‘Guv, you need to get down…’
‘Ready?’ Kim asked Stacey, while gently edging her forward.
Stacey nodded before pushing herself over the edge.
She heard a groan from them both.
‘Okay?’ she called down.
‘Yeah, guv. You need to—’
Kim didn’t hear the rest of his sentence as she was already crawling away.
ONE HUNDRED SIX
Kim paused behind a brittle brown grass mound and estimated that she was halfway between where she’d left Bryant and Stacey and the building where the light still shone.
The fifty metres she’d got left to travel was undulating grass without cover. Once she moved from her present position she would be on land that was open and exposed.
She listened keenly. A rustle to her left brought the tension to her jaw.
She wasn’t alone.
And the good guys weren’t here yet.
She stayed still. Every muscle now wanted to defy the instruction from her brain.
The sound was moving towards her. But it was higher. They were walking.
She silently edged from the gravel path onto the grass.
Crunch.
In almost any situation, Kim had always felt that attack was the best form of defence.
She thrust out her hand and grabbed at an ankle, pulled it towards her, forcefully. The figure fell backwards to the ground.
She rounded on it immediately.
The form had fallen into the glow of the street lamp.
She looked down into a face she knew very well.
ONE HUNDRED SEVEN
For just a few moments, Stacey felt safe, crammed against Bryant in the three feet square space.
‘Do you hear that, Stace?’ Bryant whispered above her head.
She listened keenly. ‘What?’
‘The dogs, they’re getting bloody closer.’
Stacey felt the panic surge back into her body. It hadn’t been too far away. Whether she was with Bryant or not, they were trapped in the pit until someone came to get them.
‘But they can’t know we’re here, can they?’ she asked.
‘Stace…’ he asked in the darkness. ‘What’s that smell?’
‘What smell?’ she asked, before the penny finally dropped in her mind. ‘Oh no, Floda… he rubbed something all over…’
Her words trailed away as she felt Bryant’s hands already touching her in the darkness.
‘Your arms, they’re sticky,’ he said, sliding down the wall. ‘And your tights. What the…’ He quieted for a second. ‘Fuck, Stace. It’s blood.’
‘Oh no, oh no, oh no,’ she said, touching her shirt sleeve and raising her fingers to her nose. ‘What am I gonna do. They’re going to come straight for me.’
‘Stace, you’ve got to take them off. Now.’
She began to protest. ‘Are you having a?…’
‘We have to throw the clothes out of the pit,’ Bryant said, urgently.
‘But won’t that just bring them right to us?’
‘They’re coming this way anyway. Because the clothing is in here, the dogs will come right to it. It’s what they’re trained to do. If the hunters realise we’re down here, we are literally fish in a barrel. We need to confuse the dogs. Divert them from this blast pit.’
He paused to think as Stacey visualised the scene up top. She hadn’t yet moved around the small space and was still against the wall that she’d half slid and half fallen down. Opposite were the bushes where she’d heard the spring of the animal trap.
‘Stace, you gotta take ’em off,’ Bryant growled.
She nodded and then realised he couldn’t see her. ‘I know,’ she said, beginning to remove the bulletproof vest. He had daubed her shirt, skirt and tights. They would all have to come off. She knew she would be naked except for her underwear. She pushed the thought away. Against the thought of getting mauled by dogs or shot, she’d cope.
‘If you put your foot on my hand, I can give you a bit more height and then you can launch them out as far as you can away from us.’
‘Okay,’ she breathed as the shirt dropped to the ground. The November air bit into her bare skin immediately.
But she’d rather be cold than dead, she thought, removing her skirt and tights together.
‘Ball them up,’ Bryant said. ‘They’ll travel further.’
She leaned down, gathered the clothing into a pile and wound it all up with her tights.
‘Ready,’ she said.
‘Hurry up, they’re getting closer,’ Bryant hissed.
She bit into the ball of clothes and then felt along Bryant’s arm to where his hands were clamped together.
She raised her right leg and placed her bare foot into his palms.
‘Grunt when you’re ready,’ he said.
She used her free hands to help scale the mossy wall either side as he lifted. She grunted and Bryant lifted her up. She loosed her grip on the bank and grabbed for the ball of clothing from her mouth.
‘Aaarrgghhh…’ she cried as she began to fall to the side.
Bryant immediately lowered his hands to prevent her from toppling completely.
The ball of fabric was still in her mouth.
‘Shit,’ Bryant said. ‘Get your balance with one hand on the wall before you try,’ he advised.
Stacey couldn’t answer him but she nodded in the darkness. She could hear the dogs baying in the distance.
She had to get it right. She wouldn’t get another chance.
This time, he lifted her slowly until she was about three feet away from the opening. She could feel the strength of Bryant’s grip.
She took a couple of seconds to steady herself before removing her right hand from the wall.
She slowly reached for the bundle in her mouth. The cloth had dried every drop of saliva. She swallowed dry air to try to moisten her throat.
She tentatively balanced the ball on the palm of her hand and placed it at her shoulder like a waiter carrying a heavy tray.
She counted to three in her mind, focussing every ounce of strength she had into her shoulder.
On three she launched the ball into the air as hard as she could, aiming towards the bushes.
‘Okay?’ Bryant asked, lowering her slowly.
‘Y… yes…’ she stuttered as the cold air seemed to invade her whole body.
Bryant rubbed at her arms with moss picked from the wall. ‘Might help disguise the smell,’ he said, before moving away. She heard his movement beside her as she tried to rub at her own freezing skin.
Within seconds, she felt his jacket being draped around her shoulders and fastened at the front.
Suddenly every inch of her being wanted to burst into tears.
Bryant placed a reassuring arm around her.
‘You did great, Stace. You did great,’ he said.
She looked up to the dark sky.
She’d managed to throw the blood-soaked clothes out of the pit.
She only prayed that she’d thrown them far enough. For both their sakes.
ONE HUNDRED EIGHT
The first punch landed square on his nose. Blood spurted and reached her fist.
‘You fucking bastard,’ she spat, as she landed another punch to his face, this time feeling the satisfaction of her fist in his eye socket.
‘How fucking dare you?’ she cried, smashing her hand into his mouth.