by Paul Finch
He was taking no chances.
So neither could she.
She dived outward, catching the rope in both hands, though the laceration on her left palm was torn wide open, burning with white-hot intensity. She hung there, wincing, biting on her lip to avoid howling, before managing to hook her legs around the rope and starting to slide downward. There was a frenzied scuffling from the hayloft. Had he just seen her? Was he approaching the window to try and get a shot off? She increased her rate of descent, dropping hand over hand, her left palm smarting terribly, finally landing with such force that the breath was knocked out of her.
She tottered around in a circle. The barn doors were about three yards to her right, standing wide open; from inside she heard his feet descend the ladder at speed, alight with a thump, and come hammering across the interior towards the entrance. Alex ran at it too. She was the closer; her shoulder connected first, swinging the left-hand door closed – only for a masked form to loom from within at the last moment and be struck full on. He staggered with the force, but the door rebounded. Alex ran at it again, hitting it with her entire body, putting everything she had into it. It crashed against him a second time, even harder, and he flew backward, allowing her to slam the door completely, grab the other one and heave that into place as well. Two steel grips, one fixed on either door, had now aligned; from the one on the right hung a chain with a clip on the end. She strung it across and snapped the clip in place.
It wouldn’t hold him long, but it ought to delay him. As she belted down the hillside towards the first line of trees, she heard him shooting again – bullets ripping through steel and woodwork. She entered the foliage, thrusting herself forward with abandon, unconcerned by the loud thrashing of twigs and leaves. Somewhere behind, the shooting abruptly ceased – no doubt he’d already severed the chain – but would he really risk coming into the wood without his torch? Would he be able to find her trail in the dark?
She was hurt repeatedly as she forged on, branches striking her face, briars tangling her legs, ripping her tights and slashing her flesh, but the adrenaline was pumping and pain was a vague, indistinct sensation. All that mattered now was getting away and gaining distance. At last she halted and dropped to a crouch – not because she was fatigued, even though she was, but because she knew she had to get her bearings. She’d penetrated the wood to a depth of three hundred yards at least, and was enclosed by luxuriant vegetation. A fallen limb lay close by. She grabbed it, raising it like a club.
Seconds passed as she held her breath.There was no immediate sound of pursuit, just a rustle of wind in the overhead canopy. Gradually though, Alex heard other things. Was that a stick snapping somewhere to her right? A crackle of undergrowth to her left?
She refused to panic though; her imagination was likely to be playing tricks, and wildwood like this could be filled with all kinds of natural noise, even late at night. Nevertheless, her nerves tingled and strong, salty sweat dripped from her brow. The temptation was to stagger on regardless, but common sense bade her wait and listen.
Always know your enemy – if not who he is, where he is, what he’s up to, what he’s planning.
So she waited and she listened. The darkness slowly revealed its secrets. Inch by inch, fathomless depths of woodland materialised around her; layer upon layer of interwoven boughs and leafage, diminishing rows of tree trunks, pale beams of starlight filtering through them in a spectral lattice.
Alex remained alert, squatted like a frog and pivoting around, scanning for the slightest oddity. Had a shape just flitted across that patch of dappled light? Did that rattle of twigs denote circling movement? Something was going on out there – and it had to involve him: she’d led him in a merry dance, but he’d never been more than a few yards behind her. She’d hit him with that heavy sack, locked him into a barn, but he’d kept on coming. It was almost unnatural. Despite this, logic dictated that she must hold her ground. If he was somewhere close by, as soon as she got up and ran she’d reveal her exact position. He couldn’t know where she was yet, or he’d open fire straight away.
Leaves crackled somewhere to her left. She darted around, and approximately forty yards away spotted a figure at the end of an avenue formed between trees. His black-clad head and shoulders were clearly defined, though the rest of him was lost in murk – but why was he standing out in the open like that, unmoving?
Because he’s got the gun and you haven’t, you idiot!
Was it her location he was focused on? Could he even now be taking aim?
The tired muscles in Alex’s legs bunched as she rose from a squat to a crouch, ready to bolt – only to realise that she wasn’t looking at a man at all. The slightest alteration of her position, and the ‘figure’ had resolved itself into a confluence of gaps between branches.
Christ, girl, you’re going loopy …
She stood up, rubbing a hand across her eyes, trying to shake off a sudden torpor, which might be contributing to these near-hallucinations – and something touched her.
Touched her other hand as it hung limply by her side.
Touched it from behind.
Something moist and fleshy and cold.
Alex went stiff. She tried to swallow but her throat was too dry. She couldn’t move – not at first. It was the low, animalistic grunt that proved the catalyst. Screaming, she twirled around, club raised on high.
It was a pig.
She had only a pall of gloom by which to identify it, but how could she mistake that humped hair torso, flat-nosed face, and large, flap-like ears? It looked up at her with only mild curiosity, gave another grunt and continued nosing around near her feet.
Alex didn’t know whether to scream again, cry, or burst out laughing.
There was further motion to her right. She turned that way and saw more pigs rooting through the undergrowth. She could have hugged every one of the ugly brutes. They didn’t make her safe, but they were the first sign of friendly life she’d seen since this horror had commenced, and were a timely reminder that human civilisation was close at hand. Straight afterwards she received another such reminder, and this one dragged a yelp of joy from her: it was the low, swishing rumble of a passing motor vehicle.
A road … you’re near a road!
Frantically, she shoved her way through the grunting beasts, and spotted a twinkle of sodium yellow streetlight. Throwing her club away, she lumbered towards it, crashing through bushes – dangerous maybe, but if that scream hadn’t caught his attention, why would this? She’d been hiding back there for an hour at least, maybe longer. Possibly he’d done a runner by now? Sobbing for breath, she left the trees, climbed a dry stone wall and found herself on the verge of a country lane. It was very late now and she was still on her own, but where one car had passed another might follow. With new energy, though feeling unbelievably battered and bruised – her ankle was agony as well as her hand – she hobbled along. Some forty yards further on, she spied a house, though actually it was much more than that, more than she could possibly have hoped for. At first glimpse it was a pleasant cottage set behind a rose garden, but the vehicle parked on its drive was a police Range Rover. What was more, Alex spotted a notice board alongside its gate. ‘Wanted’ or ‘missing persons’ posters were fixed on this. One sheet was titled ‘Police Surgeries’, and it bore a list of dates and times. Above them all was the logo:
NORTHAMPTONSHIRE CONSTABULARY
She glanced at the cottage. There were no lights on inside and the curtains upstairs were drawn, but she saw that at ground level on the right-hand side was a flat-roofed concrete annex with a Venetian blind across its main window.
It had to be one of those police station-houses that she’d heard about in rural areas. They were a strange kind of arrangement: regular houses but with police offices attached. Usually some country bobby would live there, along with his wife and kids, and literally work from home. She stumbled up the path and banged on the front door’s glass panel.
Light ca
me spilling down a central staircase. Alex peered through the glass as a figure descended. It was a woman – quite young and slim, maybe only in her twenties. She was barefoot, wore a bathrobe, and was currently toweling her short, dark hair. She approached the door, a quizzical look on her face flicking a switch en route. A light came on outside, illuminating Alex in full.
The woman took one look through the glass, and immediately began drawing bolts and releasing catches. Alex’s shoulders sagged. The relief was overpowering, not to mention the emotion. As the door opened, she almost fell into the woman’s arms.
‘Please … please,” she said, fresh tears flowing. “I’ve been attacked …’
‘I can see that,” the woman replied, helping her through a side door and hitting another light switch. “Here, let me get you a seat.’
‘I … I need the police …’
‘I am the police. PC Holloway. What’s your name, darling?’
‘Alexa … Alexa Goddard.’ Alex looked distractedly around as she was assisted across a small office; there were posters on the walls and racks of leaflets. A row of blue plastic chairs sat to one side and a central desk was covered with computer equipment.
‘Are you okay to sit, Alexa?’ PC Holloway asked.
‘Erm … what?’ At first Alex didn’t know what was being asked of her, but then realised. ‘Oh, yeah … I’m not hurt down there. He never got hold of me.’
‘Okay.” She lowered Alex into one of the chairs, before moving to close the blind on the window. “So … who attacked you?’
Alex shook her head. ‘This bloke in a mask … but it wasn’t just me. He shot one of your colleagues. Killed him stone dead.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘There was this … this Traffic cop …’ Alex couldn’t believe how querulous her own voice sounded; how feverishly she was shaking. Up until arriving here she’d felt more together than this. But now that she was going to live, the dam had basically broken – it all came pouring out, semi-incomprehensibly. ‘He was parked up. He’d pulled me over.’ Unable to help herself, she gave a fluting giggle. ‘He … he had a go as well, tried to blackmail me into having sex …’
PC Holloway’s shocked expression altered a little; suddenly there was a hint of skepticism there. ‘Two men attacked you, one of them a police officer?’
‘I know it sounds crazy … look, the point is he’s dead.’
‘The masked man or the police officer?’
‘The police officer, I’ve just told you! Oh God, I’m sorry … I’m so sorry.’ Alex wiped her tears away. ‘I think you can see I’ve been through a bit of an ordeal …’
‘Just take your time. Tell me exactly what happened.’
‘I can’t take my time!’ Alex was panicking again, turning shrill. ‘What if he’s still following me? Are you on your own here, because he’ll be coming, I’m telling you. Someone else knocks on this door tonight, and it’ll be him!’
PC Holloway’s expression changed again; became more understanding. Clearly she was well-used to dealing with victims. Even so, she moved out into the reception area and Alex heard the front door closing and various of its locks being reapplied. ‘I am on my own here, but you’re perfectly safe,’ Holloway said, re-entering. She wasn’t just young, she was pretty – schoolgirl pretty – but there was also a stern efficiency about her. ‘I guarantee that. Now, you say this masked man shot a police officer?’
‘One of your Traffic cops. He just walked up to the car, put a gun through the window and fired … three times at least.’
‘You saw this?’
‘Yes. Then he realised I’d seen it, and he came after me.’
‘Okay.’ Holloway nodded; perhaps the story now seemed more plausible. ‘Roughly when did this happen?’
‘I dunno.” Alex shook her head. “I don’t even know what time it is now.’
‘Just before one.’
‘Christ. In that case a good four hours ago.’
‘And have you reported this to anyone else?’
‘I haven’t seen anyone else. Look, aren’t you going to do something?’
‘I need to understand precisely what happened, Alexa. I’m still a bit confused.’
‘Try sitting here!’
‘Whereabouts was all this?’
Alex struggled with that one, but described as best she could the stretch of road and the lay-by where the crime had occurred, and the farmland over which she’d escaped. Holloway produced a pen and pocketbook and scribbled down some details, at the same time lifting a telephone handset from the wall and hooking it under her chin. ‘Keep talking,’ she said, tapping in a number. ‘I’m listening.’
‘Well … that’s it,’ Alex concluded, shivering. ‘Lord, I still can’t believe it …’
Holloway nodded, clearly waiting for someone to answer at the other end. After a moment, she replaced the handset.
‘What’s the matter?’ Alex felt a new tickle of unease. ‘Can’t you get through?’
‘Not to Northants Traffic at Towcester. But that’s not unusual. They’re probably all out and about.’
‘Use the radio.’
‘Radio communications out here in the sticks aren’t all they could be.’
Alex’s unease became a stab of fear. ‘You’re not telling me we’re cut off here?’
‘No, I’m not.’ Holloway made a calming gesture, before taking the phone from its cradle again and tapping in another number.
‘Who are you ringing?’
‘The CAD suite at Wootton Hall. That’s our Force HQ.’ This call was answered immediately. ‘Sergeant Adamson … it’s Vicki Holloway at Litchborough. Yeah … hi. Sarge, have Traffic reported any unusual activity on the South tonight?’
‘“Unusual activity”?’ Alex mouthed, but Holloway motioned her to be quiet.
‘Okay … as far as you’re aware. You couldn’t check, could you? All of them. Probably worth checking all mobiles, actually. Well, a lady has just arrived here in a very distressed state. Says she thinks there’s been a shooting …’
‘“Thinks”?” Alex echoed. ‘I saw it!’
Holloway ignored the outburst. ‘She says that a Traffic officer – she’s unable to identify which one – was shot while seated in his car. She claims the assailant, a masked male, then pursued her over rough country until she got here. Claims he shot at her repeatedly.’ Holloway paused briefly. ‘Well … I’ve got a rape kit here, but the lady insists she wasn’t physically assaulted … oh, I see. So all present and correct? Okay, well that’s good.’ Holloway paused again. ‘Well …’ she lowered her voice, ‘she’s in a bit of a state. There’s no doubt something’s gone on. Could be an RTA, I’m not sure.’
‘Listen love,’ Alex said loudly, standing. ‘I’m an ex-nurse, so I know that by RTA you mean ‘road traffic accident’, and I assure you that isn’t what’s just happened. I’m not in shock, I’m not delirious, and I’m not on drugs before you start with that one …’
‘Yes, she’s a bit het-up,’ Holloway added, shielding one ear. ‘Yeah, I’d appreciate it if you would … yeah, I’m about to do that now.’ She hung up.
‘What’s happening?’ Alex demanded.
The policewoman gave her a long, measured stare, as if she didn’t know quite what to make of her. ‘All our Traffic units have reported in safely. Same goes for our divisional patrols too. No one’s dropped off the register all night. And that’s force-wide.’
“I told you I got lost. I might have crossed a jurisdictional line, or something.”
‘That’s possible,’ Holloway conceded, though she didn’t look as if she believed it. ‘So we’re checking with neighbouring force areas.’
‘And how long’s that going to take?’
‘As long as necessary. You want them to be thorough, don’t you?’
‘And in the meantime we just sit here?’
‘No, in the meantime I take you to hospital.’
‘Why?’ Alex asked suspiciously.
&
nbsp; ‘To get that seen to for a start.’ Holloway indicated her left hand.
Alex glanced down at its palm. In full light she saw that the wound was much deeper and dirtier than she’d thought, and was still seeping. The entire hand and much of her lower left arm were caked in its sticky crimson residue. In addition, there was almost nothing left of her tights, and her blouse hung in dingy, blood-stained rags. Her legs and arms were scratched all over, and she was covered in filth; thorns and bits of leaf were tangled in her hair.
‘It’s about ten miles away,’ Holloway said. “Do you think you’re okay to make such a journey?’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Alex replied. Fresh tears of shock brimmed from her eyes. ‘Take me, please. Anywhere … where he can’t reach me.’
‘Don’t worry.’ The officer handed her a box of tissues before moving to the door. ‘The biggest problem we have is that he – whoever he is – is probably miles away by now. I’m going upstairs to change. I’ll not be a minute.’
Alex nodded, wondering distractedly. If she glanced past the Venetian blind, would she see an empty road, or a figure darting out of sight amid the trees opposite?
She also wondered about calling home. Joe would be beside himself, but PC Holloway was already out of earshot on her way upstairs. Alex glanced guiltily at the phone. Would anyone mind? She simply had to contact Joe. She moved wearily across the room, not sure how she could tell him what had happened without risking giving him a heart attack. But when she put it to her ear, there was no dial-tone. She looked at it curiously, wondering what she needed to do to get an outside line, but there was no indication – it looked like an ordinary telephone, an old-fashioned one at that, but it had seemed to be working okay when PC Holloway used it. She shook it; things rattled inside. Then she saw that there was no power cable attached; a few dusty wires poked from a hole in the phone’s base. It had been disconnected some time ago.