by V Clifford
Her mind went into overdrive at the job they would have to find her if she didn’t leave enough evidence behind for them to discover. The German pushed her hard and she allowed herself to fall over onto the gorse, snapping a few small branches on her way down. He hauled her up and jabbed her in the back. He would so regret this when she got her hands untied. She dug a deep footprint into a soft area of earth. A few hundred yards on she spotted a mast, probably a mobile phone tower, badly disguised as a tree, but a few metres ahead of it there was a door into what looked like a water tower. It made sense to her that there would be a water collection tank at this height but why would he be interested in it? Her belly began to lurch. If he intended to shove her inside, she’d be a goner in no time. Although the sun was up the temperature still hadn’t gone above freezing. She could see his breath in the air. She panicked, yanking her hands free of his grip, and spun round to knee him in the groin but this time he was ready for her and he kicked out at her sore leg. She squealed and squirmed as she hit the ground. As she rolled around on the decking he prised open the iron door and dragged her inside.
To her astonishment it wasn’t a water tank at all, but some kind of reinforced concrete bunker, with a path leading down and down into the hill. He banged the door shut and they were engulfed in darkness. She tried to keep her wits about her, paying attention to the smell of dampness and counting her steps to give her an idea of how far she was going. After a while the gradient flattened out and he flipped a switch. Lights flickered on, illuminating the way ahead. The corridor reeled out until eventually they came to another huge reinforced steel door painted in army issue green. It was slightly ajar. She imagined he’d been there already to prepare the way. He shoved her through the gap before struggling to push it closed even with the full weight of his back on it. She winced at it scraping on the concrete, worse than nails on a blackboard. They were now in another corridor, this time with lots of doors off it on either side. Holy shit! From the notices on the doors they had to be in a disused Cold War bunker, ‘Dry store’, ‘Boiler 1’, ‘Cold store’, ‘Sanatorium’, ‘Operations’, which may or may not have been of the medical variety. The next door sent a chill up her spine with its yellow skull and crossbones sign and ‘Decontamination’ written in red letters. He kept pushing her forward until they came to a door marked ‘Bunks’. Inside, rows of narrow iron bed frames, with wooden planks where a mattress could be placed, lined either side of walls that had once been whitewashed. Poor lighting made everything grey. It was a massive underground complex of buildings where a chosen few would have come to survive a nuclear attack, designed to keep people safe for weeks, even months. Her mind flitted from one scenario to another. Finding her here would push Mac’s limits.
He closed the door of the bunkroom and ripped the gaffer tape off her mouth. She wanted to yelp but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
‘What the fuck do you want with me?’
He shoved her onto a bed. She landed with a thud, her heart pounding with adrenalin. If he thought she’d be an easy lay he was badly mistaken. But to her relief he didn’t start to fumble with her joggers or his own jeans. If he wanted to kill her he needn’t have gone to all the trouble of hauling her through the woods and bringing her underground. He’d had lots of opportunity before now, so he must have something else in mind.
‘You have something that belongs to me.’
She didn’t answer straightaway. Her face crumpled in thought, but she shook her head. ‘Nope. I’ve no idea what you mean.’
Viv had had a situation in the recent past where someone believed she had something which belonged to them and it had been a difficult fight. At first she’d thought he might be right, but it turned out that he was as unworthy of the inheritance as she was. She sighed, ‘Is this about Dawn?’
The look of confusion that passed over his face made her sure it wasn’t.
‘Okay, tell me what it is you want.’
‘I, we, want what is rightfully ours.’
‘I know that you think I’ve got special powers and can guess what you’re on about, but trust me I don’t. It would help if you took me through it from the beginning.’
He plonked himself down on the bed opposite, took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. She noticed a slight twitch above his right eye and remembered seeing the same thing on someone recently. The pianist. This man was not the pianist, but they were both German. Could there be a connection? Could a twitch be hereditary? She had nothing to lose, ‘Are you related to Kurt Hahn?’
Wrong question.
‘Ah, so you do know what I want.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Then how would you know of my connection to Kurt?’
‘It was a wild guess.’
He snorted. ‘You don’t strike me as the wild guess type.’
‘Well stick around, you’ll soon find out how much guessing I can do.’
‘I’m not sticking around as you say, but you are not going anywhere for a while.’
‘What is this about? What do you think I have belonging to you?’
‘Money.’
‘Ah, it’s always about money. But I don’t have your money.’
‘You might not have it now, but you will when your mother dies.’
Major alarm bells rang at the mention of her mum. ‘So, I’m guessing it’s a significant amount of money, otherwise why would you go to this extent to get it back? Not sure why you assumed I’ll inherit.’ She was about to say everything her mum owned would go to James but stopped herself. The less he knew of James and Mand the better.
He smirked, ‘It is a substantial sum.’
‘Do you know that she actually has it?’ She thought of the receipt squirrelled away in the secret compartment of her mum’s box.
He nodded. ‘And since we’re both guessing, you also know and are playing a game with me. Let’s see how you enjoy the game of being locked in here for . . .’ He stood and pushed her back onto the hard boards on the bed. He punched her with his full force on the side of the head and she went out cold.
Chapter Eleven
She came round in darkness, frozen and stiff, no feeling in her arms since both her hands were tied above her head to the bed frame. Her temple thumped and her eyes were blurred, but she was alone in the silence. How long had she been unconscious? Would he be back? It was dark, but it would be anyway since the lights were out and there was no natural light. She drew in a breath and thought the smell of his blood lingered. Maybe she had some on her. She moved her legs, pulling her knees up towards her chest. Best keep still, her bladder objected. Interesting that he hadn’t tied them to the other end of the bed. He was confident that she wouldn’t find a way to release her hands. He was right. The tethers were cutting into her wrists and when she moved the pain was excruciating. The more she moved the more damage she did. She felt blood trickle down her arm. This was bad news. She should lie still and think of a strategy. Mac and Mand would already be looking for her. It was just a matter of time. What time was it? She had a mobile tucked into her pants but she’d switched it to silent for the run. Besides there was no way she could access it. She cursed. Not that that would do any good, but it released some tension. She tried rubbing her wrists up and down the iron bedstead, every movement agonising. She could use her blood as a lubricant, but only when it was flowing. Biting on her lip she continued slow movements up and down the post. It was rough with rust or peeling paint, but to break the ties she would have to commit to a long process. The metallic smell of her blood made her conscious that there were no other smells.
Suddenly she heard a noise. She stopped moving her arms. Silence. She lay holding her breath, then she heard it again, the scraping of the huge door. It wouldn’t be long before he came in. It seemed an age until the door to the bunkroom was pushed open. She immediately became aware of a rank stench. Then the lights sprang on. She gasped. But the thing in the doorway screamed. She blinked and blinked as if she was clearing a n
ightmare from her vision. The apparition before her couldn’t be human. It had a mass of matted hair that gave a whole new meaning to dreadlocks, and layers of clothing and ropes tied round its waist and round its ankles. It wore boots that were far too big and it was filthy everywhere. The face looked charred but was probably ingrained with dirt and weather. It had put its hands up to cover its mouth and the black fingernails were long and curling. It started to back out of the door.
‘No, wait!’ she shouted.
It continued to retreat.
‘Please. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.’
But she heard it continue to shuffle away from the door.
She called out again, ‘Please. I can’t hurt you.’
Either it had stopped or it was too far away for her to hear its movement.
‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’
She glanced around the room and back up at her wrists. What a mess. There was blood everywhere now but the tethers had loosened off slightly. If she kept at it eventually one of them would give. Slow and patient movements would win the day so she began again, holding back tears of frustration as she did. Again she thought she heard shuffling and the apparition stuck its head round the door. This time she made no eye contact and didn’t speak. Whoever they were they must be familiar with this place and until now probably believed that they had it to themselves. She risked glancing up. It raised its hands to its face again and turned away.
She said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry to be here.’
It fidgeted with the string at its waist. Then shook its head.
‘If you help me to free my hands I’ll get out of your way . . .’
Its agitation increased when she spoke. She took a deep breath and continued working her wrists on the iron bedstead and ignored the person. What would have had to happen to someone, for them to become like that? She knew she was dealing with a serious mental condition, but was there a way for her to communicate without freaking it out? Her freedom was in both their interests. It occurred to her that there might not be much time. Her attacker could return at any minute then what? This poor human being could also be in danger.
‘Who are you?’ a croaky but female voice asked.
Viv’s belly contracted. The way she handled this could make or break her release. ‘My name is Viv. I was running in the race and someone attacked me and brought me here. Can you help me?’ She kept her voice low and steady although her nerves were in danger of betraying her.
‘I can’t help you. But I wish you weren’t here. This is my place. No one comes here.’
‘I’m sorry . . .’
This immediately sent the woman into a state of agitation again. She started moaning, a low painful rumble, almost a growl, that went straight to Viv’s heart. She’d heard it once before and had hoped she’d never hear the like of it again. An undercover job had gone badly wrong and she’d ended up trapped in a container along with a group of women who were intended for sale. One had a daughter who was ill and both were claustrophobic. The mother had made this same noise as she’d rocked her child back and forth, waiting for death. The woman in the room with her now smelled of filth, but mainly of fear.
‘I’m injured. He stamped on my leg so that I couldn’t run.’
The woman stopped moaning, but turned her face to the opposite wall. Viv had no way of knowing how old she was. All she could tell was that she had a hoarse, but not coarse, Scottish accent, she wasn’t very tall and she had pale blue eyes that flitted here, there and everywhere.
‘Please.’
The woman turned round and took a small step nearer, but wouldn’t make eye contact. Viv didn’t say anything more. She waited as tiny step by tiny step the woman came closer. She made a darting movement inside the layers of her clothes, if that’s what you could call them, and to Viv’s astonishment came forward with an old Swiss army knife. Viv’s wide -eyed look scared her and she took a step back.
Viv took a breath and let it out really slowly. The woman stepped closer again. Then in a couple of quick steps she rushed to Viv’s wrist and sliced through the tether. She did the same at the other side then held the knife aloft, pointing it at Viv.
Viv’s arms collapsed in agony. She tried to shake them out but the cold had rendered them immobile. She swung her legs off the bed. ‘Thank you.’
She wasn’t sure if her injured leg would carry her but she was determined to try. She crossed the room to the door in a few excruciating unstable strides and went out. She dragged herself up the corridor like a troglodyte until she reached the blast door, which was slightly ajar, and squeezed around it. The long corridor ahead felt steeper than it had on the way in but she reached the exit and emerged blinking into dark, cool, fresh air. As she reached the rough path with the gorse on either side she heard the drone of an engine. She slipped into the wood at the other side of the track and wound her way downhill where she could see the lights of the village. The truck passed by but she didn’t try to see who the driver was. She just needed to find her way home. Only fifty metres on she heard a movement behind her. She froze and turned as Molly appeared through the undergrowth and started circling her legs and jumping up at her. She barked but Viv got onto the ground with her and held her muzzle to silence her. Tears sprang to her eyes as she rubbed the dog’s ears. More than relieved to see her. Mac and Mand must be out on the hill looking for her. She sat with the dog until the engine noise vanished. Then she hobbled to her feet and continued the descent.
She heard Mac’s voice calling on the dog and felt safe to call back, ‘Over here! I’ve got Moll.’
Within a couple of minutes Mac came into sight. He raced to her and held her in a bear hug. He spoke into her hair, ‘What . . .’
She pulled away. ‘Not here.’
‘Christ, Viv, I thought I’d lost you.’ He choked.
She held him again. Both tried to disguise tears of relief. ‘I’ll be okay but my leg is in a bad way.’
He scooped her up and carried her down the track, Molly jumping and circling with excitement all the way. His Audi was parked on the other side of the park, where all trace of the running event and PA system had disappeared. He managed to carry her all the way.
Once inside the car he noticed the blood on her arms and the mess her wrists were in, ‘My God, what the hell happened out there?’
‘Let’s get home. Where’s Mand?’
He shook his head, ‘What a day. Home.’
It only took a couple of minutes to get to the cottage. The porch light was on and with a few of the rooms also lit up it looked cosy and homely. He came round to her side of the car, intending to carry her in, but she shooed him away. ‘I’ll be fine now. Don’t fuss.’
‘Oh, there’s going to be fussing.’
She picked up something in his tone. ‘What kind of fussing?’
He opened the front door and ushered her in.
Chapter Twelve
Mand rushed over and hugged her. ‘My God, what happened to you?’
Viv, overwhelmed by Mand’s emotional response, said, ‘I’d love to get cleaned up a bit before I . . . Where’s mum?’
Mand shot a look at Mac.
‘Where is she?’
Mac said, ‘She didn’t come back from church.’
‘Who have you contacted?’
‘I’ve put out an alert, a description with the local force, but we can’t confirm her as a missing person until twenty-four hours have passed.’
Viv opened her mouth to object, then decided against. ‘Ten minutes.’ She hobbled upstairs and ran the shower.
Mand said, ‘Well, that went well.’
Mac said, ‘Better than I expected, but now she’s got thinking time we should prepare for war.’
Mand shook her head, ‘Is she really that bad?’
Mac looked confused. ‘She’s not at all bad. In fact, she’s the best we have.’
It was Mand’s turn to look confused. ‘What do you mean “the best we have”? It sounds as if she’s working f
or you.’
He shrugged. Viv’s secrets were not his to tell. ‘Let’s just say she’s an extraordinary woman.’
‘I can’t get my head round any of this cloak and dagger shit. A couple of days ago I had a sister who was a brainy hairdresser and a mum in a retirement home. We are, were, a dysfunctional family who ticked along. If the chips were ever really down we could rely on one another, but now, I’ve no idea who they are or where I stand.’
The sound of the shower pumping water stopped. Mand put the kettle on the Aga. A few minutes later Viv appeared wearing a long baggy tee shirt and carrying a first aid box. She plonked herself down on a chair at the kitchen table and opened the box. Sal hadn’t held back. Anything could be fixed by its contents. Mac sat beside her and checked her wrists. Now that they were clean he could see how deeply she’d been cut.
‘Ouch! These should be stitched.’ He rifled around in the box and found butterflies in a selection of sizes. ‘These will do as a temporary measure.’ He was gentle and dextrous and in no time her wrists were bandaged. Then he turned his attention to her leg. Her knee was grazed, gravel still obvious in it. He set about removing bits with tweezers. She wasn’t brave about this and had to look elsewhere as he poked and prodded. Her calf was badly swollen but she could move it in every direction he asked her to. ‘I don’t think it’s broken, do you?’
