by Ryan Casey
“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” she said.
And Martin could only put his hands on the back of his daughter.
He could only feel her slight, thinning frame under his grip, and feel all the love for her swelling from his chest.
“We’ll be okay,” he said.
“I know.”
“We’ll do this, Ella. We’ll make it. We’ll—”
“Drop your weapons and get on your knees. Right this damned second.”
Martin froze.
He turned around.
Peered into the darkness.
A man stood there.
A man he recognised. Only vaguely, but definitely familiar.
The man who’d kidnapped Harriet.
Owen.
He held a knife in his hand.
And there was someone in front of him.
A boy.
A boy Martin recognised.
The hairs on his arms stood on end.
His body froze.
Oscar.
“I said, drop those weapons. Right this second. Or the boy gets it. And you wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you?”
Chapter Forty
Harriet waited until she was absolutely sure it was silent outside before beginning her attempt to break free.
It was pitch black in here. She could hear the wind howling outside, creaking against the door of this cabin or whatever it was she was locked inside. The air was cold. So cold that she was shivering away. She thought she might just freeze before morning came around. That’d be typical. Survive all this shit only to end up a block of ice right when her son needed her most.
No. She wasn’t dying in here. She wasn’t dying at all.
She was getting out of here.
And it was her son’s intelligence that was going to help her.
She gripped that blade in her hand behind her back. She remembered giving Oscar the blade. Telling him to use it if ever he needed to. If ever someone attacked him or tried to hurt him.
She’d been hoping he’d use it when the pair of them were captured earlier. She figured her days were numbered. But maybe, just maybe, if he’d managed to get himself back to Martin and Ella, he might’ve had a chance at surviving. A chance at making it.
But he hadn’t.
He’d waited until now. Given it to Harriet.
Because he knew his mum could help him.
He knew she could save them both.
He trusted her.
And that was the most flattering, most loving act of all.
She clutched on to that small blade in her shaky, frozen hands. She had to be careful not to drop it. Now that would be frigging typical. She remembered seeing an episode of The Walking Dead where a character dropped a knife on the floor and was tied to a chair. Had to get to it and free herself before the bloke opposite turned into a zombie. Went through some torturous idea to grab it with her feet.
No. Harriet didn’t fancy that.
Besides. The woman died anyway.
She moved that blade around carefully in her tied up hands. Got it so the handle was in her palm. She kept her eyes straight ahead, on that door, at all times. She had no idea how long had passed since Owen came in here. Since she’d last seen Oscar. Since she felt like she was saying goodbye to her son, one final time.
It didn’t have to be the final time. She saw that now. Clearer than ever.
The odds might be against her still. Firmly against her.
But she didn’t have to die here.
Neither of them had to suffer here.
She tucked that blade under the tie around her wrists. Pressed it against it as hard as she could without cutting herself in the process.
And then she started to cut.
She pressed harder against it. And harder. Kept on pressing. She didn’t know how much progress she was making. Whether she was making any progress at all.
Only that she had to keep on going.
She had to keep on cutting.
She couldn’t lose hope. She couldn’t give up.
She tore harder into those ties. Felt a nick against her skin. The sharpness of the blade cutting into her. She felt something else, too. Something trickling down her wrists. Blood.
But she couldn’t let that hold her back.
She couldn’t let it put her off.
She closed her eyes. Focused on that tie. Tried to visualise it breaking away. To see herself snapping it free. Rushing outside. Finding Oscar.
And getting her boy as far away from here as she possibly could.
She didn’t know where she’d go. She didn’t know what was next.
But she’d survive this.
She’d make this.
They’d both make—
A noise outside.
Voices.
Shouting.
“I said, drop those weapons. Right this second. Or the boy gets it. And you wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you?”
The second she heard the words—Owen’s words—every muscle in her body froze. She didn’t know what to do. What to say. What to think. She wanted to stand up. She wanted to cry. The boy? Oscar?
She wanted to break herself free of this chair more than ever.
But the more she heard that shouting… the more she told herself she needed to keep herself composed.
She had to keep herself calm.
She had to get out of this chair. Right now.
She cut harder at the ties. Her hands shook even more. She kept losing her grip. Kept nicking at her wrists.
And all the time, she heard shouting outside. Voices outside. Voices getting louder.
She went to snip away at the ties once more when she heard something.
Something that made her heart sink.
“Mummy. Please.”
Oscar’s voice.
Oscar’s cry.
And at that, she couldn’t control herself anymore.
“Oscar!” she cried.
She rattled on the chair. Tried to break herself free. Tried desperately to yank herself back to her feet.
But she was stuck.
She was trapped.
And her boy needed her.
“Oscar!” she cried. “Please. Please!”
She struggled further against those ties.
Pushed them down, right down, so deep they cut her wrists.
And then something happened.
The blade.
It slipped from her shaking hands.
Hit the floor below.
Harriet sat there. Heart racing. Blood trickling from her wrists.
Ties still wrapped around them.
She stared into the darkness. Pinned to this chair.
And outside, she listened to the shouting.
She listened to her boy.
Crying.
And she couldn’t do a thing.
“Oscar! Please!”
Chapter Forty-One
“I said, drop those weapons. Right this second. Or the boy gets it. And you wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you?”
Martin stared at this bloke, Owen, Oscar in front of him, knife to his neck, and he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to act. He knew he had to lift his rifle. He knew he had to fire.
But at the same time... he couldn’t put Oscar in any danger.
And right now, he was in jeopardy.
He looked ahead at the darkness. At that small building. He could hear something inside there. Shouting. Clattering around. It sounded like Harriet.
“Hey,” Owen barked. “Eyes over here, not over there. None of your business what’s happening over there. Lower those weapons right now.”
Martin looked at that outhouse. Looked at the moss smeared across the door. Listened to those sounds inside it.
And then he heard Oscar’s pitiful little voice.
“Mummy. Please.”
That’s when it started. More shouting. Screaming. Kicking.
; And there could be no doubting who it was. Not anymore.
“Harriet,” Ella muttered.
Martin looked around at Ella as she stood there, holding a rifle of her own. He cursed himself for bringing her along. Cursed himself not for putting his foot down a little more.
But there was nothing he could do about it now.
She was here.
And he had to trust she was strong enough. Trust she was capable.
Even though all this was tearing him apart.
But she had to trust him too.
“Ella?” Martin said.
She looked at him. Frowned.
“Lower your rifle.”
“But—”
“Lower it. Please.”
She looked like she was going to hold her ground. Like she was going to resist.
But then she did the unexpected.
She dropped that rifle.
And so too did Martin.
Owen smiled. Lowered his knife too and squeezed Oscar’s shoulder. “Good. Nobody has to get hurt here. We can be diplomatic about this.”
“Diplomacy starts with you letting the boy go,” Martin said. “And Harriet.”
Owen’s face lit up, just a little. “Oh. Oh shit. You know her? Hang on a second... You’re the guy who we followed into Garstang, aren’t you? The one who came racing after Harriet and Oscar like a knight in shining armour. Damn. You really are a long way out of your comfort zone, aren’t you?”
“Quit messing around,” Martin said. “We’ve done what you asked. Now you do what we’re asking. Harriet. Oscar. They’re no threat to you. Let them go. Let us all go. And like you say. There doesn’t need to be any trouble here at all.”
Owen held his ground for a few seconds. Hands still planted on Oscar’s shoulder. Martin could still hear shouting from the outhouse. Saw someone else appear—another guy walked over to that outhouse.
“What should I do about her?”
Owen held his ground. Kept on looking at Martin. “Go in there and shut her up.”
Martin went to take a step forward. His fists tensing.
“No,” he said, grabbing Oscar closer, pressing that knife to his throat. “Not a single step. I will kill him. Understand? I’ll kill him. And that’ll be on you.”
Martin wanted to throw himself towards this man. He wanted to beat him to a pulp.
But Oscar.
He had to think about him.
He had to do what was right for him.
Even if standing by felt so wrong.
So Martin stood there.
He watched as the other guy went into the outhouse.
Went into that darkness.
The door slamming shut behind him.
And he watched as the guy with Oscar loosened his grip a little.
As he lowered that knife, just slightly.
“Good. Co-operating. That’s what’s gonna get us far here. Not conflict. Not anything else.”
Martin stood there. He wanted nothing more than to gun this guy down. But it was risky. Far too risky.
Especially now the other bloke was in there with Harriet.
“Quietening” her, whatever the hell that meant.
“You see, you want us to just let Harriet go. You want us to just let her walk. But there’s a lot you don’t know about her, pal. A hell of a lot you don’t know about her.”
“I know all I need to know about her. And about you.”
“She killed our leader in cold blood,” Owen said. “Killed him. And he was so good to her. If anything, he gave her special treatment. And you know what else she did? She let someone else die for her. Just so she could get away. And you know how people are. Especially now. People need order. People need direction. People need leadership. Take that away, and what do you have?”
“Chaos,” Martin said.
Owen smiled. “Yes. Chaos. That’s right. Couldn’t have put it better myself.”
He walked around Oscar’s side. Stood side by side with him. The outhouse was quiet. Too quiet.
“There’s something else this world needs. Something it needs more than anything. You know what it needs?”
“I don’t—”
“Justice,” he said. “People need to fall in line. They can’t get away with coups or mutinies. Because order needs to be maintained. And if order slips, then a stance needs to be taken. A bold stance.”
A smile crept up his face.
“We have a lot of people back in Lancaster. People who need leadership. And if I’m gonna convince them that I’ve got everything under control—while making damned sure nothing like that happens ever again—I’m gonna have to make a gesture. A very grand gesture.”
It clicked, then. Very suddenly, Martin understood.
“You’re on about killing her,” Martin said.
Owen shook his head, winced. “I don’t like that word.”
“But that’s what you’re talking about, right? Killing her.”
“I’m talking about justice. I’m talking about evening the stakes. I’m talking about law and order. Crime and punishment.”
“You’re talking about depriving a son of his mother.”
Owen tutted. “Oscar here’s a strong lad. And he’s gonna become even stronger, with a little care from us. With a little training. Ain’t that right, lad?”
Oscar looked at Martin. Tears streaming down his poor little face. “Mummy,” he cried. “I want Mummy.”
Owen rolled his eyes. “Like I said. He’ll take a little training. But you know what? He’ll get there. We’ll look after him. I have faith in him.”
A pause hung in the air. Silence. Owen and Oscar looking at Martin. Martin looking back at him. Ella by his side. Bruce by his side.
Harriet and the other guy in that outhouse. So desperately quiet.
“But anyway,” the bloke said. “This still leaves the problem of you.”
“What about me?”
“Well. You followed us all the damned way out here. Seems like you’re pretty keen on Harriet and her boy here. And that’s a problem. You could be a problem. I feel like you need something. A lesson. Something to keep you off our case.”
Martin lifted a hand in front of Ella right away. “Don’t—”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” he said. “Like I’d deprive a father of his daughter.”
He walked over to Martin. Right up to him. So close that Martin could see his bloodshot eyes. Smell the booze on his breath.
“Let her go. And let the boy go. ’Cause they’re already gone, okay? They’re already gone.”
Martin stared into this guy’s eyes.
He held his ground.
Kept his gaze focused straight ahead.
“I’ll never give up,” he said. “I’ll never back down. We walk away with Oscar and Harriet. Right now. That’s the only way it’s going to be.”
Owen tilted his head. Sighed. He looked genuinely disappointed. “That’s a shame. A real shame. I was really hoping we could get this sorted without any bloodshed here. Without any conflict.”
A pause. A momentary pause.
But long enough to watch Owen lift that rifle, point it at Ella, and pull the trigger.
Chapter Forty-Two
Harriet didn’t stop screaming until the door opened.
She saw someone standing there. Not Owen. Someone else. To be honest she was so caught in the moment, so lost right now, she could barely make a thing out.
But she recognised the guy. Gavin. Walking into the room. Stepping further into the darkness.
And outside, she caught a glimpse of something else.
Someone else.
Martin.
Ella.
And Bruce.
All of them standing there.
Here for her.
Here to help her.
And then the door slammed shut, and she was alone with Gavin again.
She saw him standing there. Watched him crack his knuckles. “You really don’t know what ‘shut the hell u
p’ means, do you?”
“My son,” Harriet said. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on my—”
“Your son will be fine as long as you step in line. As long as you stop screaming your ass off. And that’s why I’m here. To make sure you do.”
Harriet couldn’t hear anything outside anymore. Just muffled voices.
And part of her wanted to stop shouting. She wanted to protect her boy, as she sat here on this chair, hands behind her back.
She wanted to do anything that was right for her boy. Anything to protect him.
But then she saw Gavin standing there. Saw the way he kept on cracking his knuckles.
She saw that door between her and her boy.
And there was only one thing she could do.
“Oscar!”
She shouted it. Practically screamed his name right at the top of her voice.
But Gavin stayed standing there. He kept on staring at Harriet. Like he was baffled.
“Shut up,” he said.
But Harriet didn’t shut up.
She shouted his name again.
Shouted out his name.
Kicked against the floor.
And Gavin just stood there. Wide-eyed. Like he didn’t want to step closer to her. He didn’t want to approach her.
But it wasn’t long until he did.
He walked over towards her.
Grabbed her, right by the sides of her head.
“I told you to shut up, Harriet. For your own good, okay?”
Harriet looked right into his eyes. She smelled the sourness of his breath. Practically tasted it. “I’m sorry, Gavin.”
Gavin frowned. “Sorry for what?”
“I always thought you were one of the good ones. I’m sorry you aren’t.”
That look of confusion spread further across his face.
He didn’t understand.
Not until Harriet swung that blade into his neck.
She held it there. Watched his eyes widen. Saw them grow bloodshot. She dug that knife further into his neck as his body started to quiver. As blood poured out of his throat, all over her.
And she looked right into his eyes, for every damned second.
“When I killed Peter, I was scared,” she said. “I was terrified of what it might mean. For my boy. For me. For everyone.”
She wedged that knife even further in as Gavin tumbled to his knees. Choking. Gasping. Trying to gulp away all the thickening blood.