by Matt Hilton
I was on my own but it wasn’t the first time. Having Rink or Harvey at my back would have been a bonus if indeed this was a hot zone, but I hadn’t confirmed that yet. I slipped out of concealment, and staying low and utilising the natural hiding places that the landscape offered, I headed for the homestead and into another desperate chapter of my life.
13
Long before the rope gave way, the sharp burr of tin plate blunted, caught in the strands and snapped off. Frustrated, Jay screamed into the ground, but would only allow an almost silent exclamation by pinching the sound in her throat. Though she rocked back and forth, straining against her ropes, she could not snap them. It was a pointless waste of energy, as was the way of anger. Better that she concentrate on finding some other protrusion to snag the rope on. It was a difficult search to undertake, bound the way she was, but by twisting and contorting and throwing one scapula almost out of joint, she discovered the protruding head of a bolt where the planks had been bolted together. No sharp point, but the threads were abrasive against her thumb. She had to lie on her side, hook the rope over the bolt then hurl all her weight towards the head of the grave. Not once, but over and over again. Jay set to a rhythm, jack-knifing open and closed, pulling at the strands of the rope with each jerk of her body. It was tortuous, but she felt a sense of impending success and set to the task with new fervour. If her captors suddenly threw back the lid of the coffin they’d probably think she was having a fit.
Exhaustion beat her.
Jay collapsed on her chest, sucking in air that felt as thick as oil. Pain flooded her arms and shoulders, burning like fire as her muscles cramped. She sobbed as she writhed against the agony.
This was hell.
Yet compared with the terror and humiliation and God knows what else Nicole and the girl were enduring it was nothing.
Ignoring the pain and the rebellion fronted by her cramping muscles, she went at the bolt again, ripping harder and harder. When she halted this time, gasping and sweating bucketfuls, she could feel that the rope had frayed and was almost eaten through. With a surge of energy she yanked her hands wider and felt the rope weaken. There was no sudden loosening, but she could feel each strand pulling free. She uttered a wordless groan, snatched at the free lengths of rope and applied concentrated effort on one point. Her arms sprang apart, the knuckles of one hand tearing as they struck the old bolt, but she didn’t care. She was free!
Actually, she wasn’t: her legs were still bound and she was chained inside the coffin-like structure, but that meant little now. At least she had hands to work with. First she untied the lengths still wrapped round her wrists. The surge of blood returning to her fingertips stung like crazy, but was also welcome. She twisted round on to her back again and fanned her hands over her chest, promoting circulation. If the structure had indeed been the size of a coffin she’d have been finished, but there was room to manoeuvre now that she had more mobility. She could pull her ankles towards her backside and it was only the task of a minute to undo the ropes there. With that done she took a moment to steady herself, because the trickiest phase of her escape plan still remained. As she lay, sucking in air, she understood that she didn’t have time for this. She was putting off the real task.
Escaping through the tin sheets and the chains that held them in place wasn’t the difficult part; it was doing so without alerting her captors to what she was up to. She had no idea how close they were to her prison, and any untoward noise might bring them running. She could just lie there, wait for them to open up the grave and then leap out at them like a vampire. Only that idea was just ridiculous. She had no way of fighting the men, and all she’d achieve would be a quick death. No, better to escape from the grave before they returned, make her way to civilisation and bring the police back. That idea died swiftly as well. Even if she was able to get away and to make it across the desert, her escape would be discovered before she could return with help. The men would murder Nicole and Ellie, then disappear. No, somehow, some way, she had to get out of her prison, release the girls and get them all to safety. To do so successfully would be a gigantic task for anybody, but both Nicole and the girl were relying on her, and Jay would rather die than not try.
She tested the tin sheets.
Although the chains held them in place when met with direct pressure, Jay found that they were ineffective when sliding one sheet under the other. Thank God the corrugations ran vertically because if they’d gone horizontally then she’d have never moved them. She found she could gently move the sheet closest to her head until she’d made a space a little larger than a mailbox slot. Gratefully she sucked in fresh air, hot and stifling but still better than the stale atmosphere she’d been inhaling since God knew when. She listened, dreading a shout of anger as one of the men charged over to take hold of her, but the shout didn’t come. Curling her fingers over the top edge of the tin sheet she pushed it further towards her feet.
When she’d cleared enough space she wriggled out the hole, peeping out like a groundhog alert to danger from above. She had been prone for so long that the blood rush made her woozy and her vision blackened at its edges. She clung to the tin sheets to avoid slipping back inside the coffin again. If she was to pass out then she doubted she’d get another chance at saving her friends. Fighting the rush, she pushed free with her shoulders, then grabbed at the orange earth to help claw her way out. All the while she listened for a shout of alarm.
Finally on her hands and knees she rearranged the tin sheets, closing the gap she’d made. The first her captors would know of her escape would be when they unlocked the chains, threw back the sheets and found only empty space. She’d love to see their faces. Then again, she’d rather never see any of them again.
Her limbs felt cramped and sore and it took her a few steps before she fell into a rhythm that didn’t threaten to pitch her on to her face. After all that time in near darkness the sudden intrusion of sunlight felt like needles piercing her retinas. She staggered away from her prison, heading for the only form of cover she could detect nearby. It was a mound of junk, master of which was an old lorry that had all but rotted away. Reaching the truck she moved round the rear of the cab so she could use the empty windows to peer back the way she’d come. Leaning against the corroded metal, the heat from it almost scorching her palms, she searched for any sign of movement between her and the cluster of wooden shacks. Nothing was apparent, but then she began to wonder about the men; Samuel in particular. Was this some new torture that he’d devised? Was he watching her from behind his stained curtain, allowing her the illusion of freedom before snatching it away from her once more? She wouldn’t put it past the sadistic piece of crap to take pleasure from something like that.
Her gaze wandered from the ranch to the nearby pool of water. What she’d do for a mouthful of that was best not mentioned, but she knew she’d be chancing her luck to get there and back before she was spotted. Just the sight of the pool reminded her of how thirsty she was, and she wished now she’d kept her eyes on the ranch instead. It was such a temptation she could barely deny herself. She crouched, hands folded across her stomach, lids squeezed tightly as she pushed aside her own needs. An argument raged inside her; if she wanted to release Nicole and Ellie then she’d need all her strength and wits about her, and without water she had neither. But if she chanced sneaking to the watering hole and was seen then her plan was finished. She slowly opened her eyes; her mind was made up.
She needed water.
Stumbling around through dehydration she was no good to anyone. It was one thing growing balls as her dad said, but quite another doing anything with them when she was bone dry. If she could make it to the pool, quench her thirst, then she’d be in a much better position to help her friends. It was funny how she was now thinking of both Nicole and Ellie as friends; she didn’t know the younger girl from Adam, had merely spent time as a captive alongside her during the trip back here, but already they shared a common bond that transcended that. S
omewhere along the line Ellie had grown as important in her mind as her best friend was, and Jay would do anything to free them. After she quenched her thirst.
It had been eerily quiet for hours now. Not since last night when the sound of screaming had filtered into her prison had she heard proof that her friends were still alive. What if they were already dead? What if they’d been moved elsewhere? She didn’t think that was the case because at no time had she heard the engine of the pick-up growl to life, or the commands of the men as they ushered her friends on to the flat-bed. She was certain that any of those sounds would have roused her from her sleep, exhausted as she’d been.
No, they were still inside one of those buildings, and most probably asleep if the men had left them alone. Perhaps they were tethered as she’d been her first night, and gagged so they wouldn’t disturb their captors’ rest. The bastards would want to be on top form for more partying tonight.
She needed water, but more than that she needed a weapon. There was no way she could match even Brent, let alone the cowboy or Samuel, in a physical confrontation. She didn’t fancy her chances without a gun. Not that she knew the first thing about firearms, but surely they were easy enough to handle. She’d watched plenty of movies and was pretty sure she could figure out how to pull back a hammer and then squeeze a trigger. Could she kill, though? Before she’d have said no, have screamed no, but now it was different. After what those three had done to her and her friends she’d gladly exterminate the lot of them.
But all that lay around her was disintegrating paper, plastic drums and empty tin cans. Forget the weapon, go for the water. Maybe down by the watering hole she’d find a stone just the right size to fit in her palm.
Gathering herself, she leaned out past the front of the truck. It was a three-hundred-yard dash to the pool and ordinarily she could cover that distance in no time. However, here and now, stealth was her best option. Not that she was prepared to belly-crawl the entire way, but she had to stay low, moving from one piece of junk to the next. She lined up a mound of broken machinery about fifty yards away, decided that was an achievable first leg.
She rose up, ready to push herself hard, and that was when something detached itself from the rubbish pile behind her. She was only aware of movement, a sudden rush as the air was compressed between them, and then hands clamped on to her, one round her waist, the other shutting off the cry of denial she let loose.
Samuel, she realised. The sadistic bastard had been watching and waiting all along.
When she was dragged backwards, forced down on to the sand, she wasn’t thinking about her own selfish needs any more, but how she’d failed her friends: how would any of them be saved now?
14
In this heat the body could lose approximately a litre of fluid per hour without you ever realising it, the perspiration evaporating from the skin and misting from your clothing. Without replenishment you’d be dead within twenty-four hours. I wasn’t worried about me, but about the woman I saw poking her head out from under a stack of old corrugated sheeting. I’d no idea where she’d come from, maybe an old root cellar, or somewhere that stores were kept out of the sun, but it must have been hot in there going by the beetroot colouring of her face. From the furtive way she glanced around, she was fearful of detection, and unsure where to go next. I considered making a noise, to attract her attention, but that would only frighten her, maybe set her off screaming which would cause untold trouble. I kept quiet and watched as she clawed her way out from under the tin sheets, then carefully arranged them to conceal the fact she’d escaped via that route. Momentarily I wondered if it was the entrance to a passage that led back to one of the buildings, but gave the thought no further time to brew when the woman made a jerky run for the old flat-bed truck near the rubbish tip. My mind went back to the necessity for water and I wasn’t surprised to see her staring intently at the watering hole a few hundred yards distant. She was going to make a try for it, and if she did so she’d be spotted by the Logans, because what she didn’t know and I’d only just noticed was that one of them was sitting in a rocking chair on the porch of the house. He’d been sitting so still that he’d blended in with the weathered boards, and if not for the fact he’d shifted to reach down and lift a jug to his lips, I might not have seen the man in the straw Stetson hat.
The woman was now squatting down, her hands pushing hard at her stomach. Experiencing cramps, I decided, from being confined for so long without nourishment. Even with her face twisted in agony, I recognised Jay Walker. She didn’t look like she had in the photograph her father supplied to me. She was gaunt and pale, her dark auburn hair slightly longer in style, but now matted to her skull with a mixture of grime and perspiration. An ugly bruise marked her right cheek and her lips, swollen at one corner, looked dry and cracked. Red, angry bands ringed both wrists; it was obvious that she’d recently been bound there.
One thing I was sure of, she hadn’t come here for a good time with the Logan boys: not of her free will. Jay had been snatched and held prisoner, and the likelihood was they were also holding Nicole, Ellie and maybe even Helena Blackstock. If that was so then it meant that the purpose of this mission remained the same as it always had been: go in, find the women, and get them all out safely. But, as I’d also known from the beginning, any plan was prone to collapsing in an instant. If Jay tried for the watering hole, the man on the porch would spot her and I’d have to kill the prick. I didn’t mind that so much; the way I saw things, anyone who’d take the women like that deserved putting down. Only if I killed him it would alert his family to my presence and I dreaded to think what they’d do to their other hostages before I could get them out too.
It left me with no other course of action. I had to stop Jay from doing anything foolish, in silence and without attracting unwanted attention. I had to move silently and without alerting either of the possible witnesses: Jay might try to run, and the man would definitely raise the alarm. Luckily I had the pile of debris as cover and keeping low I made it all the way to the old truck without catching anyone’s attention. With only seconds to spare I’d got there while Jay was still fighting the urge to quench her thirst. As she came up from her crouch, searching the area for a route to the water, I moved closer. I watched her rock back on her heels, readying herself, then just at the last moment I lunged forward and grabbed her round the waist to stop her rising. She was terrified, expecting the worst, and in all probability would have screamed if I hadn’t clamped my hand across her mouth and pulled her backwards. I couldn’t afford for her to thrash and kick out, for fear she hit the truck and the noise brought the Logans running. I turned her, so that she went down on her belly in the dirt, and stretched my weight over her to hold her in place. ‘Take it easy, Jay, I’m not going to hurt you.’
My reassurance went unheeded. She fought me at first, thinking no doubt that I was one of the Logan men. In her mind I was one of the beasts who’d abducted her, and it would take a little longer for the truth to sink in. I rode out her thrashing, my hand clamped firmly over her mouth while I continued to whisper.
‘Jay, it’s OK. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help you.’
When that still didn’t work, I decided on a different tack.
‘Do they have the other girls? What about Nicole? Ellie? Helena?’
Before I’d said the last two names there was a reaction. On hearing her friend’s name she stopped struggling, almost as if she deflated and sank into the sand. I didn’t trust her to react logically, and kept my hand firmly in place. ‘I’m not one of the men who have hurt you. My name is Joe Hunter. I’m here to help you . . . nod if you understand.’
Jay nodded weakly.
‘Good,’ I went on. ‘Your father sent me.’
I felt her shiver and realised that she was possibly assailed by mistrust. She’d suffered at the hands of brutal men, and now she’d been grabbed and forced face down in the dirt by another. I could be lying to her for all she knew. Maybe I was anothe
r of the Logan clan brought in to torment her further.
‘Your father is Jameson Walker,’ I told her. ‘He owns a chain of fast food restaurants and is a big guy who dresses like someone from the Wild West. He has a fondness for whiskey and, Jay, your father loves you very much.’ Jay sobbed. She convulsed against my palm, and mucus spattered from her nostrils. I relieved some of the pressure on her mouth, but still wasn’t ready to release her. ‘I have no way of proving any of this to you right now, but I can do it if necessary. I have papers he gave to me. If I was going to hurt you, I would have done so already. Do you understand? Nod, Jay. Nod if you understand me.’
She nodded.
‘Do you trust me?’
Again there was a movement of her head.
‘Good. I’m going to take my hand away and let you go, but you have to promise to be quiet. One of the Logans is less than two hundred yards away and will hear if you say anything. Will you keep quiet?’
My last question had been pointless, because already I had relaxed my hold and slipped my fingers from her lips. I felt her breath on my hand as she said, ‘Yes.’
My weight had been holding her flat, but even as I eased away from her I could feel that she wasn’t yet ready to move. She lay there, breathing shallowly as she tried to make sense of what had occurred. If anything she flattened further into the ground as relief flooded through her. Touching her gently on one shoulder I came back to my feet, but stayed in a crouch to peer over the rim of the flat-bed. From this angle I couldn’t see the man in the Stetson, but I was sure he was still there on the porch.
Moving close to Jay, I indicated that she should speak very quietly. ‘How many men are here?’
‘I’ve seen three,’ Jay said, and I was happy to hear there was only a trace of fear in her voice. ‘They’re brutes, every last one of them.’
