“Welcome back,” a voice said. “Did you have a good nap?”
Ginny sat upright and looked around. A dark-skinned man wearing a pilot’s uniform was sitting next to the tubes, reading a magazine. She resisted the urge to cross her arms over her bare breasts - she’d grown far too accustomed to her squadron mates, rather than starfighter pilots in general - as she climbed out of the tube. Her nude body felt refreshed, if nothing else. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw the neat pile of clothes next to the tube, waiting for her.
“It could have been better,” she said. She smiled wryly as she snapped on her bra, then reached for the trousers. Williams had propositioned her, hadn't he? “What’s the situation?”
“You’re to report to the briefing room, once dressed,” the man said. He rose and stuck out a hand. “Captain Jeffers. Enterprise-A.”
Ginny shook his hand firmly. “Thank you for letting us use your squadron room,” she said, seriously. She knew he wouldn't be too pleased about it, but she found it hard to care. There was a war on. She didn't have time for petty bullshit. “We needed a shower and a rest.”
“So I heard,” Jeffers said. He turned away as she finished dressing. “There are some ration bars in the next room. I suggest you eat now. We may be launching soon.”
“Understood,” Ginny said. She wasn't sure which of them was actually the senior officer, but it was his squadron room. “Have we been reassigned?”
“I think you’re being lumped in with all the other guests,” Jeffers said. He sighed. “But the higher-ups keep changing their minds, so you might end up being thrown in with us instead.”
“As long as I get a crack at the enemy,” Ginny said. It would be a climb down, after commanding a squadron, but she’d just have to put up with it. The USN wasn't going to assign her to squadron command if they needed her to be a pilot instead. “Some of those bastards are good.”
“So I hear,” Jeffers said. “Do you have any advice?”
Ginny hesitated. “Watch yourself if they lead you into a chase,” she said. “Those little bastards can turn on a dime.”
“They must have fiddled with their compensators,” Jeffers mused. “I’m surprised they don’t blow up their own starfighters if they do that regularly.”
“We couldn't be that lucky,” Ginny said.
She followed him into the ready room and took a ration bar from the table. A large pot of coffee sat next to the ration bars, just waiting for her. Ginny poured herself a cup and drank it rapidly. It tasted foul, but at least it drove the last traces of sleep from her mind. Williams appeared a moment later, looking wretched. Ginny hoped he’d slept for the full four hours rather than trying to chase skirts on the carrier. There just wasn't time for fun.
“Grab your coffee and come with me,” Jeffers ordered. A low hooting ran through the giant ship. “The shit might be about to hit us again.”
Chapter Thirty
Near Townsend, United Kingdom
“You could have brought us more food,” one of Molly’s captors said. He looked around eighteen, although it was hard to be sure. There was a wild look in his eyes that Molly didn't like at all. “Why didn't you pack more shit?”
Molly tried to force herself to remain calm. It wasn't easy. There were three of them, all young and strong and her hands were tied behind her back. She tested her bonds as surreptitiously as she could, but they refused to budge. There was no way to break free, not with all three of them watching her. The hungry expressions on their faces chilled her to the bone.
“I didn't know I’d be feeding you,” she managed, finally. She looked from face to face, trying to understand them. Would it be better to appear defiant or crawl on her belly in front of them? Anyone who’d been sent to a chain gang wouldn't be anything like as socialised as her son and his friends. “If I’d known, I would have brought more.”
“There’s fuck-all in here, Dave,” another captor said. “Just a bunch of shitty children’s toys.”
“Keep your mouth shut, Colin,” Dave snarled. He glared at Molly as if she’d personally offended him. “Where the fuck were you going?”
“Home,” Molly said. She had a nasty feeling she wouldn't see home in a hurry. The hungry looks were scaring her. “I was driving to Woking ...”
Dave snickered. “You’re lost,” he said. “I knew women couldn’t read maps!”
Molly flushed with anger, but said nothing. Mentioning the police wouldn't make things any better. Dave and his two companions had abandoned a chain gang, which meant ... she suspected it would probably mean a return to jail, if they were caught. The country was in a mess, coming to think of it. There was a good chance they wouldn't be caught for years, if they were careful. The police had more important things to worry about.
Dave reached forward and touched her cheek, lightly. Molly had to fight to keep from cringing back. “You’re coming with us,” he said. He gripped her arm and marched her off the road. “Try to keep up.”
The rain started to fall again as Dave half-pushed her up a hidden track. Molly wondered, numbly, just when the three of them had escaped the chain gang. During the battle ... or earlier? There would have been a manhunt for him, if they’d escaped even a day ago ... she didn't recall hearing anything about a manhunt. But that meant nothing. She’d been too busy planning her time at the party to bother to watch the BBC. Perhaps, if she had, she’d have thought better of going to the party.
Dave leered nastily at her as her wet clothes started to cling to her skin, exposing all of her curves. Molly shuddered as she tried - desperately - to think of a plan. She’d killed Garrison, hadn't she? But Garrison had been twenty or more years older than her and she’d caught him by surprise. Now, there were three young men escorting her ...
She tested her bonds again, trying to think of a way to get her hands free. But even if she did, she knew it wouldn't be easy to get far without being stopped. Dave and his comrades knew they were dead meat, if they were ever recaptured. The best they could hope for was a speedy transfer to a penal colony or an isolated island somewhere up north. Now, with martial law declared, they might just be shot out of hand by the police. God knew they’d broken the terms of their parole when they’d fled the chain gang.
And they’ve got nothing to lose, she thought, numbly. Dave’s leers were far from reassuring. The other two weren't much better. And when Garrison thought he had nothing to lose, he tried to rape me.
She sucked in her breath. She’d been offered courses on what to do if she was kidnapped, back when Kurt had been on active service. She hadn't thought much of it at the time - no one in their right mind would kidnap the wife of a military officer, not when the police would do everything in their power to catch the bastards - but now ... now she wished she’d taken the course when it was offered. What should she do? Try to befriend them or keep herself aloof?
Her mind raced. The coastline had been devastated. Every town along the shore had probably been wiped out. The remaining population would have too many other things to worry about ... no one would be looking for the chain gang. Or her ... Rosemary was the only person who knew she’d taken the car and she had her own problems. God alone knew what she’d do when she discovered Garrison’s body. She certainly wouldn't think that Molly might have walked from the frying pan into the fire.
“Blair, check around the fence,” Dave ordered. “And then come inside.”
Molly looked up. They were approaching a house in the woods, a little holiday cabin ... it would have been charming, if a dead body hadn't been lying outside. She shivered as Dave pointed to the body, then drew a finger across his throat. He’d killed a man ... Molly reminded herself, again, that Dave had nothing to lose. Murder would get him transported or hung for sure.
“Our little home from home,” Dave said. He pushed open the door, then shoved Molly into the cabin. “Honey, we’re home!”
“Put her in the backroom,” Colin said. “We need to talk.”
Molly forced
herself to look around as she was shoved towards a rear door. The interior was larger than she’d expected, resembling a farmhouse kitchen from any number of movies and TV shows that extolled the virtues of living on a farm. And yet, it was just too perfect to be real. It was a holiday home, she told herself. The people who came to live on the farm could pretend, just for a while, that they were farmers too. She couldn't help noticing that there were plenty of mod cons too.
Dave opened the door. “We’re home,” he called. “Hi, there!”
The room was dim. Molly looked up - there was a skylight, but the clouds were blocking most of the sunlight - then down towards the bed. A dark shape lay on it, unmoving. Dave flicked a switch, turning on the light. Molly recoiled as she saw a young girl - no older than Penny - lying on the bed. Her hands were tied firmly behind her back and her legs were chained to the bed. She could barely move.
Shit, Molly thought. The girl’s eyes were wide with fear. What did they do to her?
“We’ll be back soon,” Dave promised. He shoved Molly onto the bed. “Try not to have too much fun without us.”
He chuckled, then turned and walked out of the room. Molly heard him slam the door closed, but she didn't hear a lock ... it didn't matter, anyway. There was no way out of the backroom, unless they managed to somehow open the skylight and climb onto the roof. She looked up, silently considering their chances. They had to get out before it was too late.
The girl coughed. “Who ... who are you?”
“I’m Molly,” Molly said. She looked down at the girl. “Who are you?”
“Fran,” the girl said. Her voice was trembling. “What ... what are they going to do to us?”
Molly sighed. “I think we’ll find out soon,” she said. “How did they catch you?”
“Dad and I were on holiday,” Fran said. She gulped. “We ... we had planned a weekend away before I went to university. This place ... it was awesome. And then it started to rain and they showed up. Dad ...”
The body, Molly thought. She felt a sudden flicker of envy for Fran, mixed with fear. Her father had never taken her on a private holiday. They killed her father and dumped him outside.
She forced herself to think. “What happened to your mother?”
“She died when I was seven,” Fran said. “Dad ... he never wanted to marry again.”
Molly shivered. Fran was tall and thin, with long brown hair ... she really looked more like Penny than Molly cared to admit. It looked as though she hadn't been molested - yet - but Molly knew that was just a matter of time. Dave certainly didn't look the type to wait long before taking what he wanted. God knew he’d managed to escape the chain gang in the chaos.
Fran stared at her. “How do we get out of this?”
“I don’t know,” Molly said.
She looked up at the skylight. If she stood on the bed, she could open it ... and then what? She didn't think she could climb up and out onto the roof. Perhaps if she put the chair on the bed ... her wrists twanged uncomfortably, reminding her that her hands were still tied behind her back. She twisted her head, trying to see the knots. Maybe she could work her hands free, now they were alone.
If I get out of this alive, she promised herself, I’ll study everything from martial arts to escapology.
The rope resolutely refused to budge. Molly cursed, forcing down the wave of bitter frustration that threatened to overcome her. She’d watched hundreds of TV shows where the heroines always managed to escape, after they’d been tied up by the moustache-twirling villains of the week. How had they done it? She couldn't help thinking that they’d had help from a patriotic scriptwriter. The real world was nowhere near so obliging.
She eyed Fran for a long moment. “Was this your room?”
“Yeah,” Fran said. “Dad slept on the couch outside.”
Molly nodded. “Did you have anything sharp with you?”
Fran hesitated. “I had a makeup knife,” she said. “It was in my bag. I don’t think I had anything else.”
Molly forced herself to stand and walk around the bed. A large suitcase was lying on the floor, the contents scattered across the room. Molly felt an uneasy twinge of fear as she realised that Fran and Penny had a lot in common. Her daughter had always left her room a mess too, no matter how much Molly nagged. Kurt wasn't any help, either. Molly had always thought that a military officer would be neater, but he hadn't seemed to care.
Or maybe Dave and his pals searched the bag, just to be sure there was nothing dangerous here, she thought. Did they expect Fran to escape while they were gone?
She looked up. “How many of them are there?”
“Three,” Fran said. She paused. “At least ... I saw three.”
Molly nodded, slowly. It wasn't easy to dig through the bag’s contents with her feet, but she managed it somehow. The box of cosmetics was larger than it should have been, her maternal instincts insisted. She’d certainly never allowed Penny to spend so much money on makeup and perfume. No wonder Penny had been so irked, when she’d realised that Molly was buying expensive dresses and handbags. She’d thought her mother was being a hypocrite.
And I was, Molly conceded, grimly.
The guilt was almost overpowering. The conclusion was inescapable. She’d been a complete fool. Worse, she’d been a bitch. She’d made the decision to abandon her husband and children for an older man who’d treated her as his personal whore and planned to abandon her when her tits started to sag. Or when she became inconvenient. Kurt was a war hero, after all. Garrison might have got into some trouble if he’d been caught seducing a war hero’s wife. Better to end the affair before the war ended, leaving Molly in the cold. No doubt he’d have picked up some even younger girl to warm his bed for the rest of his life.
And now he’s dead, Molly thought. Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes. I’ve fucked up everything.
Fran shifted. “Are you all right?”
Molly forced down the urge to cry - or to laugh, hysterically. Was she all right? Of course she was not all right. She’d betrayed her husband, abandoned her children, killed her lover ... and now she was the captive of a bunch of thugs who probably planned to rape her before they cut her throat. Or maybe even keep her prisoner for months, perhaps years. Molly had heard more than a few stories about people being kidnapped and held captive indefinitely, even in suburban Britain. The police had far too many problems to worry about three runaways, even if they knew the chain gang had escaped in the first place.
“No,” she said. “I’m not all right.”
She twisted until she was in position to use her fingers to open the box. A handful of makeup pens fell out of the box, landing with a clatter on the floor. Molly tensed, expecting Dave to break down the door, but nothing happened. She listened, carefully ... there was no sound on the far side of the door. Had they slipped out? Or had they fallen asleep? She wondered if she dared open the door. But with her hands bound, there was no way she could sneak around without making a sound.
“Footsteps,” Fran hissed.
Molly pushed the box under the bed, an instant before the door opened. Dave was standing there, an unpleasant expression on his face. His eyes went wide when he saw Molly, sitting by the suitcase. He reached forward and yanked her to her feet, then scooped up a pair of frilly panties.
“I don’t think they’ll fit you,” he said, nastily. He caught her arm and shoved her towards the door. “The others will take care of you.”
Molly gritted her teeth as she stumbled through the door. Colin caught her and pushed her into an arm chair, slapping her ass as she fell forward. Molly landed badly, grunting in pain; Colin laughed, then helped her to sit upright. Behind her, Dave half-carried Fran through the door. The younger girl was staring around wildly, perhaps looking for her father’s body.
“So,” Dave said. His eyes travelled over Molly’s breasts, leaving a trail of slime in their wake. “What were you doing in that car?”
Molly forced herself to keep her voice
level. “I was going home,” she said. She’d told them that already, hadn’t she? “I have to get to Woking ...”
“No, you don't,” Dave said. “You’re ours now.”
Fran whimpered. Dave smirked as his hand crawled towards her chest. Molly wanted to look away, but Colin held her head still. She didn't want to know what he’d do if she tried to close her eyes. And yet, Fran was far too much like Penny for her peace of mind. She didn't want to see Fran degraded and humiliated, then raped and perhaps murdered. Dave’s hands were already playing with Fran’s shirt buttons ...
“Don’t,” Molly said.
The Longest Day (Ark Royal X) Page 30
