It groaned.
Stacey felt her mouth run dry before she whispered into the darkness: ‘Who the hell are you?’
NINETY-FIVE
The Denton facility was located three miles east of Wolverley, a village two miles north of Kidderminster.
She silently urged Bryant to drive faster. She had allowed him the keys only because her hands were busy with her phone.
Travis and some of his team had headed to the manor house in Bromsgrove to make sure there was nothing happening there. Given the outbuildings, and derelict nature of the building, she could not rule it out as a potential site for the despicable event, although her gut was still headed to Denton.
At the last minute she had grabbed Gibbs, given his knowledge and understanding of the layout of the facility. Due to the possibility that firearms were involved, armed response units from West Mids and West Mercia were en route to both locations.
Most armed response vehicles were unmarked converted Audi Estates with a top speed of 150 mph. The units carried taser guns, pistols, semi-automatic carbines and rifles.
She had managed to persuade Woody not to send in every available officer. Such commotion would drive this sickening event underground, and Stacey could be anywhere, hurt or worse.
Her main concern was the safety of her colleague but there was another issue; the people. The participants involved in this hunt were loathsome, vile, repulsive individuals capable of treating fellow human beings in a sickening way.
They now suspected that all people present had performed some kind of heinous act to gain entry. And damn it, she wanted them all.
‘Any joy, Kev?’ she asked but his silence said it all.
‘Still no answer from the Cowley or Preece families,’ he said. He’d been alternating between all the numbers non-stop since they’d got in the car. Squad cars were parked at both locations for when any family member arrived home.
‘Half a mile out, guv,’ Bryant said, turning towards her.
She nodded and took a breath.
‘Okay, Bryant, time to stop the car.’
NINETY-SIX
Gary Flint stumbled over the door frame as he was pushed forward into the cold night air. A strong hand gripped each of his upper arms like a vice.
Floda walked ahead, while two heavies dressed in balaclavas aided his own forward movement.
‘Please, let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I swear,’ he cried out as he tried to keep pace with his captor.
A small hope burned inside him. Perhaps Floda had decided to spare him, allow him to join the hunt. He’d paid his dues. He’d earned his entry. Although he hadn’t killed anyone, he’d waited outside the police station and sent a photo of the police officer who was asking questions. The one who had been snatched for the main event. Surely that earned him the right to hunt.
The hood was suddenly ripped from his head.
He was standing beside a metal enclosure, approximately thirty feet square. Inside the metal fencing was a pack of dogs, snarling and eyeing him with interest.
He knew that he was looking at German shepherds, used by the police and military for their trainability. He’d seen them track until their pads bled. Normally good-natured, he knew any dog could be bred to hunt.
He also knew that Floda was not letting him go.
‘No…’ he said, as his mouth began to dry.
‘They’re hungry,’ said Floda. ‘Haven’t been fed for days.’
Flint started to shake his head in denial.
‘No, please… don’t…’
He knew some packs were starved and then thrown live animals to train them. But he wasn’t an animal. He was a person.
‘I g… gave you the prey. I gave you the black c… copper,’ he stuttered.
Floda grabbed Gary’s arm and pulled up his sleeve. A knife glinted as it tore a slit down his forearm.
Flint cried out and tried to back away, but Floda was holding him tight. The throbbing of the wound was nothing compared to what he would suffer if he didn’t get away.
‘Please, I’m begging you,’ he whispered. ‘I hate these people as much as you do…’
‘In you go,’ Floda said, opening the metal gate.
Flint tried to plant his feet into the ground.
Floda looked to the figures either side of him.
‘Don’t do this… I’ve been loyal. I can…’
He stopped speaking as he felt himself being pushed forward. He tried to squirm and turn but the hands held him firm and then shoved him into the enclosure.
The gate closed behind him but he threw himself against it, hoping it would relent.
The dogs stared at him and nudged sideways against each other restlessly, impatiently. But they didn’t advance.
The blood gushed from the wound on his arm. The dogs watched as it trailed to the ground.
Flint stood as still as he could manage despite the trembling that had taken over his body. He prayed his legs would not give way.
The dogs remained in the corner of the pen: seven or eight of them, he counted. Why were they not coming towards him?
He glanced over to Floda, who was watching with amusement, and he knew why they hadn’t yet moved.
‘Please,’ he whispered, imploring his captor.
Floda smiled at him, before issuing the instruction that would set the dogs free.
‘Eat,’ he heard from behind him.
As the first set of teeth clamped on to his shin bone and another on the open wound of his arm, Gary Flint passed out and fell to the ground.
NINETY-SEVEN
Stacey squeezed and prodded the form, eliciting an occasional moan.
‘Who are you?’ she whispered.
No response.
She continued her journey up to the knee joint, feeling the cotton fabric as she went. Her fingers met with a hip, then a waist.
Just like sizing the room, she had to form a picture in her mind to continue to check for injury. She knew now that this was a woman.
‘Talk to me,’ she said, as her hands travelled up towards the shoulders, the hair.
The sound of a key in the lock close to her head startled her. She fell backwards, away from the figure.
Suddenly a bright light shone in her face, causing her to blink rapidly.
The inert form was hauled to a standing position but Stacey couldn’t see by whom.
‘Come on, it’s time for the warm-up act,’ said a male voice.
Stacey put her hand up to shield her eyes from the light.
She managed to force her trembling mouth to speak. ‘Please… tell me…’
‘Don’t worry, Stacey,’ the voice said calmly. ‘I’ll soon be back for you.’
NINETY-EIGHT
Kim slammed the boot shut.
‘Everyone set?’
Dawson was still trying to attach one side of the bulletproof vest.
Bryant stepped in. ‘Bloody hell, Kev, it’s only Velcro.’
She heard the ripping sound of it being peeled away and then re-attached.