by Jack Fiske
The fat man, who he’d seen in the farmyard, lay crumpled like a rag doll in the corner of the kitchen, half buried under rubble and the remains of the kitchen table. Through the living room door, Clarke stared at him in disbelief. Jim wrenched the gun from his jacket, ripping the lining even more and shot him twice in the chest through the broken windscreen.
Although his heart was pounding and adrenalin pumped through his system, Jim had to remain focused on what needed to be done. The driver’s door was wedged shut, so after freeing the seatbelt, he kicked out the windscreen and climbed over the bonnet. The front of the car had concertinaed to half its normal length, absorbing most of the impact and the bonnet buckled under his weight as he climbed across it.
The kitchen was a mess. Half the back wall had been demolished, along with one corner of the bathroom. What remained of the bathroom sink was wedged beneath the Toyota’s front wheels and water from a severed pipe sprayed across the floor to mix with the oil and coolant that was dripping from the car’s engine.
Ignoring the hole that led to Susan and Millie, Jim climbed over the rubble and half fell through the door to the living room. Clarke lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling with lifeless eyes, one arm flung outwards towards the door as if pointing the way. A pool of blood grew beneath him, slowly soaking into the threadbare carpet.
Jim stepped over the body and rushed to secure the front door. Luck was with him. The key was still in the lock and he turned it, then threw home the bolt that was directly beneath it. On the way back, he glanced through the living room window. The door to the farmhouse was still shut. Surely they must have heard the crash? He didn’t wait to find out. Stepping over Clarke’s body, he picked his way over the kitchen rubble, collected the wrench from the car and then ducked through the hole that led to the bathroom and the bedroom beyond.
Susan and Millie knelt on the bed hugging each other tightly. Jim rushed over and flung his arms around them, an enormous sense of relief coming over him as he saw they were unharmed.
“Jim . . . !” Susan wailed, suddenly losing all self control and breaking down in tears. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed, clinging to him as if she would never let go.
All Jim wanted to do was stand there and hold them, but he couldn’t. He prised one arm loose and tried to free himself from her grip.
“Listen,” he said urgently, catching Susan by the shoulders and making her look at him.
“Listen to me! Listen! We haven’t got time. You need to help.”
She nodded and let go. Jim picked up the chain and followed it to its anchor point on the wall.
“Millie. Go to the bathroom and get me a brick.”
Producing the wheel wrench, Jim began to attack the wall. One end had a flat, screwdriver shaped blade for removing the car’s hubcaps and Jim hacked at the wall with it, tearing lumps of plaster away to expose the brickwork below.
Millie reappeared at his side.
“Here Daddy,” she said, as if it had been a perfectly normal request.
Jim inserted the blade of the wrench between the chain’s mounting plate and the wall. Then, taking hold of the brick, he used it as a hammer, driving the wrench into the gap where the plaster had been.
The metal bent slowly as he prised it away from the wall but refused to give way.
Outside, a door slammed and they heard voices and footsteps rushing across the yard. A moment later the front door rattled as someone tried to come in.
“Off! Get off!” Jim demanded, taking Susan’s arm and pulling her off the bed.
The wrench was still wedged firmly between the mounting plate and the wall. Jim heaved the bed onto its side, slid one of its metal legs behind the wrench and threw his weight against it. The extra leverage made all the difference. There was a sudden crack and the ring came away, leaving a hole the size of a tennis ball in the wall behind it.
Outside, someone was hammering on the front door and they heard a heavy thud as at least two people threw their weight against it.
“Go!” Jim ordered. “Into the bathroom!”
He gathered up the loose chain and thrust it at Susan. For a moment he thought she couldn’t manage. She was sobbing. More quietly now – half in relief and half in fear, but she managed to keep hold of the chain and stumble awkwardly towards the back of the building.
In the bathroom Jim pushed Susan and Millie ahead of him towards the hole in the wall where the sink had once been.
“Come on. Get out. Quick as you can.”
As he said it, there was a sharp crack from the living room and then the sound of the window disintegrating as something solid was heaved through it. With revolver in hand, Jim stepped over to the door, put his arm round and fired twice. One bullet buried itself harmlessly in the far wall, but the second found the TV monitor, destroying it with a bang as the tube exploded in a shower of broken glass. That should hold them for a moment, he thought, as he hurried after Susan, crouching down to pass through the hole in the back wall. On the other side, he caught hold of Millie’s hand.
“This way,” he said, pulling Millie with him towards the track. Susan had managed to pull herself together and she followed behind, running awkwardly with the chain held in front of her, so that she didn’t trip over it.
At the end of the building, all three stopped whilst Jim looked round the corner. To his relief there was no sign of anyone coming from the front, but as he turned back, Millie grabbed his arm.
“Daddy, look!”
He turned to follow her outstretched arm. At the end of the gravel track an articulated lorry had just turned in off the road and was bumping its way slowly towards them. Jim pushed Millie ahead of him and urged Susan on.
“Go! Into the woods!” he ordered. There was just time for them to get across.
There was still no sign of anyone coming round the front, but when he looked back, a head appeared in the hole beside the wrecked Toyota. He fired once in their direction and the head disappeared quickly as a bullet punched a neat hole in the car beside them.
With the lorry no more than thirty yards away, Jim ran after Susan and vaulted the barbed wire, one hand on top of a fence post for support. As he did so, two shots rang out from the building behind them, one kicking up a puff of dust no more than ten feet away.
Inside the wood it was like dusk. The closely planted conifers shut out most of the light from the sun, which was now low in the sky and casting long shadows through the trees.
Jim hurried deeper into the gloom and found Susan and Millie waiting twenty yards in. Jim held them both for a moment, not saying a word and then pulled away, anxious to put some distance between them and the farm.
“Come on. It’s not over yet.”
He reached into a pocket for more shells and reloaded the revolver. Behind them the lorry had stopped on the track, its engine idling. One of its doors slammed and they could hear muffled shouting between it and the annexe.
“Wait here,” Jim said and turned back, retracing his steps until he could see shafts of sunlight penetrating at the edge of the trees. Kneeling down, he braced himself and fired four times, aiming for the gaps. One shot smacked harmlessly into a tree trunk before it reached the track, but he heard at least one of the others ricochet off the farm buildings before he turned and hurried back to join Susan and Millie once more.
Back at the farm, everyone had converged on the annexe. Quinn had been first in through the window and reached the hole in the back wall just in time to see Jim turn from the corner of the building and fire, the bullet slamming into the car beside him. That held him for a moment, but his automatic was already in his hand and he squeezed off a couple of shots in reply, although at this distance there was little hope of finding the target.
Quinn picked his way over the brickwork to the grass, closely followed by Bryant and the two men ran for the woods in pursuit. John’O jumped down from the near side of the lorry, slamming the door behind him.
Before they had gone twenty yards, a
bullet whistled past Quinn and another ricocheted off the building ahead of them, bringing them both to a sudden halt.
“Back!” Quinn shouted. “We’re sitting ducks out here.”
Bryant didn’t need telling twice. He turned on his heel and the two sprinted back to the annexe and ducked back through the hole in the wall.
Inside, Walker had taken charge and was on the phone to Kenny in the van.
“I don’t care what you bloody think. Put your foot down and get that thing up here now.”
He switched the phone off and turned to Quinn as they heard the diesel engine revving on the track as Kenny drove at speed past the spot where Jim’s bullets had left the trees.
“Get the guns,” Walker barked at Bryant. “All of them.”
Behind him Dunn was heaving the unconscious form of Spencer through the doorway into the other room.
“Well?” Walker demanded, looking at Dunn.
“He’s alive,” Dunn replied. “Looks like he’s got a broken leg and a broken arm. Probably a couple of ribs as well. We need to get him to hospital.”
Walker scowled.
“You know that’s not an option. Put him on the bed in the other room.” He looked down at Clarke where he lay on the floor, staring lifelessly at the ceiling.
“And cover him up as well.”
Walker turned to Quinn. “How many?”
“Just one,” Quinn replied. “Looked like the husband. They won’t get far. Not with the kid in tow.”
Walker opened his mouth to say something and then stopped. Quinn could see the blank look in his eyes as he ran through his options and dismissed them one by one.
“We’re in the shit aren’t we?” Quinn said, stepping in front of him. “We need to get out of here.”
It took Walker a moment or two to answer. A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth and Quinn could see the anger in his eyes.
“You’re right. But if you think I’m leaving three witnesses behind, you’ve got another thing coming. Especially when they’ve done that!” He nodded in the direction of Clarke.
The diesel engine in the farmyard died with a final clatter and a moment later Kenny and John’O burst into the room.
“Christ!” John’O said, staring at the carnage in the small room and the body on the floor.
The door banged behind them and Bryant reappeared carrying two rifles, a shotgun and a pistol. Kenny started to say something, but Walker put a hand up to stop him.
“No time for explanations, just listen.”
Taking a rifle from Bryant, he thrust it at Quinn. “Here, take this.”
“Ronnie!” he shouted through to the other room. “Get in here!”
Walker took the shotgun and the pistol, leaving Bryant with the other rifle. Keeping the shotgun for himself, he handed the pistol to John’O.
“O.k. This is what we do. Liam, John’O, me and Tony are going into the woods. Ronnie, I want you and Kenny to clean up here. Get the Volvo onto the back of the truck and get it out of here.” He moved Clarke’s outstretched arm roughly with his foot. “Get rid of him as well. Roll him up in the carpet or something and chuck him in the boot.”
“What about this?” Kenny asked, waving an arm in the direction of the Toyota that was halfway across the kitchen floor.
“Just leave it,” Walker replied. “The only other thing is Spencer. Put him in the back of my car. Ronnie, you drive the car and Kenny can drive the truck. Phone me once you’re clear of the farm.”
No one moved.
“Come on. Get a bloody move on!” Walker pushed Bryant and John’O physically in the direction of the door.
“Do you want them to get away or what?”
After twenty minutes in the trees, Jim, Susan and Millie had only managed six hundred yards. They’d moved slowly and deliberately, trying not to leave any sign behind them and they now stood at the edge of the conifer plantation. Jim had the mobile phone in his hand, trying without success to get a signal.
“Bloody thing!” he cursed, jamming it back into his pocket. “We’ll need to keep moving and try somewhere else.”
He was reluctant to leave the cover of the conifer trees and move into the woodland beyond, but they could plainly hear a line of pursuit behind them, gradually working closer and once, there was a single shot, no more than two hundred yards behind them.
The light was fading, but not quickly enough. The sun was nearly on the horizon, but whilst the thickly planted conifers were in heavy shadow, the same couldn’t be said for the open woodland beyond.
“Come on,” Jim said, taking hold of Millie’s hand. “We need to keep moving. Can you run?”
Millie nodded and Jim glanced at Susan. She nodded also and they broke cover, running for the dirt track that could be seen through the trees in the distance. Halfway there, Millie suddenly hauled on Jim’s arm and the three of them skidded to a stop behind the trunk of a large oak.
“What?” Jim asked, keeping his voice down so that it didn’t carry.
“Look,” Millie whispered, pointing at a spot further down the track.
Through the trees, they could see a man standing on the track, a gun to his shoulder, tracking from left to right as he scanned the woods through its telescopic sights.
Half a mile away, Archie Long’s car hurled itself around the corner from the main road, leaving rubber behind, and screeched to a stop a few hundred yards further on, where a white Renault Espace was blocking the entrance to the farm.
The rear door was open and Charlie Trent sat half out of the vehicle with a radio in one hand and a pair of binoculars in the other. A pump action shotgun lay on the floor of the vehicle and a handgun rested on the seat beside him.
“Where are they?” Archie demanded, running to join him.
The radio crackled with a message that Archie missed and Trent thumbed the send button on the mike.
“Understood. Just get a bloody move on will you.”
“Fill me in,” Archie demanded, taking the binoculars from Trent.
“I’m pretty sure there’s no one up there,” Trent said. “The tracker unit says Turner’s in the middle of the woods and we reckon most of the gang are in there with him.”
“What about his wife and daughter?” Archie asked.
Trent shrugged. “Them as well probably.”
“Then why the hell aren’t you in there with them?”
Trent held up his hands in protest. “Hey. I don’t give the orders, I just follow them. O’Hara’s in there trying to help. I’ve to coordinate things from here and make sure no one leaves. The local police are on their way, there’s a police chopper due any minute and Ness and the others should have been here five minutes ago. As soon as someone else arrives, I’ll be in there.”
Archie put a hand on Trent’s shoulder.
“O.k. I’m sorry. Give me a radio.”
Trent leant into the car and produced a small hand unit, from a set of four. One was already missing, presumably with O’Hara.
“Which way?” Archie asked.
Trent reached for the computer screen, where Jim’s position was still marked and swung it round for Archie to see.
“Down the road about half a mile and turn left. There’s a track into the trees.”
“Thanks.”
Archie hurried back to the car, reversed to get around the Renault and then put his foot down. It didn’t take long to get to the dirt track that led into the woods and he turned left, dropping to a much slower pace as the car bounced alarmingly over the rutted ground. Two hundred yards into the wood, the car would go no further. A four wheel drive might make it, but his was bottoming as its wheels dropped into the deep ruts. In the distance two shots rang out. Archie leapt out of the car, leaving the door swinging on its hinges and sprinted down the track in what he hoped was the right direction.
Jim, Susan and Millie huddled behind the oak, listening to the sounds of pursuit as the kidnappers searched in line through the conifer trees behind them.<
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“We can’t stop,” Jim said more calmly than he felt, as he peered around the tree.
The man on the track was still turning slowly. His point of aim had passed them and the rifle was swinging away in the other direction. Jim waited a moment more and then turned to Susan and Millie.
“Come on. Try to avoid any open spaces.”
Jim led the way, running half crouched, holding Millie’s hand. His wife and daughter followed his example, keeping low and heading from tree to tree.
They had gone fifty yards, making for a rise in the ground, when a fist sized chunk of wood flew off a tree trunk beside them. The sharp crack of a rifle shot followed, then another, then the voice of the gunman shouting in the distance.
“Here! Over here! Get a bloody move on!”
Other voices answered.
“Where?”
“Over here!”
Jim risked a glance around the tree that they’d put between them. Three other men were converging on the track from the conifers. The gunman let the rifle fall from his shoulder as he pointed in their direction. Jim took the opportunity to get moving again and rushed Susan and Millie across the open ground in front of them and up a slight rise until they hit the dirt track further on. The rise in the ground had taken them out of sight of their pursuit, but not for long. Millie was out of breath and dragging on Jim’s arm as she tried to keep up.
“Split up,” Susan panted. “We need to split up.”
“No . . . !” Millie wailed.
Jim bent over, his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. Susan was right. One target and four chasing was a poor ratio. They needed to split and divide the pursuit. How could he leave his wife and daughter though? Damn it. If he didn’t, they’d all end up dead.
