I ran.
Twenty-Seven
I dashed towards the back of the barn, barging through the last of the crowd. I darted into the loos and slammed the door shut behind me, thanking my luck when I saw a latch. A couple of blokes were already inside, busy doing their business, and they stared at me as I raced inside.
“What the hell are you doing?” one of them demanded.
I ignored him.
When I’d been in here earlier with Phil, I’d seen the old door off to the side, half-hidden behind a pile of old sacks and leftover farm junk that’d been shoved in front of it. There were no windows I could smash through, but if I could get this old door open, it wouldn’t matter.
A hammering started up on the toilet door I’d shut, and I didn’t hesitate as I lurched forwards and started dragging the junk away from the backdoor. The two blokes who’d already been in the loos started yelling at me, and I knew it wouldn’t long before one of them decided to open the toilet and let the cavalry in or else tackle me himself. So I threw myself into action, shoving enough of the farm equipment aside that I could get to the door. I wrenched at it and cursed to find that it rattled but refused to open. It was bolted shut from the outside, and I swore viciously.
Behind me, the two men made their move and twisted around only just in time to jump out of their reach. I lashed out at the bigger one first, kicking him in the groin. The other tried to land a punch on me, and I reacted without thinking, throwing up my arm in a block that Henri, the self-defence instructor, had drilled into all of us. The bigger man came at me again, and then it was two on one. I couldn’t defend myself against both of them, but I would try my hardest.
A punch to the side knocked me against the wall, and then the smaller guy got his hands around my throat. Memories of practising in class flashed back to me, and I drove the heel of my boot down hard and brutal onto the arch of the man’s foot.
It was enough to make him howl but not enough to break his grip on my neck. My vision was going white, my lungs burning, but I wasn’t done yet, snapping my arms out to hit the guy in the crook of his elbows. His locked arms buckled outwards, and I seized the distraction to slam the base of my palm into his nose, driving upwards. A hot spatter of blood hit my cheek as I broke his nose with the force of it, and he fell back, yelling, his hands finally off my neck.
I dragged in a sharp breath, staggering backwards and almost falling over the farm equipment on the floor. My ringing ears started working again, and the hammering on the door from the main barn became increasingly deafening. I thought I could almost hear the wail of sirens in the very distance, but it was more than likely the product of my oxygen-deprived brain. I couldn’t rely on getting rescued, not when I still had one opponent facing off against me with fury in his eyes and hundreds of others doing their damndest to break through the door.
The big guy made his move just as there was a deafening splintering of wood, distracting me. A crack in the door appeared, metal glinting through, and I had only a second to think how the hell did they get hold of an axe before I was thrown to the hard-packed mud. I thrashed against him, fighting with the same desperation as the dogs on the other side of the door, the door that was currently being fractured right down the middle with an axe.
With the bloke on top of me and doing his best to smash my head in, I threw my arm out, scrabbling for a weapon. There was nothing in reach except for the coarse feed sacks, so I wrenched one of those free from the pile. My attacker tried to bring his fist down on my face, but I shoved the sack in his face and wrapped it tight around his head, looping the trailing cords around his neck and yanking them harshly.
He shrieked and lashed out, blinded and half-suffocated by the sack material, and I scrambled away. Whoever was wielding an axe against the door had almost got through it, and I could see the crowd seething through the cracks, the door rattling and creaking against the metal bolt I’d thrown into place. I didn’t have to dither, though, so I spun around and dived for the back door. It was still locked from the outside, but I dug up a rusted hoof pick from the pile of old farm junk and attacked the door with it.
The little tool stained my clammy hand red as I jabbed at the door’s weather-weakened wood, focusing on the area around the bolt. The wood splintered and cracked under my frantic attempts to pry it open, but I wasn’t working as quickly as those behind me. The guy whose head I’d covered with the sack was still flailing around, and the bloke with the broken nose crouched on the floor with blood all over his hands.
What a mess, I thought sourly. If Matt had only kept his mouth shut for another couple of hours, this could’ve all been avoided.
The axe split open the door behind me like a hacked-open coconut just as I dug away the last of the soft wood from around the bolt. I shoved my fingers through the gap, the cracked wood ripping at my skin, and grabbed the metal bolt, nudging it free.
I’d been leaning heavily on the door, and it collapsed open just as the hoard of angry fighters shoved their way into the bathroom behind me. I lurched forwards into the cold outside air and slammed the door shut behind me, only narrowly in time. The bolt was still intact despite the wood missing from the edge of the door, and I slammed it shut before taking off running.
I could hear yelling and shouting behind and knew it wouldn’t be long before they came after me. They slammed angry boots against the locked door, but it wouldn’t keep them back for long, so I ran and slid over the slick mud as fast as I could manage, making for the darkness beyond. It was no use running for the car, the vehicle was Phil’s, and he had the keys, so I’d have to rely on my own two legs until the police turned up in force to keep me from getting pulled apart.
It was snowing lightly, bitterly cold flakes hitting my face and slipping down my neck as I ran. It was hard going in the dark and on the slushy, saturated grass, which felt like uneven ice under my feet. I fell over twice, gritting my teeth against the pain in my throat when I pulled in panting breaths and the ache in my side from the punches I’d weathered. I wanted badly to pull out my phone and call Stephen or Rashford, but I could hear several people coming after me and using the phone would light me up like a beacon. Better to keep going and hope that I could slip into the shadows and lose my pursuers there. Whilst the sounds of heavy breathing, footsteps, and the occasional curse behind me fed fear into my heart, the sirens I’d thought I’d heard earlier had grown in volume, their discordant wail becoming solid and real.
I could only assume that they were using the sirens, as opposed to approaching in silence because I’d issued my distress signal. They must’ve hoped that the fighters would prefer to escape than to get revenge on me, so they used the sirens to protect me. The thought process was a welcome distraction as I continued uphill, my boots sliding out from under me multiple times, leaving me caked in mud and shivering. I’d knocked my chin on a rock during one of the falls, and it was stinging in the cold air.
Up ahead, I spotted a darker patch at the top of the field that might’ve been a cluster of trees or a building and headed straight for it. The glow of the barn had almost completely faded, and it was so dark out here that there was barely a distinction between the ground and the sky. As I got closer, I heard the telltale creaking and rustling of trees, their bare branches grating together, and dived into their midst, my hands outstretched to stop me from running straight into one of the trunks.
Putting my hands on a sturdy tree, I clung onto it as I twisted around, panting hard. I could hear the wind in the trees’ branches, the undergrowth sussurating quietly, and the police sirens, but that was all. No sign of anyone coming after me. I waited long enough for my breath to steady and the sweat to start drying on my skin, chilling me, before I cautiously pulled out my phone.
It was a chunky thing from a decade or more ago, and it didn’t do much more than call and text, but the solidity of it in my hands was reassuring as I fumbled for the buttons. It also didn’t light up quite as brightly as a smartphone, and I was able to
cup it in my hands, shading it. I selected Stephen’s contact, my cold fingers shaking, and the phone started ringing, making me wince. I pressed the phone to my ear and tried to muffle the speaker with my thumb.
I pulled the phone away when I thought I heard something moving in the undergrowth nearby, but a few moments of silence convinced me I’d imagined it, and I focused back on the phone’s ringing.
“Pick up, pick up,” I hissed almost silently.
“Darren? Where are you? Are you okay?” Stephen said, his voice pitched higher with urgency and fright. It was good to hear him, regardless.
“I’m okay,” I whispered, keeping my back to the tree trunk and an eye on my surroundings, though it was a struggle to make out even the trees less than a few meters away. “I’m up in the field above the barn, to the north. Where are you?”
“I’m with the Inverness police. We’re literally about to arrive,” he told me, his voice sounding too loud after the quiet of the field. I could hear an echo of the sirens from his end of the line. “Stay where you are, okay? I’ll call when it’s safe.”
“Aye, I wasn’t planning to get back to that mess,” I said wryly.
I sagged against the tree trunk and ran a hand through my hair, wincing when I brushed over a sticky cut on the side of my head. I wasn’t even sure when I’d got it, but as soon as my fingers found it, my head started throbbing. I was fast running out of energy, my adrenaline plummeting like a stone, and I had to resist the desire to slump to sit on the cold, wet ground.
“Hang in there, Mitch. We won’t be long.”
“Better not be,” I grumbled. I froze when I heard the snap of a twig nearby. “Got to go,” I hissed to Stephen before hanging up and turning the phone screen off.
The bit of electronic light had ruined my night vision, and I scanned my surroundings blindly, listening hard for any noise that didn’t fit. If anyone had been coming after me, I couldn’t imagine them creeping up quietly. Surely it was more their style to gang up as a group and charge? But I didn’t want to get caught off guard, so I remained silent and vigilant as the sirens got closer, blue lights flashing from further down the hill.
Those tense, freezing minutes felt like some of the longest in my life, and I waited with bated breath. I heard nothing for long enough that my leg had started cramping, and I had my teeth clenched shut.
“Come out and face me!”
The shout made me jerk violently in shock, but I didn’t make a noise. I didn’t recognise the voice, staying still and quiet as I listened. Whoever had yelled had clearly got fed up with trying to stalk me and was now trying to bait me to come out. He yelled out a stream of colourful insults that I paid no attention to.
“You called the pigs on us, and you’re gonna suffer for this. We’ll find you,” he hissed finally, low but perfectly audible before he stamped away.
I started to stand, thinking that if there was only one of him, I could grab him and pin him down for the police. But my stiff, frozen legs disagreed, as did the throbbing in my head and side, and I rested back against the tree trunk and relented. I wasn’t fit for tackling anyone right now, so I’d just have to trust that the cops would pick him up.
A location like this, out in the middle of nowhere, was hard for the police to pen in without dozens more officers than they normally had available. However, almost everyone who’d come to the fight had parked their cars in the field near the barn or close by, and whilst they could do what I did and leg it up the hill, they’d have to return to civilisation, eventually. I hoped that we’d be able to track any runaways down by their cars, too, though if they were smart, they would’ve used a car that didn’t lead back to their name.
I let out a sigh, rubbing my arms to keep warm. An operation like this would hardly ever be one-hundred per cent successful, but it was far, far better than not trying at all. I thought of the puppies in the barn, the ones still alive and the ones who’d been left in bloody heaps, and of Brian’s dog, Fido. If the police could secure the area, those dogs would be safe.
I waited up on that hill until the chunky old phone in my pocket started buzzing, and Stephen told me that it was safe to come down. The last of the fight attendees were being loaded up into vans as I slid down towards the barn. LACS and RSPCA had turned up to help with the animals, and I watched, my heart hurting, as the dogs were led away. They’d have a better life from now on, but the road there would be hard, and I felt for them, their confusion and fear plain to see even in the dark evening, the sky still spitting down sleet.
“Darren!” Stephen yelled when he saw me, lurching towards me so fast that he almost fell over before he wrapped me up in a bear hug.
“Ouch,” I mumbled, even as I hugged him back.
He drew back quickly. “You’re hurt? What the hell happened? Are you okay?”
“I’ve been worse,” I said, which only got an eye roll from him. I elaborated, “Just minor cuts and bruises, Steph, I’m okay.”
“Well, good.”
He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and I was more than willing to let him herd me into a pleasantly warm car.
“I’ll just be a second, okay? You warm up, I’ll be back,” he told me as he held the door open, and I gladly climbed in.
There was a police officer I didn’t recognise sitting in the front passenger seat, and she gave me a warm smile before passing me a flask of tea.
“God, you’re a saint,” I told her. My hands were trembling a little as I poured myself a cup, but I was quickly warming up.
“You can thank your big, rugby-player friend,” she told me with a thick Scottish accent. “He’s been fretting over you like a mother hen.”
I grinned at that, shaking my head. “He’s like that.”
Whilst I was physically mostly fine, I was still feeling pretty shaken. The night had been a hairbreadth away from going as badly as it possibly could, and only my self-defence classes and a rusty hoof pick had saved me from a hellish beating. I tried to shake off the ‘what if’ questions that would only drive me mad and focus on the warm tea in my hand and the fact that I was perfectly safe now. It was over, and I’d done my best. It hadn’t gone to plan, but that hadn’t been my fault.
The Scottish officer left the car after a few minutes, telling me that my partner would be back soon. I nodded, thanking her for the tea, and watched her go.
Left in the car’s insulated silence, I sipped my tea as I considered the problem of how the hell Matt had found out that I was spying on them. I doubted that it had been something I’d said to him because I’d only seen him once at his house, and he’d not come after me afterwards. If I’d said something wrong during that conversation, I couldn’t imagine why he’d waited so long to do anything, only confronting me at the fight that he couldn’t have known I was even attending until close to the night since we’d gone at such short notice.
It didn’t make sense, not unless he’d been given information sometime after I’d met with him. And if that was the case, who had told him? Was it the same person who’d leaked information on Freddie, and who’d been warning the dogfighters in advance of police raids?
Whoever they were, they’d almost cost me my life.
Stephen returned to the car almost a half-hour later. The area around the barn still flocked with officers and animal handlers, and I knew they’d have a long night ahead of them. Part of me wanted to be out there with them, seeing this case through to the bitter end, but I was simultaneously so exhausted that I was struggling to stay awake in the warm car despite the pain in my side and head.
“Alright, let’s get over to the hotel,” Stephen said as he climbed back inside. He looked over his shoulder at me, his brows wrinkled. “Y’alright, Mitch?”
“I’m all in one piece.” I pulled up a tired smile.
“You’re not bleeding anywhere? It’d be just like you to say you were fine and dandy and then bleed all over the car, mate.”
I snorted at that. “I’m fine, seriously. Nothing th
at a good night’s sleep and a couple of ibuprofens won’t sort out.”
“Okay, okay. Hotel it is, then.”
He offered for me to move to the passenger seat before we set off, but I was comfortable in the back and feeling too tired and sore to move. It was a relief when we set off, leaving the barn and the flashing blue lights of the clustered police cars behind us. The country lanes were pitch black at night, illuminated only by the car’s white headlights, and I settled into a peaceful daze as Stephen drove us back towards Inverness.
My mind drifted, and I wondered vaguely where Phil was right now. Had he been picked up by the police right away, or had he tried to leg it? He was such a city boy that I could hardly imagine him trying to make it out in the wilds, especially on a viciously cold night like this, and I hoped he’d given in to the inevitable. I couldn’t think of Matt without feeling my skin itch, and I turned my thoughts away, focusing on the coolness of the car window against my throbbing forehead and the steady rumble of the car under my feet.
“Darren?”
I stirred sometime later, feeling groggy. The car was stationary, and Stephen was looking back at me from the driver’s seat. There were bright lights outside the car windows, and I squinted at them, recognising the logo of a chain of hotels.
“We’re here, bud. You okay to go in?”
I straightened up in my seat as I woke up properly, giving a wide yawn before I said, “I’m not sleeping in the car, that’s for sure.”
“Good. I reckon you’ll be sore enough in the morning as it is,” Stephen said with a gentle chuckle.
The night air was a harsh shock as I got out of the warm car. I took the flask of tea with me as Stephen and I headed across the hotel’s car park towards the brightly lit main entrance. Stephen handled talking to the employees on the desk, paying and collecting our room keys, which was good because I was dead on my feet. If I’d stayed standing still for long enough, I reckoned I could have fallen asleep on the spot.
Moving Target (A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crimes Book 6) Page 31
