SHELTER

by Boston, Claire

  But the undeniable truth was all his projects, all the piles of wood he had stacked up inside, were fully ablaze. Even as he directed the water through the door, he assessed the situation. Windows closed, no overhanging trees that would cause the fire to spread, it was currently contained. The house should be fine.

  Behind him the ute engine growled to life and he glanced over as Zamira backed it up, leaving room for the fire truck. Fetch sat on the front seat. At least he didn’t have to worry about his dog.

  He faced the fire again. The heat was incredible, stifling hot, radiating out of the structure and the flames roared and crackled. The wood wouldn’t have burnt this fast, this hot on its own. He sniffed and smelled something sharp, something like petrol.

  Had one of his jerry cans tipped over? Still it needed something to ignite it.

  Shit. He had a whole bunch of aerosol cans inside, they could start exploding at any second. He directed the water at the shelves, hoping to cool them down enough. The fire hadn’t spread to that side yet.

  He moved the spray back to the base of the fire, all the beautiful Tasmanian oak he’d been saving for a special project, now completely ruined. He squeezed his eyes shut. It didn’t matter.

  He could get more.

  The side window of the shed cracked and then broke and the wind howled through, feeding oxygen to the fire. The flames leapt higher, twisting, and ash swirled around inside, blowing out the front doors towards him. He coughed, wishing he had a breathing apparatus on hand.

  Where was his crew?

  The roar of the fire and the hum of the generator filled his ears. He glanced at the sky but the clouds that had been there all day were gone and stars shone mockingly down on him. Mother Nature wasn’t going to help.

  A high-pitched shriek sounded. Jeremy turned one ear away from the fire to check if it was a siren. Nothing. He must have imagined it.

  Moving closer to the window that had broken, he directed his water through it, getting a better angle on the flames than he could at the entrance. He wouldn’t risk Lawrence’s wrath again by going into a burning building without the proper gear. Besides, there was nothing he could save.

  Everything would be destroyed.

  ***

  Zamira forced the sleep from her brain as Jeremy handed her his phone and the dispatcher asked for more information. She answered on auto-pilot and threw on some clothes and her boots.

  Where was Fetch?

  Still snoring in his bed, oblivious to what was going on.

  The scent of smoke was stronger in the living area. What had Jeremy asked of her? Take Fetch, move his ute away from the shed.

  Where was the key?

  She found it in her bag as the dispatcher told her a fire crew was mobilising. It was midnight. How quickly could they get here? Stopping in the laundry, she took a treat out of the cupboard and then woke Fetch. She tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear, held onto Fetch’s collar in one hand so he didn’t run away, and waved the treat in front of his face with the other. “Come on, Fetch.”

  The dog groaned and lurched to his feet.

  “That’s it.”

  She went out the front door, adjusting her hold on the phone now she had Fetch’s attention, and scanned the yard for Jeremy. The shed’s interior glowed orange and Jeremy was dragging a long fire hose towards it.

  He had everything under control.

  She opened the ute door and threw the treat inside. Fetch scrambled inside and she shut the door behind him. “Do you still need me on the phone?” she asked the dispatcher.

  “What’s the status?”

  “Jeremy’s got a fire hose. He’s fighting the fire and it’s contained in the shed for now.”

  “Good. The fire crew’s ETA is fifteen minutes.”

  “OK. I’m going to hang up and help Jeremy with the fire.” She thrust the phone into her rain jacket pocket and zipped it up.

  How fast could a fire like this spread?

  She glanced around the gravel yard. She needed to leave room for the fire truck, but the ute should be fine on the far side.

  Getting in, she pushed Fetch back to his seat. She reversed the ute as far as she could from the shed, but stayed in the wide turning circle in front of the house. She pointed the ute forward so it could be moved quickly if needed.

  Now she needed to help Jeremy.

  He must have another hose somewhere.

  She wound down the window a crack so there was enough air in the vehicle and got out, stopping Fetch from following her with some difficulty. “Stay.” Fetch would be fine in the ute.

  She scanned the area. Jeremy’s truck was still close to the shed and might cause an obstruction when the fire crew arrived. The key would be inside. She should shift it as well.

  Zamira moved forward but someone grabbed her arm, tugging her back. She shrieked and turned as a heavy hand covered her mouth. Her heart raced as a second person lifted her legs from under her and in the firelight she recognised Henk. Shit.

  She struggled, kicking and punching but their hold was too tight. She yelled, her voice muffled against the salty, dirty hand. They carried her away from the house.

  What the hell?

  From the dark, a grey sedan appeared. She struggled harder, twisting to see where Jeremy was. Still fighting the fire, his back to her.

  Henk dropped her legs but before she could kick out, he trod on her feet. Pain shot through her. He bent and fastened a plastic tie around her ankles.

  No. They couldn’t take her. She had to get free. The second man took his hand away from her mouth. Her scream was muffled as Henk stuffed a rag in her mouth. It tasted oily.

  She lashed out, punching Henk and though he grunted, the second man captured her arm and wrenched both of them behind her back. Her muscles screamed and the plastic tie snapped into place.

  No, no, no.

  Henk opened the car boot. “In you go.”

  She pressed back against the man who held her, tensing her body, fear filling every cell. It was no use. The man lifted her up and Henk grabbed her legs. Together they shoved her in and then the boot closed. Pitch black.

  There was no telling what Henk would do. She kicked her legs but the ties were too tight for much movement. She tried her wrists and the plastic chafed.

  The car doors slammed and the engine started, straining a little before the car bumped forward over the rough ground.

  Terror gripped her. Zamira couldn’t get enough oxygen, the gag pressed into her mouth and rested against her nostrils.

  She rolled as the car accelerated and then managed to brace her feet against the side. Her skin hot, her hairs standing on end, she wanted to scream and scream and scream.

  They turned a corner and her head bumped the side, the pain breaking through her panic.

  She had to get out of here.

  She shifted, feeling around with her hands but her movement was limited. Aside from the grit, the carpet was bare. Nothing she could use to cut her bonds.

  Loud sirens pierced the air and her heart leapt. The police!

  The sirens passed in a wail.

  Not police — the fire brigade. At least it meant they’d soon be at Jeremy’s, they’d help him. Then they might notice she was missing.

  She hoped.

  But she couldn’t rely on them to save her.

  Straining her shoulders back as far as they could go, she shifted her hands under her butt. Her muscles tensed and the car went around a sharp bend, rolling her to the side again.

  Damn it.

  Lying on her back, she put her knees in the air and lifted her hips. She’d done bridge pose many times in her yoga practice. She bit into the rag as her arms reached towards her butt. Almost there. Her shoulders screamed but she got her hands under her butt.

  She panted, drawing in what little breath she could as her body balanced in an abdominal crunch position. Step two, her feet between her hands. If she got out of this, she’d thank her grandmother for teaching her
yoga.

  Another rough bump in the road and she was flung to the side. She could do this. She had to.

  Rolling onto her back she squeezed her legs close to her and stretched her arms away. Her feet touched her fingertips, then her wrists and then they were through.

  Her muscles ached as she pulled the gag down and sucked in air. The pressure in her chest lessened. She twisted, reaching for anything she could use to cut her ties or as a weapon in the small, cramped area. Nothing.

  She kicked and scissored her legs, trying to break the ties, but there wasn’t enough room to move.

  What else?

  No way to access the spare tyre cavity with her lying on top of it.

  But there had to be a way to access the back lights. They were made of glass.

  Her fingers pried around the carpet above her head and she found the edge. She tugged hard, shifting back and the carpet came away. The red from the rear light glowed through the grille that protected it.

  The car slowed. Her heart seized. She was running out of time.

  She ripped at the grille, tearing it off and pulled one of the light globes out, gritting her teeth at the heat. Closing her eyes, she smashed it against the side… it didn’t break. She hit it again, harder this time. Still nothing. Damn it.

  The car stopped. Doors slammed.

  The boot popped open and she enclosed the globe in her fist.

  A light shining nearby illuminated Henk. He scowled at her. “How the fuck did you get the gag out of your mouth?”

  “Help!” she screamed. “Help!”

  Henk laughed. “Scream as loud as you want. No one’s going to hear you out here.” He grabbed her wrists and hauled her out of the boot, her head hitting the lid with enough force to make her wince.

  She inhaled deeply, the sea air howled. Nearby, waves crashed against the shore. Behind Henk was a small beach shack and surrounding it was thick beach scrub too dense to run through. Henk hefted her over his shoulder and carried her inside.

  The rickety wooden steps had protruding nails and the floor inside was grimy. He walked her through a tiny living room, lit only by a gas lantern and then unlocked another door and dumped her onto a single spring bed.

  “What do you want from me?” she demanded.

  “You ruined my operation,” he snarled. “Where you’re going, no one will find you. You’ll wish you never stuck your nose into my business.” He slammed the door and then the lock snicked into place. Darkness filled the room with only a little light from the small window.

  “Zamira!”

  She sat up and her eyes widened. “Annisa?” As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she made out two more beds, both with lumps on them.

  “Why are you here? What’s going on?” Annisa asked in Malaysian.

  Relief filled Zamira. She’d found her. Now they had to escape. “Henk kidnapped me.” Zamira open her fist and placed the globe on the ground. Using her boot, she crushed it gently and picked up a piece of glass. “Can you come here?” This had to work.

  “I’m tied to the bed and so is Bethari.”

  Movement on the other bed revealed another woman lying there.

  Zamira hopped over to Annisa and discovered her hands were tied above her head to the bed with plastic ties. She clenched one hand to give herself more space to saw at Annisa’s ties. “How long have you been here?”

  “This is the second night.”

  She glanced at the other woman. “What about Bethari?”

  “Same. She was at Henk’s too,” Annisa said.

  The glass slowly cut through Annisa’s tie. Almost there.

  “Do you have a phone?”

  Zamira stilled. She’d forgotten about Jeremy’s phone. She’d shoved it in her pocket before she’d moved the ute. She placed the glass on the bed and withdrew the phone from her pocket.

  No signal.

  She held it up high and moved it around. Not even SOS only. She shoved it back in her pocket. When they got free, they’d walk until they got reception.

  She kept at Annisa’s restraint, and Annisa pulled her hands as far apart as she could, putting tension on the tie. Finally it snapped.

  Yes!

  Annisa rubbed her wrists.

  “Help Bethari,” Zamira instructed, handing her the glass. She picked up another piece from the floor.

  Annisa worked on Bethari’s ties as Zamira turned her attention to the restraint around her feet.

  She jerked her feet apart and the plastic snapped with a satisfying pop. Now her hands. They were going to get out of here. She turned the glass around, wincing as it cut her wrists.

  Footsteps clomped outside the door and the lock rattled. No. She needed more time.

  Bethari whimpered.

  “Annisa, can you get out the window?” Zamira shoved the phone at her cousin and then enclosed the piece of glass in her fist as she moved to the side of the door, ready for it to open. She had to catch them unaware. Had to knock Henk out and then they could run.

  Annisa struggled with the window, but it didn’t budge.

  The door opened, light flooding the room and Henk swore. “Where—”

  Zamira launched herself at him, swinging her fists, but she couldn’t get much momentum with them tied together and the glass cut into her palms.

  He grunted as she hit him, and he stumbled back a step but recovered quickly and grabbed her. “You little bitch.”

  She fought hard, kicking, trying to knee him in the groin. He was so strong, his muscles not flinching as she hit him.

  Something cold and hard pressed against her head. “Stop moving or I’ll shoot.”

  She froze and Henk knocked her to the ground. Her head spun as she looked up at the second man whose face was covered with a black balaclava and then focused on the gun pointing at her.

  Her heart stopped and then resumed its beat in triple time. She panted.

  “We’re going for a walk,” Henk said. “You run and he’ll shoot you.” He gestured to the other two women. “Make sure they understand.”

  His meaning was pretty clear no matter what language he spoke, but Zamira translated for the women. Bethari sobbed.

  “Get up,” Henk ordered.

  Zamira slowly got to her feet. There had to be a way out of this. The key was getting the gun from the hulking great big man. Like that would be easy.

  “Follow me.” Henk walked out the door and the guy with the gun gestured her to go first.

  She gave Annisa and Bethari a reassuring smile. “We’ll be fine.” She walked out of the little room into the living area where there were a couple of couches. Through another door was a basic kitchen. It was the kind of shack surfer hippies would have lived in, just the basics, not even electricity.

  How long had she been in the boot of the car? How far were they from Blackbridge?

  Surely Jeremy would have noticed her missing by now.

  Outside the stars were bright, filling the sky. The waxing moon gave more light and the wind whipped around her. Henk switched on a torch and the beam illuminated a narrow, sandy beach track. Bushes lined either side of the track, about two metres high which restricted her view and prevented her from making a run for it. Behind her Bethari continued to sob. Zamira opened her hand, felt the warm blood from the cut. Carefully she manoeuvred the glass so she could work on her ties. She was the only one still restrained.

  Was Henk going to kill them?

  The track sloped down and the crash of the waves grew louder. The path opened up to a sandy beach and an aluminium dinghy waited in the small bay beyond the break, rising and falling with the swell.

  Her breath caught and her pulse thumped slow and heavy. No one would search for them on the ocean.

  She stopped walking and Annisa and Bethari huddled around her. She wrenched her wrists apart, but the tie didn’t give. She kept cutting.

  “Keep moving,” the man behind her ordered.

  “We’re not getting into the boat.”

  “You’ll
do what Henk says.”

  Henk turned around, shone the torch in her eyes. She shut them against the glare and turned her head away. “I only promised them two women,” he said. “You’re a bonus. But if you don’t get in the boat, I’ll kill Annisa and then force you in there.” He retrieved a gun from his waist band and pointed it at Annisa’s head.

  Annisa shook, tears pouring down her face.

  Zamira’s throat closed over and she stumbled forward. “Where are we going?”

  “We’re meeting someone who pays very well for women of a certain age.”

  Her skin crawled. “Jeremy will be looking for me.”

  He laughed. “He’s busy with the fire.”

  Henk must have lit it. The bastard. All of Jeremy’s work was in that shed. How dare he hurt someone she loved?

  She inhaled sharply.

  She barely knew Jeremy, but she knew enough. His generosity to friends and strangers alike, his dedication to his work, the way he’d listened to her without judgement, and was genuinely interested in what she had to say. The little things he’d done for her like finding her painkillers when he noticed she was sore, blow-drying her hair so she could make a good impression, and taking the time to make sure she was ready when they made love. It was impossible not to love him.

  Would she ever see him again?

  The man in the balaclava pushed her forward as the boat pulled onto the shore.

  Determination stiffened her resolve. She would see Jeremy again. She’d get them out of here. She’d had enough of arrogant men ruling her life. It was time to put a stop to it.

  The gun was the biggest problem. She couldn’t run without risking Annisa being shot, but once they were in the water… “Can you swim?” she whispered.

  Bethari shook her head and Annisa said, “Not in these waves.”

  She let out a breath. There had to be another option. Her boots filled with water as the waves washed over them. She glanced back. No lights, no trace they were there, except for the footprints the waves washed away.

  Henk grabbed her arm and jerked her over to the dinghy. The ties snapped. Yes! One step closer to escape.