* * * * *
In his younger years (well, he still wasn’t very old), David Powell had been quite the cricketer. While bowling was his preferred position, he’d also been a dab hand at batting.
Lewis encouraged him to play to his strengths as they attempted their escape, having outlined a rough plan earlier in the day; he now reminded the priest of this plan in hushed tones as the bolt scraped in the door.
The sergeant had broken a slat from one of the old crates for him. Holding the board like a cricket bat, David fell in behind his friend to one side of the door.
Inhale. Exhale.
David concentrated on the rhythm of his breathing – as Lew had whispered encouragingly to do – the drumming of his pulse loud in his head.
Inhale.
The door grated open a crack, and a wash of lamplight flooded in.
Exhale.
And then his friend charged forward. As if caught in his wake, David followed after.
The priest couldn’t tell whether their captors had expected them to burst from their prison; he didn’t have time to think about it. Instead, he busied himself with his bat.
There were easily as many men present now as there’d been before in the alley and, as before, the majority turned their attention on the sergeant. Which still left a few to try to pounce on David, but these he fended off with the crate slat.
All the while, Lew pressed forward, trying to break away down the corridor (what was this place? David found himself wondering, the bricked, catacomb-like hallway not at all what he’d expected). The noise of the fight rebounded in the closeness, grunts and shouts of effort and pain compounding in a furious cacophony. Though the melee was teeming chaos at its best, the navy-blue of Lewis’s uniform was easy to pick out since the others had doffed their costumes, and the priest kept close behind him.
Lew’s ferocity and David’s bat worked.
They broke away and began running, pelting down the passage away from the men they left hobbling and shouting and cursing behind them.
That was…easy, the priest thought fleetingly, glad their path was lighted by intermittent lamps fixed to the walls.
Though they didn’t really know which way was out – there were so many turns branching off, and David had not been able to keep track of the route on the way in – the two of them had settled upon a plan for this as well. If possible, they would hide themselves away somewhere in what was turning out to be a labyrinthine series of tunnels and wait for the tumult their escape created to die down. Then they would make their way out. Hopefully.
The sounds of their would-be captors hadn’t yet died away when Lewis dodged down a dark side passage abruptly, David following. The sergeant continued for several paces until he’d nearly disappeared into the shadows.
“You alright?” he murmured, panting.
Breathing as hard as he was, David could only nod, trusting his friend could see the movement despite the darkness.
“That was much too easy,” Lew muttered to himself, and then to David: “Did you notice they didn’t draw weapons to defend themselves?”
The priest didn’t want to think about it, but he’d noticed the same thing. Knives had stayed in belts, and only fists and grasping hands had been turned in their direction.
“Though I still don’t think they mean to let us go, perhaps they have other designs for us besides a quick death.”
While David didn’t understand his friend’s allusion, the man’s grimness made him think the unspoken alternatives weren’t happy ones.
The sergeant stilled suddenly, an arm stretched across David’s chest pressing him against the wall. In the next breath, the priest heard the sound of running feet and curt voices coming toward their hall from both directions along the corridor they’d just departed.
Before their pursuers drew abreast of their hiding place, the sergeant tugged the priest deeper into the gloom. The dark passage offered footing more uneven than the well-lit main corridor, but they managed to move at a fairly brisk, quiet pace away from their captors.
For perhaps five minutes or so, David thought they might actually get free and clear. Then their hallway took a right turn, and then another right…turning them back toward the main passage and their kidnappers and captivity.
And within a few minutes of this discovery, their captors found them. Lewis refused to meet them in the narrower, darker confines of the side passage, so he took the fight out to the well-lit central hall again.
David could hardly think as he renewed the mockery of his favorite sport.
The sergeant fought like a berserker, but it wouldn’t be enough. Couldn’t be enough. There were too many of them. Far too many. And David was…himself. Far too weak, too incapable, to be of any help.
His crate slat was torn from his fingers. His feet were swept out from beneath him, and the weight of at least two others crushed him down to the floor.
His thoughts amok, David could but watch, numbly, as his friend continued to fight.
At least six thugs were straining to bring Lewis Todd to the floor; time and again, though, the sergeant twisted and heaved and rallied, his fists and feet (even knees and elbows) weapons enough. The men ringing about him pulsed away, staggering, and then swarmed in again.
Once; twice; three times.
A few blokes with cracked heads or bones staggered away for good, but they were replaced and the battle continued.
Then the blond chap entered the fray and the tide turned. He moved like no one David had ever seen before – not even his best mate – and the other thugs pressed back to allow the two some space.
The priest would hardly have been more surprised if they’d started placing wagers on the fight’s outcome.
Lewis was already battered and winded; after a few exchanges with the blond fellow, he was bleeding and limping as well as. He and his opponent circled each other.
None of the other kidnappers interfered.
Dear God. They do find it entertaining.
A few more punches and blocks, kicks and blocks, and Lew stumbled back with a hand pressed to his side. The other fellow sported a bloody nose, but seemed fine otherwise, or did until David’s friend sent a blurred fist at the blonde’s face and split the skin over his cheekbone. It dazed the fellow and Lew pressed his advantage.
For a moment, David dared hope – though he didn’t know what beating the blonde would gain them, surrounded as they were by the other heavies….
The fair-haired chap was fresher than the policeman, however, and the latter was slowing down.
If only…
Then it was over.
Lew’s opponent rallied and launched himself forward with a frightening series of blows, many of which found their target.
David’s best mate slammed backward against a wall and then toppled to the floor. No one bothered to hold him down as they were the priest.
The blonde grunted as some of the others whistled and crowed appreciatively.
“Shut hit, you lot.” Wiping sweat and blood from his face, the leader glared at his crew. “Shouldn’t ‘ave come to this. Lock these two up wif the other, like you were supposed to, an’ let’s call hit a night.”
Convicted Innocent Page 7
