Plus, his hands and ankles were securely tied. So whoever had him thought he might try to get away.
Luke’s other senses didn’t have much to contribute. The wheels whirred rather than rumbled on the road surface, which likely meant they were on a motorway. This was reinforced by the fact that the vehicle wasn’t making frequent changes of direction. He could hear one of the national radio stations faintly from the cab, meaning they were still in Britain. No conversation, so whoever was driving might be alone.
His nose told him nothing at all. The space around him smelled simply of van: that bloke-ish blend of metal, newspaper and oily rags. Corners of Dad’s garage had been just the same.
There was nothing more he could discover without getting free. Luke struggled with the ropes round his wrists, but the effort turned his head into a throbbing mess. He also didn’t want to alert the person in the cab to the fact that he was conscious. It might give him an element of surprise when the doors were opened.
Though what was he going to do, tied up as he was? Headbutt the driver, or aim a two-footed kick at his middle? Luke was pretty sure stunts like that only worked in the movies.
Best-case scenario: Kessler was somehow linked to the club and had broken Luke out of Millmoor for a reason. That would require the man’s taste for inflicting grievous bodily harm to be some sort of screwed-up deep cover, but it wasn’t completely impossible. He had, after all, been the reason Luke had met the Doc in the first place. And Luke’s quick recovery from their encounter in the storeroom showed that whatever he’d done that day had felt worse than it actually was. But still, that was unlikely.
Worst-case scenario: the other club members had also been rounded up and were this very minute lying hog-tied in vans. They could all be speeding to a short trial followed by a long sentence in a lifer camp. More probable. Which wasn’t reassuring.
Luke’s brain cycled between these two possibilities and a good few more besides. But it hadn’t settled on one by the time he felt the vehicle’s movements change and the speed drop.
Then they stopped.
His pulse rate shot up. He managed a sort of caterpillar wriggle towards the doors, rolled onto his back, and shuffled till his legs were bent up and his feet flat against the door panel. He heard footsteps round the side of the van; the click of the door handle. As it opened, he stamped down hard . . .
. . . on empty air and fell out of the back of the van. He landed at the feet of someone who sprang back with a yell.
Luke writhed on the ground, moaning. He hurt everywhere. It was pitch-black and absolutely freezing. He opened his eyes and looked up at a night sky filled with stars. Hundreds – thousands, must be. He hadn’t seen them since going to Millmoor.
‘Who the heck are you?’ a voice demanded.
A voice that apparently hadn’t expected to find a trussed-up teenage boy in the back of his van.
‘Was about to ask you the same thing,’ Luke croaked, trying to manoeuvre into a sitting position. ‘Where are we?’
He couldn’t see the driver clearly. The darkness was almost total, apart from a muted glow just beyond the trees that edged the road. Was it one of those useless security lights that only went off like a beacon when a cat jumped on a fence half a mile away?
‘Didn’t get orders to tell you nothing,’ the driver said. ‘Didn’t even know there was a “you”. Was just told to make the drop-off here. Got a number to call when I arrived.’
He pulled out a phone and there was a Post-it note stuck to it. Squinting at the number, the man dialled and explained to whoever answered that he had made the delivery.
Luke heard him repeat back ‘Leave it? You know what “it” is, right?’
Then the conversation ended and the delivery man began to walk back to his vehicle.
‘Wait!’ Luke called. ‘What’s going on? You’re not just going to abandon me? I’ll freeze to death.’
‘Not my problem,’ the man said, though he pulled one of the blankets from the back and threw it in Luke’s direction. It landed several metres short. Bastard.
Then he climbed in the van and drove off.
Luke waited a few moments to be sure he wasn’t returning, then started casting around for anything that might cut the plastic twine binding his wrists and ankles.
The roadside verge wasn’t promising, but he caterpillared his way over to the nearest tree where he found a stone embedded among the roots. It didn’t have much of an edge, but if he could work up a bit of friction he might be through by morning.
Luke didn’t think he had until morning.
He’d made no headway when the light beyond the trees flared up, then died. Metal creaked and shrilled, like hinges opening. Damn. He should have bunny-hopped down the road and hidden while he could. He curled against the tree trunk and tried to make himself as small as possible.