by Ryan Casey
He lowered the deer to the ground.
“Good. That’s a start. Now the bag.”
Martin held the bag to his shoulder. He tried to figure if there might be another way; a way out of this. A chance to escape. To take these people out. To take what was theirs.
“Hey,” the man barked. He nudged that knife closer to Ella’s neck. “No messing around. No playing games. Drop the damned bag. Now!”
Martin couldn’t wait around. He considered himself a decent judge of character. One thing was for sure: this bloke wasn’t messing about.
He dropped the bag of stolen equipment to the ground. Cursed himself for being so irresponsible. So reckless. So stupid.
He looked up at the man. Saw that knife held steady to Ella’s neck.
“Alright,” Martin said, raising his hands. “You can let us go now. We’re done here.”
The man didn’t say a word. None of them did. Silence filled the air.
And then the man started to laugh.
All of them stood there. Laughing.
That knife still pressed to Ella’s neck.
“D’you really just think we’re gonna let you walk?” he barked. “After what you tried to do to us? Steal from us? Hell, it’s a frigging good job we weren’t sleeping. You look the sort who woulda tried to strangle us in our dreams if you thought it might give you an easier way out of this shit.”
Martin listened to the laughter. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t say a word. He just felt lost. Like he’d failed Ella. Like in the process of trying to protect her, he’d gone and done the opposite all along.
“No,” the man said, stepping closer towards Martin now, Ella still in front of him. “We’re gonna make sure you regret what you did. We’re gonna make sure you pay for what you did. Because I don’t trust you, fella. I don’t trust you one damned bit.”
He reached Martin. Ella stood between them. Sweat trickling down her face. A speck of blood on her neck, where the knife had caught her.
“Anything to say to the girl?”
Martin shook his head. “No. Don’t. Please.”
The man stood there. Smiled. Every time Martin edged forward, he pushed that blade closer to Ella’s neck. So close to taking her out. To ending her life.
“You know, this could’ve been so different,” the man said. “We’re not a bad bunch of people. If you were struggling out there, you coulda just asked for some food or some water. Plenty of people came this way and did the same. But no. You had to go and spoil it, didn’t you?”
“I made a mistake,” Martin said.
“Yeah. Yeah, you did. And now you’re gonna watch the consequences of making a mistake unfold right before your goddamned eyes.”
He lifted that knife higher to Ella’s neck.
Martin went to lunge forward, but the arms of the two men from the trees dragged him back.
And then the man lowered the knife.
He pushed Ella to the dirt.
Stepped up to Martin and pushed the knife to his neck.
He stood there. Peered into Martin’s eyes. His smelly breath covering his face. “I’m not going to kill your daughter. What do you take me for? A damned savage?”
He lowered the knife, then. Slipped it in his pocket. Lifted Ella up and threw her to the man beside Martin.
And then he looked at Martin. Right into his eyes. Still smiling.
“But you are gonna pay for what you’ve done. I promise you that.”
He glanced at the man holding Martin.
And before Martin even had the chance to process anything, he felt a kick to the back of his legs and tumbled down to the ground.
Ella fell down beside him.
The pair of them lay there, faces pressed down into the dirt. A heavy knee pushed down on Martin’s back. No matter how much he tried to break free, to escape, he kept on getting pushed back down. He was trapped.
The man appeared before him once again. That dirty knife shimmering right before his face.
He looked at Martin, and he smiled. “How about I take one of those stealing fingers away?”
He grabbed Martin’s hand. Pressed the knife against his middle finger.
Martin held his breath. Braced himself for the agony…
And then the man started laughing again.
He stood up. Stepped away from Martin.
Over to Ella.
“Nah,” he said. “Too easy. Way too easy.”
And Martin didn’t understand. The adrenaline. His racing heart. All of it suffocating him. All of it clouding his judgement.
He only understood when the man stood right by Ella and smiled.
“I know a better way to hurt you. To hurt you both.”
Martin dug his fingers into the dirt. Tried to drag himself to his feet. “No. Please!”
But it was too late.
The man reached down.
He grabbed Ella’s shaking hand.
She kicked out. Cried out. Screamed.
But the man held that knife against her middle finger, and he smiled.
“Don’t struggle, love. It’ll only make it harder.”
And all Martin could do was try to break free.
All he could do was kick.
And punch.
And fail.
All he could do was watch.
“I’m sorry, Ella,” he said. “I’m—I’m sorry.”
The man pushed the blade against Ella’s finger.
Martin closed his eyes.
And then he heard the scream.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Harriet heard the growl and froze.
It was dark now. All she could see were the tall, black outlines of trees. The night sky above, peppered with stars. The crescent moon suffocated by the clouds.
And that growl, somewhere in the distance.
Her instinct was to grab Oscar. Pull him closer to her. She didn’t want to let him out of her grip. Didn’t want to let him out of her sight.
And at the same time, she wanted to protect him from that growling. He was a sensitive kid. She knew how he’d react to a noise like that. Especially with how much he knew about animals.
The monsters in the woods.
Stupid bitch for ever making him believe those stories, all to stop him running away from her.
But when she looked down at him, she realised right away she was already too late.
Oscar stared off into the darkness. Towards that growling. The whites of his eyes bulging in terror.
She pulled him close to her. Kissed his warm head, one of the only sources of warmth in this cold darkness. “Ssh. It’s okay. We’re going to be okay.”
She heard footsteps, then. Footsteps edging towards her. Towards Oscar.
The fear inside her intensified. She wanted to move. She wanted to run away. But she was frozen solid.
Another growl emerged from up ahead. It didn’t sound like any animal she’d ever heard. At least not in person, anyway.
The closest she’d heard to it?
The growl of a lion on countless nature documentaries.
She heard another growl. Couldn’t see anything in the darkness. Which added to her fear. It was that unknown that really got to her. That not knowing what was coming her way.
But she couldn’t just sit here.
She couldn’t just wait for whatever it was to reach her. To reach her son.
So she tightened her grip around Oscar’s hand and stood.
The second she stood, that growl stopped.
She froze. Stood there, legs shaking, knees wobbling. Maybe it’d gone. Maybe whatever it was had grown bored of her. Or maybe it’d been hunting something else. Maybe it’d walked by and left her and her son alone.
But then she heard that growl get louder.
And there was something about it that filled her with more fear than ever before.
The sound of that growl. Deep. Unlike anything she’d ever heard.
And then another sound.
Oscar’s scream.
She covered his mouth and picked him up. She knew there was no standing around here. No waiting. Not anymore.
She held him close, tight, and even though she had no strength left in her body, she ran into the darkness.
She ran as quickly as she could. She could barely move her legs. She wanted to look over her shoulder. She wanted to see what was racing after her.
But at the same time, she just wanted to get away.
She heard those growls getting louder. Heard heavy footsteps pounding against the ground. Whatever it was, it was bigger than her. It was quicker than her. And it wasn’t giving up the chase.
But she just kept her focus straight ahead.
She kept on manoeuvring past the trees.
You can do this. You can make this. You’ve—you’ve got this.
She heard a roar, and she looked back, instinctively.
For the first time, as she raced through the woods, she saw an outline.
She saw that large, beautiful, graceful form.
She saw that glimmer of the moon in its wide eyes.
And although Harriet didn’t want to look for a long time, she saw what it was.
Her worst fears realised.
A lion.
She spun back around and raced ahead when she felt a crack against her head.
She fell back. Hit the ground. Her forehead stung. Her ears rang. She felt dizzy and weak.
But she could still hear that growling behind her.
She could still hear those heavy footsteps thudding against the earth, closing in.
She went to get back to her feet, Oscar lying on top of her, when she saw it above her.
The lion stared down at her. Pungent drool dripped down from its lips. Its big teeth reflected in the moonlight like knives. So sharp. So fierce.
And as Harriet lay there, Oscar pinned to her body, both of them silent with terror, she knew there was no point in fighting. She knew there was no point in even trying to battle her way out of this.
So she did the only thing a mother could do.
“Please,” she cried. “Please just... just let us go. Let us go.”
She saw the lion’s head tilt. Saw it plant its heavy, sharp paw right beside her face.
She saw it move its big head right towards her. It sniffed at her. It smelled so bad. And she swore she could see the remnants of blood on its teeth.
She felt its wet nose against her cheek. Felt it moving right along her face.
And all the time, she just held Oscar tight. Stroked his head. Tried to quieten him. To reassure him.
And tried to beg.
Frozen with terror.
“Please. Just—just let us go. Please.”
She saw something, then. The lion. It lifted its head. Looked up into the distance. Sniffed at the air.
And for a moment, Harriet sensed an opportunity.
She sensed a chance—
And then the lion turned back to her.
Faced her.
Opened its mouth and moved towards her throat.
She closed her eyes. Gripped Oscar close as time stood still.
And all that time, she told her boy how sorry she was, how much she loved him, how much she—
A bang.
A bang from nowhere.
Blood spurting out the lion’s side, spilling over her, over Oscar.
The lion jumped off her. Yelped. Groaned. It sounded distressed. Sounded in pain.
“It’s a frigging lion, Ally. A frigging lion!”
More gunshots. More commotion.
The lion roaring, pain to its cry.
And as it limped away from her, as more shots fired from somewhere in the woods, all she could do was watch as it staggered off into the trees.
All she could do was watch as it limped away from her, its hunters in pursuit.
It looked around at her as she lay there, pinned to the ground, unable to move, unable to think.
It looked at her with such sadness in its eyes.
And then another shot fired from somewhere over her shoulder, and the lion ran off into the woods.
Harriet lay there. Heart racing. Holding Oscar tight.
She listened to those gunshots.
She listened to those footsteps.
She listened to those voices.
All she could do was lie there.
All she could do was cry.
And all she could do was keep on holding Oscar, keep on stroking his head.
“It’s going to be okay. Ssh. I’m here. Mummy’s here. It’s going to be okay, my prince. It’s going to be okay.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Martin sat in the darkness and tried to get Ella’s scream out of his mind.
It was dark in this caravan. Smelled of dust and old people. The windows were boarded up, so he couldn’t tell what it was like outside. He didn’t know how long he’d been locked away in here. He didn’t know how much time had passed.
All he thought about was that horrified look on Ella’s face.
Closing his eyes.
And then listening to her scream.
He heard muffled voices outside every now and then. He tried to shout at the people outside, in this caravan site. Tried banging at the door. Tried breaking his way out of this caravan.
But he was locked in.
The windows were boarded up.
There was no escape.
He hadn’t seen Ella for a while. Not since the leader of this place held that blade to her middle finger and pressed it down. Not until she made that ear-piercing cry. That scream.
And he felt so worried for her. The only thing reassuring him was the leader of this place said they weren’t going to kill her. But that was all Martin had to go on right now. That, and the sense that if he were going to do anything to Ella, he would surely have done it by now.
He leaned back against the caravan wall. Covered his face with his hands. He’d been an idiot. A frigging idiot. He shouldn’t have gone raiding someone else’s supplies. He should’ve waited until he was absolutely sure this camp was clear. He’d been thinking short-term, and it’d caught him out.
He remembered what Ella said about reaching out to these people rather than stealing from them. How uncomfortable that made him feel. And why? All because he felt like it was his duty to protect Ella. Nobody else’s.
He couldn’t trust anyone else.
He had to be the one who was there for Ella. The one who looked out for her. Looked after her. Protected her.
And he’d failed.
He felt old wounds resurfacing. That sense that he couldn’t look after Ella. That he was just pretending he was capable of looking out for her. Capable of protecting her.
When in fact, he was wrong about that. All along, he was wrong about that.
He was never capable enough.
He was never strong enough.
He was—
The caravan door swung open.
A man stood there.
Ella in front of him.
Martin shot to his feet. “Ella!”
The man pushed Ella inside without a word. And then he slammed the door behind him.
Darkness filled the caravan once more.
Martin stood there. Stared at Ella. He wanted to go over to her. To tell her it was okay. He was here for her now.
But all he could do was stand there. Stare at her dark silhouette.
And at the way she clutched her hand.
Clutched her bandaged finger.
Stared at the floor.
“Ella,” Martin said, taking a few steps towards her. “I—”
“Don’t, okay? Just... don’t.”
Martin wanted to apologise to her. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was. How this was on him. How he should’ve listened to her all along.
“I’m sorry, Ella. I thought I was doing the right thing. I’m sorry.”
He turned around and walked to the other side of the caravan. He’d lost his dau
ghter again. Her trust in him was shattered. How could he ever hope to look after her when he was responsible for something as awful as her losing a finger?
And then there was Bruce. He’d barely had the time to spare a thought for poor Bruce. No sign of him ever since Martin walked away from Ella and entered the caravan site. No idea where he’d gone.
The poor lad would be prey out there. He wasn’t as tough as some of the other dogs. He’d end up on someone’s dinner plate.
“I just don’t get why you couldn’t listen,” Ella said.
Martin turned around. “What?”
It was hard to tell where she was looking in this darkness. Martin could just about see her hair trailing over her face. Her hand, her bandaged finger, gripped in the other. “I just... I just wish you’d listened to me. That maybe you’d trusted them. Instead of trying to protect me. Because—because now you see what it does. Now you see what happens.”
“Trusted them?” Martin said. “These people are savages, Ella. You really think they’re trustworthy?”
“They did what they did because we tried to steal from them. You think you’d do things differently if someone came into our home and tried to steal from us? Oh, wait. You did exactly the same.”
Martin shook his head. “That’s not the same.”
“It is the same. And the more you keep pushing other people away and trying to avoid other groups, the more it’s going to happen. And it might be even worse next time.”
The pair of them were silent. Martin stared into the darkness of this caravan. He didn’t want to agree with Ella. Because he’d seen how savage these people were and seen enough reason not to trust them.
But what if she was right?
Ella walked over to his side. Lifted her hand, and Martin saw it.
The stump, halfway down that middle finger, where it once was.
The blood crusted to her forearm.
A memory of a decision he’d made.
A decision that hadn’t just cost him. It’d cost Ella more than anyone.
A decision that left his daughter in pain.
“Ella, I tried to—”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve felt... I’ve felt worse pain.”
“That’s not the point.”
“The point is, you had a chance to try and reach out to those people. And you didn’t. All ’cause you want to do it all yourself. All ’cause you think you have something to prove. But you don’t. You’ve already stepped up. You’ve already tried your best. But you can’t do everything. You can’t make up for all the years we lost by trying to keep me away from everyone else.”