Out of Control

by Sarah Alderson

  We stand there, facing them, and for a moment that feels as long as eternity no one moves. A train comes rumbling through the station and the sound of it jars my bones, or maybe I’m just shaking from nerves, I can’t tell.

  I keep my eyes fixed on the man holding Marisa and listen as the train’s doors hiss open. People flood past heading to the stairs, oblivious to us standing like statues in the midst of them.

  The man holding Marisa gestures with his head towards the train.

  Jay and I step sideways towards the nearest door and climb on board.

  A half second before the doors bang shut the three of them step on board too, Marisa still sandwiched between them, her shoulders hunched. Half a carriage separates us from them.

  It’s crowded, all the seats taken, and about half a dozen people are standing in the gangway between the seats, holding on to the overhead rails and swaying hard as the train jolts and screams into a tunnel.

  Down the far end of the carriage a man bangs a homemade drum. The metallic sound reverberates inside my skull. My pulse keeps time. My hands are sweating so much I have to wipe them on my dress. Jay’s grip on me is so tight it hurts, but it’s the only thing holding me to any kind of reality.

  What are we supposed to do now? Aren’t they supposed to let Marisa go? I fight the urge to turn to Jay. He’s pressed against me and I can feel the steel-hard flat of his stomach and that’s enough to steady me.

  The one who isn’t Bezrukov is holding Marisa by the top of the arm and suddenly he motions to me with a rough jerk of his head. He wants me to walk towards them. I glance at Jay. His fingers don’t loosen on my arm and I have to tug myself free. I do it without looking at him. I can’t look at him. I just move forwards, pushing past the people holding on to the overhead rails, until I’m standing a foot in front of Marisa. She stares at me with huge eyes, brimming with tears. I smile weakly at her, trying to convey to her that everything is going to be OK, but she doesn’t smile back. She lets out another small whimper and I glance up.

  Behind her Bezrukov stands watching me and, once he has my full attention, he drops his gaze deliberately and lets his eyes travel up my body in a way that chills me to the core. A smile eases across his face and I have to fight the urge to run back to Jay.

  The train starts to brake as we enter another subway station and I lurch forwards, grabbing hold of the metal pole closest to me. The doors open and a dozen people get off, none of them even trading a backwards glance at us. I watch Bezrukov. What are they planning on doing? Are we going to ride this train until the end of the line?

  The second man, the one with the brown hair and mushy lump of a nose, takes hold of Marisa and walks with her to the door. He shoves her on to the platform and she stumbles to a stop, shaking violently. She stands there with her back to us, not moving, her head bowed as though awaiting execution. Then the doors slam shut and I let out a sigh of relief. She’s OK. She’s free. As we pull out of the station I see her through the window turning slowly around, still cowering, as though she expects the guy with the gun to still be there and then, when she realises she is alone, she clutches a hand to her chest and then we hit a tunnel and in the blink of an eye she’s out of sight.

  42

  I turn back to the man with the dead blue eyes. Bezrukov. He smiles at me, showing nicotine-stained teeth. Fear infuses every cell in my body.

  The other guy rejoins us and motions to Bezrukov. I turn. Jay is still standing in the exact same spot. He hasn’t moved an inch. They expected him to get off the train with Marisa. Now they’re wondering what he’s doing. As am I.

  With a jerk of his chin Bezrukov tells me to move. I do. I turn so that I’m standing beside him, slightly in front, and he presses the muzzle of his gun into the soft flesh above my hip. I close my eyes as a tremor rides up my spine. Bezrukov’s hand grabs my other hip, drawing me closer, and the muzzle of the gun imprints against bone. It’s a threat. Don’t draw attention to myself. Don’t do anything that will get me or anyone else on this train killed. My eyes dart down the length of the train. Most people got off at the last stop; there are maybe twenty people still on board, all studiously ignoring one another. A few are leaning back against the scratched-up windows, sleeping; others are nodding their heads in time to music playing through headphones. The guy with the drum hasn’t let up. He still pounds out an angry rhythm that seems to escalate right along with my heartbeat.

  My attention skips back to Jay. He’s taken a half-step forwards, his eyes fixed on my hip, his face stricken. I will him not to take another step. He doesn’t. We stare at each other for an endless beat before the lights overhead flicker and go out, plunging us into darkness as we hurtle down what feels like another endless tunnel.

  At the next stop Bezrukov exchanges a few words in Russian with his partner. I understand. They’re saying something about a car that’s waiting for them. For us. They nudge me off the train. My body resists, all my muscles turning to stone.

  I turn my head to watch Jay as they drag me from the train. He doesn’t move. He’s not going to get off. A part of me wants to cry with relief but another part, a bigger part, wants to scream his name and yearns for him to follow me, feels betrayed that he’s stayed put.

  Bezrukov’s hand is planted on my shoulder, the gun digs into my side. They pull me along the platform. I try to look back, to snatch one last glance at Jay, but the train’s pulling away and I’m being forced towards the stairs.

  Panic rears up like a wild animal inside me. I start to struggle despite the gun, casting around for help, but there’s no one in sight. I’m not going with them. I’m not getting in that car. I remember my dad’s warnings when I was barely bigger than a toddler, to never ever get into a car with an abductor. It’s game over from that point but, before, you still have a chance. I dig my heels in and, when Bezrukov turns snarling towards me trying to make me move, I rake my nails down his cheek and then curl my fingers and shove them into his eye socket.

  He howls and from out of nowhere a fist smashes into my temple, nearly knocking me to the ground. The world explodes, lights sparking bright at the edges of my vision. I’m caught and hauled upright, my ears ringing so loudly that I don’t hear it at first. But then it comes again. A shout.

  ‘Let her go.’

  Bezrukov, with beads of blood bubbling on his cheek from where my nails tore his skin, hauls me around and I see him, standing at the far end of the platform.

  ‘Jay,’ I whisper, his name a sob.

  He’s standing next to a metal pillar, half shielded. He has the gun in his hand and it’s cocked and aimed at Bezrukov’s head. I feel a dizzying spike of elation that he hasn’t abandoned me, followed by a bone-numbing dread.

  ‘Put the gun down,’ Bezrukov answers in a thickly-accented voice. He brings his own gun up and levels it at my head, pushing it against my ear. I let out a whimper and bite my tongue. ‘Fire that gun and we kill her,’ he says. ‘Then you.’

  Jay shakes his head, refusing to take his eyes off Bezrukov. ‘You need her. You’re not about to shoot her,’ he answers.

  Bezrukov sighs and mutters something under his breath.

  ‘You realise who you have there, don’t you?’ Jay shouts.

  Bezrukov shoots a look at the other guy who snickers, mutters something in Russian, then brings up his gun ready to fire at Jay. ‘Yes, we realise,’ he says. ‘Daniel Harvey’s daughter.’

  ‘No,’ Jay says. ‘You got Rambo, actually,’ and his eyes fly to mine.

  I understand exactly what he means to do. And more importantly what he means for me to do. I nod, so slightly it’s not even a nod. And then I throw myself sideways as Jay fires the gun. I hear the crack and at the same time I ram my clasped hands upwards as hard as I can into Bezrukov’s crotch.

  I stumble to my feet as Bezrukov doubles over, screaming. The other guy is firing at Jay, who has ducked behind the pillar. ‘Run!’ Jay shouts.

  I stand there for a second, unable to move. I can’t
just leave him. But then I see that the only way I can draw their fire away from him, the only way I can save him, is if I do what he’s saying. So I turn and I run.

  I make it ten metres and then I’m hit by what feels like a freight train and go flying. My left arm and shoulder smash into a pillar and I fall to the ground, so close to the track I can hear the rail buzzing like a hornet’s nest. A hand closes around my ankle and I kick out, making contact with something hard and hearing a bellow of surprise and pain. The grip on my ankle loosens and I stagger once more to my feet. Bezrukov is on his knees lunging towards me, blood gushing from his nose. I dart out of his way.

  Behind him I see the other guy stalking towards Jay, firing off round after round. Jay is trying to shelter behind the narrow strip of a pillar as bullets ping and zing around him. He ducks at one point and fires his own gun, but the bullet goes wide. And then the guy is on him, his gun held at point-blank range.

  The space explodes suddenly with thunderous noise. A train is hurtling towards us. I start to run towards Jay, but Bezrukov blocks my way. I try to dart past him but he darts in front of me, a smile on his face.

  ‘Jay!’ I scream.

  The guy looks my way, distracted, and in that split second Jay lowers his head and rams him in the chest, and they both go flying to the ground. The other guy is heavier though. He rolls, grappling Jay in a body hug, and they struggle until Jay’s just an inch from the platform edge.

  A bullet suddenly roars over the thunder, shattering off the tiled walls. My heart slams to a halt as Jay’s body goes suddenly limp and then the other guy collapses and rolls off him. I let out a guttural sob that is drowned by the noise of the train. I’m aware that Bezrukov has turned and is grinning at me, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Jay’s limp body.

  He’s dead. He’s dead. Jay’s dead. I can’t compute. My knees give way and I collapse on to the platform, a dead weight myself. The thundering roar of the train fills my head, every cell in my body vibrates with it, and as Bezrukov looms in front of me, his hand reaching for me, I stare at the cold hunk of metal in his hand and I want to die too. I just want this nightmare to finally end. I’ve had enough. I don’t look at Bezrukov as his fingers grip my arm to pull me to my feet and I don’t struggle either as he drags me towards the stairs. I look back over my shoulder, keeping my eyes on Jay as the tears start to fall thick and hot and fast.

  But then he moves. I blink. Jay’s leg twitches again. He rolls on to his side and staggers to his feet and I draw in a breath that diffuses the pain in my chest. He’s alive! The gun dangles from his hand and he stares over at the guy on the ground, who isn’t moving because, now I realise, Jay must have shot him.

  Bezrukov wheels around, spots Jay and lets out a curse in Russian. He lets me go and swings his gun in Jay’s direction. I throw all my weight against him and the bullet goes wide. Jay dives behind a pillar as Bezrukov elbows me aside and fires again. The bullet ricochets off the subway wall with a loud crack that’s drowned by the sound of the train finally roaring into the station and coming to a screeching halt.

  It spits out a handful of passengers, including a woman who screams at the sight of the body lying on the platform leaking blood. More people join in and a crowd starts to form. Bezrukov lunges for me, fury on his face. I throw one last glance back down the platform before I turn and run, not up the stairs, which I can’t reach, but towards the end of the platform, towards the tunnel entrance.

  43

  There’s a metal barrier at the end of the platform. I hurdle it, smacking my knee hard, but feeling it only as a dull thud. I jump down on to the tracks and start running. Behind me I hear a blast of gunshots. One. Two. Three bullets. I count them, each one feeling like it’s slamming into my own body. They’re followed by screams. Is it Jay firing? Or is he the one being shot at? Did he get hit? Oh God. Oh God. I stumble on a brick, catch myself and keep running, tripping over planks of wood and metal rails. It’s pitch-black other than for a few lights glimmering in the distance – the next subway station along the track.

  Behind me I hear footsteps gaining fast. I stifle the sob as I pitch forward over another brick and almost fall. My breathing is loud and rasping in my ears, sticking in my chest.

  There’s a track to my left and another about fifty metres over. I catch glimpses of it through brick archways, the metal gleaming like phosphorescence.

  The air is hot, hellish, foul. I can’t get enough of it.

  As I run I glance backwards. A dark silhouette is briefly lit up by the firework sparks bursting off a rail. I move faster. To my right a side tunnel opens up, just wide enough for a man to pass through. The entrance is almost unnoticeable. I dive down it.

  It’s dark as a grave inside and fetid damp. My feet are instantly buried in dirt and inches of rubbish. I rest my hand against the bricks. They’re coated in something mosslike. Something scurries beside me in the coal-black dark.

  I slide down against the wall and try to make myself small. Hopefully Bezrukov will run right past me. Footsteps echo down the tunnel, coming closer. It’s hard to tell how far away they are because the sound bounces off the tunnel walls and the constant rumble of trains above and below is disorientating.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and start praying silently. I haven’t prayed in years but I pray now. I pray to God that Jay is OK. I make silent bargains that I will do anything, be anything, take any amount more of suffering if only Jay is OK. Surely someone has called the police already? Where are they?

  The footsteps slow, then stop. I wait, holding my breath. Whatever it is that’s scampering in the tunnel starts snuffling at my foot and my stomach rolls over as I feel its tiny claws and whiskers brush my skin. I swallow a scream. How long have I been here? A train goes suddenly rushing past, shaking the ground underfoot. The rat lets out a squeak and goes scuttling into the furthest, darkest recesses of the tunnel. I peer after it. Should I head down there after it?

  I don’t get to choose.

  Bezrukov stands in the tunnel entrance. Blood coats his face like a Halloween mask. He sees me crouching down in the dirt and something flickers behind his eyes. I know instinctively that it’s pleasure at seeing me cowering there.

  I rise to my feet, not willing to give him any kind of pleasure whatsoever. He smiles at me, that thin-lipped, eerie smile that turns my blood to ice. I feint forwards and then dart backwards, following the rat into the darkest depths of the tunnel. But Bezrukov is quicker. One hand closes around my waist, the other hand grabs for my ponytail and he drags me, kicking and screaming out of the tunnel.

  My nails scrape the walls as I fight him. I kick and scream and twist and heave but I’ve got no hope. He’s so much stronger than me. In a panic, I lower my chin and sink my teeth into the soft flesh of his hand.

  He lets out a roar and smashes me in the temple with his fist. Stars ricochet off my skull, pierce my eyeballs. I stagger against him, vomit filling my mouth. Then I’m slammed against the wall and suddenly I can’t breathe. His fingers are clamped around my throat. I start choking. Blood pounds in my head. My hands flap ineffectually against him. He just keeps smiling.

  Then he raises the gun and presses it to my forehead.

  I stare him straight in the eye. I’m not going to die showing him I’m afraid. I’m not going to give him that.

  The world starts to blur at the edges, the tunnel shrinking around us. I can hear my heart panicking for lack of oxygen. Pain wracks my body. But then his hand loosens and I’m suddenly sucking in air – hot rank air, but it’s air, and I fill my lungs as the tunnel stretches wide again and the thundering of the trains overcomes the roar in my head.

  ‘No,’ he says to me. ‘Why waste such a pretty face? You’re worth more to me breathing.’

  He takes my wrist and starts pulling me away. I fight, my screams swallowed by the noise of a passing train. Sparks from the rail fly up, bursting like a Catherine wheel around Bezrukov’s head. He waits for the last carriage to pass and then he starts
dragging me across the track, away from the tunnel, further into darkness.

  ‘Drop the gun.’

  Bezrukov freezes. I draw in a breath.

  ‘I said drop the gun,’ Jay repeats.

  He’s standing behind Bezrukov, merging with the shadow, but I can see he’s holding something against Bezrukov’s neck.

  After a few seconds Bezrukov releases me. Jay pokes him harder and he stumbles forward and his gun clatters to the ground. I pick it up. My hands are shaking like I’ve lost control of my muscles.

  ‘Now start walking,’ Jay barks at Bezrukov, prodding him down the tracks the way we just came. I glance over at Jay. His left arm is bleeding, hanging uselessly at his side. He’s been shot. But he’s still alive. I want to burst into tears but I don’t. I clutch Jay’s hand and keep the gun trained on Bezrukov the whole way.

  44

  ‘So let me get this straight?’ Agent Kassel says. ‘You shot the first guy and then you apprehended the second one, Bezrukov, with a doorstopper?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jay nods, wincing as the paramedic presses a gauze bandage to his arm. ‘I ran out of bullets. And I grabbed the first thing I could find from the bag.’

  He glances over at me. I’m sitting on the bottom step of the platform watching everything going on around me. Someone placed a blanket over my shoulders at one point. I’m covered in blood. Jay’s blood.

  The paramedic crew checked me over and gave me the all-clear for physical injuries. I am covered in bruises, including a fresh one on my temple from where Bezrukov punched me, and my knee is black from where I hit the barrier, but I hardly notice it. A paramedic hovers close by. I think they’re worried that I’m about to keel over from the effects of shock. But I refuse to move until Jay can come with me. I can’t take my eyes off him. They cut his T-shirt off to treat his arm. The paramedics wanted to take both of us straight to the ER, but the FBI wanted us to walk through everything that happened step by step and insisted they treat us here.