The man started moving away from the bed. Sam held his breath, willing him to walk out of the room without stopping. But he did stop because the duvet was swept up off the floor. Sam made himself as small as possible, and felt the weight of the marble in his hand. He didn't remember taking it out of his pocket, but he must have at some point. He almost wished the man would bend down and stick his head under the bed. Sam would have got a perfect hit. He clenched his teeth, anger and a hatred he had never experienced before welled up from deep inside him, and he saw the scene in his head. Smash! Smash! Smash! Blood spilling out everywhere. Smash! Life oozing out of the man, draining away. Death. And then Lloyd and him would be free.
But the man didn't bend down to check under the bed because he thought that Sam had escaped and he was on his way to hunt him down.
'There, now you won't get cold,' the man said. 'I'll bring us back some pizza, or burgers, if you like. Have to keep your strength up,' he chuckled. And then he was gone.
Sam didn't move for a while. He listened carefully to the footsteps receding into the distance until he couldn't hear them any more. Then came the faint sound of a door slamming, and then after another minute the squeal of tyres outside. Time to move.
He crawled out from under the bed, blinking as the blazing light hit his eyes. He had spent too much time in darkness. He went towards Lloyd. His friend was lying on his side, his knees drawn up to his chest, his back to Sam, but one arm raised back at an awkward angle, tied to the bedpost. Sam put a hand on Lloyd's shoulder and felt his friend cringe away from his touch. He felt Lloyd's fear, the trembling and uncontrollable shaking, and it was like Lloyd was lying in an Arctic plain instead of under a warm duvet, in a warm bed, in a warm room.
Fear made you cold. It made you tremble. Anger made you hot. It made you want to hurt someone.
Sam fumbled with the knot that held Lloyd to the bed. He had thought the man was a bit stupid tying only one hand – Lloyd could have untied it with his other hand. But the knot didn't have a simple bow that you could just pull and hey presto you were free; it was tight, triple knotted with no bow. The man wouldn't have been unable to untie it. Maybe he never meant to untie it.
Sam struggled with it, but he knew he'd never be able to undo the knots. The bedpost was a fussy ornate thing topped with a round ball. If Sam could knock the stupid ball off, he might be able to slide the rope up and off the post. He tested it. It appeared to be carved from the same piece of wood as the rest of the bed frame and not glued on afterwards. No way he'd be able to knock it off without a hammer, and he didn't have a hammer. He cast about the room for something heavy that he could use instead. At the far end of the room were a collection of vases and little statues displayed in a glass cabinet. They looked expensive; they looked like they might be heavy enough.
Sam left Lloyd's side and crossed quickly to the cabinet. It wasn't locked. He opened the doors and started picking out the pieces that looked heavy. He weighed them in his hands and realised that none of them were that heavy, but he had to give them a go because there was nothing else in the room that looked remotely useful. Nothing. Not a single stupid thing. How was he going to get Lloyd free? How were they going to get away before the man gave up looking for Sam and came back for Lloyd?
Sam plucked all the smaller vases out of the cabinet and let them fall to the floor, the bigger ones he took in both hands and smashed down on top of the pile until every single vase lay in tiny shards and splinters on the floor. He gazed at his handiwork, and hoped the stuff had been worth a fortune. He went back to the bed with the heavier objects; one of them, he hoped, would knock the bedpost off the bed. He dropped the collection onto the bed. Lloyd hadn't moved. He hadn't even turned his head when Sam had started smashing things.
'Okay, Lloyd, I'm going to try and bash the top of the bedpost off, so there's going to a bit of a racket.'
He selected the heavy wooden lion carving first. The lion had its head tossed back and its mouth was wide open in mid-roar. Sam gripped its back legs and swung with all his might. The lion's head flew off and smacked the wall with a thud. There was a slight indentation in the bedpost, nothing more. He swung again, and again, making more marks in the wood, but the bed knob hadn't shifted. He tried the other pieces, but knew it was a dead loss. This idea wasn't going to work.
He needed something to cut through the rope with. He needed a sharp knife, and somehow he knew he wasn't going to find one in this room. He didn't have a choice. He had to leave Lloyd and find the kitchen.
'Lloyd, I can't knock the bed knob off and I can't undo the stupid knot.'
Lloyd didn't respond.
'I'm going to go and find a knife. Okay? I'll be back as soon as I can. Lloyd?'
Still Lloyd didn't answer. He hadn't said a word since the man had gone.
'Lloyd, I'm coming back.'
Sam turned and left the room, only one thing on his mind now. A knife. He didn't look back.
12
Back out of the bedroom and into the TV room, where he stopped for a moment. The camcorder was still sitting on its tripod, facing the overstuffed sofa with its plump, overstuffed cushions. He knew how camcorders worked. It didn't take him more than a second to remove the little tape from inside it and stuff it deep into the pocket of his school trousers. He shuddered. It made him feel cold. It made him feel scared.
Knife. He had to find a knife. He was on the move again.
Back down the corridor, swiftly past the doors that stood wide open to the yawning darkness within them. It wouldn't be any good searching through them now. There was no phone. No one at the end of the line. Knife. He needed to find a knife. At the first set of stairs he stopped. The kitchen would be downstairs at the back somewhere. He might be lucky and find it at the bottom of this flight of stairs. They led into a forbidding darkness, but Sam didn't mind that so much now. He headed down.
At the bottom, he groped around for a light switch and flicked it on. He was standing in a corridor, but it wasn't lined with any pictures, or paintings, or anything. It just had plain, unadorned walls. That meant he was close. People who lived in houses like this didn't cook for themselves. They probably didn't even know where the kitchen was. They had cooks and butlers and servants, and you didn't waste nice stuff on them. The first door he got to was a big cupboard full of brooms and mops and polish and rags. The second door was a storeroom with shelves upon shelves of plates and cups and bowls and linens. The third door was the kitchen.
Sam switched on the light and let his eyes travel across the work surfaces. The man had left a mess. Open packets of food and wrappers were strewn on one of the surfaces, and on another were bags of chips and chicken nuggets, and a half-eaten pizza. He spotted the knife block next to the hob. It contained ten knives in an assortment of sizes. Sam found a tea towel and took every single knife. He wrapped them up carefully and hid the empty block in a cupboard. Then he retraced his steps back to Lloyd. This time he didn't leave any doors open, or lights switched on.
He didn't know how much time he had left. He should have checked his watch when the man had driven off, but he hadn't, which was stupid of him and he could have kicked himself for it. Everything hinged on getting Lloyd free and getting out of the house before the man returned. The man would have shut the main gate after he went out, and driven down the long, windy track back to the road. Sooner or later he would realise that a kid couldn't climb the gate and jump off the other side – it would have been a tough task for a grown-up to have done. He'd know he'd been tricked, and then he would come speeding back.
Sam's watch now said four o'clock. Daylight was only a few hours away. They had to get out quick, and find somewhere to hide until dawn. Somewhere safe. But first he had to free Lloyd.
'It's me, Lloyd,' Sam said as he entered the bedroom. 'I've got some knives.'
Lloyd didn't look up.
Sam set the tea towel on the bed and unfolded it to reveal his treasure. He picked a heavy, serrated knife from the collection and started sawin
g through the knot. It was hard work even though the knife was sharp. Sam sawed faster, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. It was starting to go through the rope. More effort, more speed, that's what it needed. And then Lloyd would be free.
He took a firm grip of the rope, pulling the end that was attached to Lloyd's hand as taut as he could, and then he went faster, his hand a blur of motion, and at first he didn't feel the place where the knife had sliced through his hand and almost taken his thumb off. Blood dripped down and onto the bed, tons of it. He stared down at the sheet paralysed as it gradually went from white to red as his hot pulsing blood continued to flood out of the gaping smile he'd sliced into his hand. And then he felt the pain.
Searing pain, blinding pain, followed an intense agonised cry. Sam had never felt pain like that before. The knife fell from his right hand. He clutched at his left wrist, his body doubled over as spasms of pain shuddered through him. His knees buckled beneath him and he sank down to the floor. He couldn't work out whether he was going to faint or be sick, or both.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the side of the bed. He sobbed until the spasms no longer racked right through him. He opened his eyes and pressed his bloodied hand against the bed, teeth gritted against the pain from the pressure. Then he forced himself to look closely at his wound. His thumb wasn't hanging off by a thread of skin as he had feared. It was still firmly attached to his hand. The wound was ugly but not deep, and Sam was suddenly so angry with himself. How could he have let that happen? How could he have been so stupid? He'd just begun to make progress. He'd been so close to getting Lloyd freed from the bed. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. How had he ended up in this mess? Why him? Why them? Why? Tears ran down his face and he swiped at them not caring that he was smearing blood across his face.
But he wasn't going to let the man win. And he wasn't going to leave the house without Lloyd.
He shook the tea towel free of the knives, letting them fall to the floor, and wrapped the towel tightly around his hand. He picked up the serrated knife with its bloodied blade and began sawing again, sobbing with every stroke of the blade, his left hand clutched against his chest. But it wasn't working like that. He had to use his left hand to hold the other end of the rope. He almost cried out with pain when he gripped hold of the rope and pulled it taut. He started again. And then suddenly he was through. The rope was cut in two and Lloyd's arm slumped to the bed. He'd done it! Lloyd was free.
'Lloyd, get up. We've got to go. We've got to get out of here.'
The same silence greeted Sam. He shook Lloyd's shoulder hard. There was no response. He pulled him round to face him. Blank, empty eyes. Lloyd had gone somewhere deep inside himself. Sam was afraid he wasn't going to come back any time soon.
'Lloyd, please get up. He could be back any minute. We've got to get out.'
Lloyd blinked. It wasn't much, but it was a sign. That's all Sam needed. He began to pull the duvet and the sheets back, but somehow Lloyd moved faster and held on to them tight. Sam stared at him.
'What are you doing, you idiot? We've got to leave. Don't you understand? He's not going to take you home, stupid. He's going to kill you!' Sam shouted into Lloyd's face. 'He's already tried to kill me! So don't be a—'
Lloyd's mouth moved, but Sam couldn't hear what Lloyd had tried to say because Sam couldn't stop shouting.
'We don't have time for this crap. Just get up. Get up!' he screamed, and yanked the covers back. Then he saw why Lloyd wouldn't get up.
Lloyd drew his knees close to his chest, and Sam looked away. He looked round the room and spotted Lloyd's trousers. He brought them back to his friend and placed them on the bed beside him. Then he turned his back.
'Can't find your p—. You know, your other stuff, but it doesn't matter. We're going home, Lloyd. Just as soon as we get out of here.'
Sam heard Lloyd shuffling across the bed and the bedsprings springing back as Lloyd stood up. Sam turned back towards his friend, and said, 'Shit, shoes!' when he saw Lloyd's socked feet. He hunted around the floor and found them tucked under a chair. He helped Lloyd into them and then saw the precious collection of knives on the floor. He pulled his rucksack out from under the bed and chucked them into it. Everything was so much harder with only one hand. His left hand was still wrapped inside the bloody tea towel, which was soaked through. Sam looked round for something else, but couldn't see anything apart from the pillowcases. He tried to get one off, but he couldn't do it without two hands.
'Damn!' he cursed. Sam glanced at Lloyd and knew he couldn't ask him to help.
He gave up the struggle with the pillowcase, and muttered, 'Right, let's go.'
Lloyd didn't say anything but he shambled out after Sam. In the sitting room, Sam spotted Lloyd's coat sticking out of his rucksack and snagged it on the way out. Sam couldn't carry two rucksacks, but Lloyd might need the coat later.
'We have to go a bit faster, Lloyd,' Sam said, stepping up the pace.
The need to get out of the house was overwhelming. The only way out of the house was through the front door. Every other door was bound to be locked, and there was no time to go round checking them now. The front door definitely wouldn't be locked because the man wasn't expecting anyone to go out of it. Sam grabbed Lloyd's sleeve and dragged him along faster. They went flying down the stairs and through the dark corridors. Sam didn't need much light now; he knew his way around this house. Lloyd tripped and stumbled behind him, but kept going as long as Sam led.
They got to the front door. It was shut, which was no surprise as Sam had heard the man slam it on his way out. He opened it a crack and it groaned noisily. Sam winced but opened it some more. The car wasn't back yet. The man was still out hunting.
He took hold of Lloyd's arm again and led him out, remembering to close the door behind them. Then he stopped. His breath formed little clouds of smoke. It had got much colder since he'd been out last. He helped Lloyd into his coat, and then put his own on. He hesitated before hoisting his rucksack onto his back again. It was extra weight. But he decided he didn't want to leave it in the house.
The outside lights were still on, casting long shadows on the lawn, which stretched out towards the trees. He hadn't thought about this bit. He didn't have a plan. He had been so intent on getting Lloyd out of the house that he hadn't thought about what to do next. Where should he take them? Where was it safe? Nowhere was safe, but some places were safer than others.
The woods were good only as long as it was dark. Come daylight the man would scour them easily. They'd have to keep moving, be ahead of him all the time, and in the end he'd see them. The gate. That was the answer. When the man came back and opened the gates, they'd wait until he was through and then dive out of them quickly. He'd only see them if he was looking in his rearview mirror or his side mirror, and what was the chance of that? But what if he did see them? Then they'd be lost. It wouldn't take the man more than a few seconds to turn his car round and head out after them. From what Sam could remember the hedgerows grew really close on either side of the track, which meant they might not be able to find a way through them. There was no way they could outrun a car, not with Lloyd barely able to walk without help, and not with Sam's dodgy ankle. They would be trapped. But they might find a gap in the hedge and be able to squeeze through it and hide. He'd never find them then. But if they didn't find a gap, he would run them over.
Sam looked at the driveway leading down to the gate, stuck in indecision. Then a thought struck him. Where were the garages and sheds and stuff like that? They weren't part of the house so they had to be somewhere in the grounds. The only section that Sam hadn't been through was the bit between the back of the house, from his bathroom window, going left towards the gate. They had to be down there somewhere. He'd take Lloyd there and they could hide out in a garage or a shed and the man would never find them. He wouldn't think of it. He'd search the house from top to bottom before he'd think of going down to the sheds.
Sam
stepped out onto the gravel. 'Come on, Lloyd. We're going to find a safe place to hide.'
13
Sam followed the gravel driveway around the side of the house to the back. A bit further on there was a large building, and as they got closer to it, Sam saw that it was a set of linked garages, their shiny silver doors luminous like sheets of ice. Above the garages was a bank of dark windows. Servants' quarters maybe, or the driver's rooms. Sam quickly decided that they couldn't hide there. For a start, it was still way too close to the house, and once they were inside the rooms, they might not be able to get out. They would be trapped. On the other hand, the man might not even think of looking for them there.
Now Sam couldn't decide. Everything had its pros and cons, but this was not just any decision, this was the most important decision of Sam's life. He had to get it right, didn't he? Their lives depended on it.
The soft purr of a car engine reached Sam's ears as the rain came down. The man was back already. Behind him, Lloyd had begun to whimper. Sam didn't know what to do next, but he knew one thing – if they didn't move away from the garages fast, they might get spotted, especially if the man decided to park the car round the back. He pulled Lloyd along, towards the garages at first, until he saw the path. It ran alongside the building and Sam followed it round to the back and stayed on it as it led them away from the building towards the trees. They were a good distance away from the house now and the darkness was much thicker, but Sam was glad of it. The darkness made him feel a bit safer. He just wished he had a torch. He should have looked for one in the kitchen. Everyone kept a torch in the kitchen. Too late to go back for one now.
He kept to the path, following it into the trees where it narrowed and became a grassy track. The trees sheltered them from the steady drizzle, Sam couldn't hear the car engine any more, and Lloyd had stopped whimpering. The only sound was their breathing and the rustling of leaves as the rain pitter-pattered on them. Sam kept hold of Lloyd's sleeve – he had to because when he let go Lloyd stopped and didn't move. He just stood there and waited for Sam to come back for him.
The Long Weekend Page 8
