”
It sounded as if the voice was coming from just inside the front door, and I could picture Sam there, sniffing the air like a rat. I scanned the floor of the dining room, and picked up a couple of pieces of broken glass, one of them wet with Jo’s blood. I quietly slid over to her.
“Jo, listen. There’s only one of them at the front, and I’m going to try to draw him straight back here into the kitchen. When he comes, I want you to go through the lounge, as fast as you can, and out the front door. Don’t argue,” I said, stemming the protest I could see rising in her face. “We haven’t got time. I’ll be right behind you, don’t worry.”
She hugged me fiercely for a moment. “I love you, Dan. You know that, right? And you know we were meant to be together, too, to grow old together, to raise a family together. I don’t need a dead hero for a husband. I need you. So don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
“I won’t, I promise,” I kissed her again, trying to fight back the tears of love that I felt, but not very successfully. “I love you too, Jo.”
I turned back towards the kitchen door before my face could betray how confident I really felt about our chances. It wasn’t just that her little speech felt more like a farewell than anything else, it was the whole evening’s events beginning to catch up with me. With a deep breath, I composed myself and glanced over my shoulder at Jo to make sure she was okay. I could tell from the downward aspect of her head that she was praying. I doubted it would help, but at this stage in the proceedings I wasn’t going to dismiss even the slightest possibility of the miracle we needed.
There had been no further sound from Sam since his frenzied entrance. I strained my ears, trying to pick up any tell-tale noises that might give away his position, but the sound of the sirens and the rain made it impossible. All I could do was carry out my plan and hope for the best. With two flicks of my wrist, I sent the pieces of glass spinning low into the kitchen, and the chink as they landed galvanised Sam into action. The sound of his footsteps thundering into life came from the hallway, and I quickly gave Jo the signal to run. Thankfully, Sam’s approach had roused her from her prayer, and she wasted no time in launching herself into the lounge—surprisingly swiftly considering the wound in her foot. I tensed as Sam’s footsteps approached the kitchen and he slowed, cautious. Unfortunately, as soon as Sam’s footsteps faded out, Jo’s became painfully audible.
Sam started moving again, this time heading back the way he had come. I scrambled into the kitchen and charged towards the hallway, staying low and hoping that I’d be able to catch up with him before Charlie could react, either to shout out a warning, or with his gun. I could see Sam just a little way in front of me, racing towards the door to the lounge, and I closed the distance as quickly as I could. But it wasn’t quickly enough; before I could get to him, Jo suddenly shot out of the lounge, right in front of Sam, and bolted for the front door, unaware of the danger that loomed behind her.
“Got you, you bitch!” Sam slowed fractionally and raised his gun towards her. Just as he got it level, Charlie finally woke up.
“Look out, Sam! Behind you!”
The gun went off, deafening in the confines of the hallway, but Sam was already turning towards me when he squeezed the trigger, and the shot went wide. The banister at the bottom of the stairs transformed into a hurricane of splinters that showered over Jo. She screamed and tripped.
Before Sam had a chance to finish turning around, I bulldozed into him, sending him sprawling, but my momentum carried me forward and I fell, too, landing heavily on top of him. If only I had incapacitated him as I did so, that might have been the end of it right there, but it was not to be; and my coming between him and his prey only served to infuriate him further. He writhed beneath me, trying to get free, the fresh smell of the rain on his jacket mixing uneasily with the sour smell of his sweat, but as frantic as he was to escape, I was even more desperate to keep him held down. I managed to get my knees on top of his arms, pinning them to the floor and le
aving my hands free to vent some of my anger on that hateful face. But just as my first blow was descending in retribution for all that this man had done to me and those I loved, Sam bucked, I lost my balance, and I toppled forwards. Instinctively, I put out my hands to break my fall, remembering only too late the bullet wound that still throbbed in my shoulder. The impact kicked the injury violently awake again, almost making me pass out.
As I battled with the pain sweeping through my body, I could hear Sam regaining his feet behind me, breathing like an asthmatic bull. For all the urgency in my mind to stop him, my body just wouldn’t cooperate. Even raising my head up off the ground was a slow, sullen process. But there was one command my body had to obey. I yelled.
“Run, Jo!”
I could see her struggling to her feet just a little way in front of me, and I caught one final look at her, framed in the doorway against the rain and the light spilling in from the street, terrified yet beautiful. She was a vision, utterly worth fighting for, but now completely beyond my power to do so. I tried to get back on my feet, but the best I could manage was to flop over onto my back, and a well-aimed kick from Sam made sure that that was exactly where I was going to stay. He stood astride me like an evil colossus, grinning down malignantly.
“Payback time, Dan,” he growled. “This is for my brother.”
He brought the gun up and aimed it at Jo.
“No!”
With one final surge of adrenaline, I kicked out at Sam’s legs, yelling again at Jo to run. Sam stumbled, his aim ruined, and although the gun fired again, Jo’s continued screaming told me that he had missed. Yet despite the gunfire and my insistent yelling, she still hesitated in the doorway.
“Dan!”
“Jo, get out of here! Now!”
Sam regained his footing and looked down at me once again.
“You really are a fucking nuisance, Dan,” he said mildly, aimed the gun at my head, and squeezed the trigger.
For the second time that night, Sam shot me. This time I wasn’t so lucky. The bullet passed through my neck in a wet explosion, the blowback splattering my blood high up the walls of the hallway. I fell silent.