Sacrifice

by Sharon Bolton

  ‘And Kirsten Hawick. I know she’s in my field too. Did you stage that accident? Did one of you drive the lorry?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, Kirsten’s accident was genuine. We just exaggerated the extent of her injuries. She had a son. He lives on Yell now, a fine boy.’

  Kirsten might have recovered. The almost unbearable grief I’d seen Joss Hawick enduring could have been totally unnecessary. I wanted to scream, but knew that if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop.

  ‘Why do you bury the women? Why not just dump them at sea? Or burn them? If you’d done that, I’d never have found Melissa.’

  ‘No, but we can’t. It’s against our beliefs. Our mothers lie in what is for us sacred ground. It’s part of the way we honour them.’

  ‘And I suppose it was just too great a risk to bury them all on Tronal. So you’ve created burial grounds all over the islands?’

  He inclined his head, acknowledging the truth of what I was saying.

  ‘And Duncan? Duncan did this too? Drank . . .’

  Richard nodded. ‘He did. So did his father and his grandfather before him, and my father and grandfather and great-grandfather. We are the Kunal Trows, stronger and more powerful than any other men on earth.’ He stood up, ready to return to the main cabin. I was so tired. I wanted nothing more than to slip into unconsciousness. And I knew that if I did so I would die. I had to keep talking.

  ‘How many? How many of you are there?’

  He paused at the door.

  ‘Around the world, between four and five hundred. Most live here, but about a hundred years ago we started to colonize. We prefer islands, remote but with a strong local economy.’

  My body was trembling and I felt a strong urge to vomit. I was going into shock but I was no longer in danger of losing consciousness. The pain was hell but I could deal with it.

  ‘You’re not special,’ I said. ‘It’s all in your head.’

  Richard’s voice had fallen, as though he was trying to comfort a distressed child. ‘You have no idea of the powers we have. Influence you couldn’t even dream of. These islands, and many others around the world, belong to us. We do not flaunt our wealth but we possess it in immeasurable terms.’

  ‘You’re just ordinary men.’

  ‘I’m eighty-five years old, Tora, and yet I have the strength of a man in his fifties. How ordinary is that?’

  ‘Richard,’ called Gair, ‘I think I can hear an engine. I need to go up top and signal. Can you take the helm?’

  Richard started to turn. ‘Believe me if you can, my dear. It will make the next few months easier.’

  He turned and left the cabin, closing the door and shutting me inside with the motionless Freya. I felt a moment of surprise that he hadn’t sedated me. Maybe all that showing off about his so-called special powers had made him forget. Or more likely he figured the pain and blood loss would be enough to keep me immobile. I looked up at my leg. Blood was no longer pumping out and it was possible the artery wasn’t severed after all. I risked lowering it and then raised myself up so that I was sitting on the bunk. The bleeding increased but not alarmingly. I looked at Freya. Still breathing, possibly not as heavily as before, but otherwise no real signs of life. I could expect no help from that quarter.

  I sat on the bunk, thinking. It would be just about impossible to get the better of Richard and Gair, injured as I was, but I had to try. While they were separated, Gair on deck, Richard driving the boat and with his back to me, I had the best chance. Once the other boat arrived, Dana would go overboard and I’d be guarded, possibly drugged, until the police operation was over and I was safely back on Tronal.

  I tried standing up. A stab of pain shot up through my leg. I took deep breaths, counted to ten, waited for the pain to subside. Then I stepped forward. Another stab of pain, not so bad this time.

  Clinging to the shelf around the cabin I inched forwards until I reached the door handle. Motor launches have terrifically loud engines, but Richard had reduced the speed and I thought I caught the sound of another engine somewhere in the distance. I turned the handle and pulled at the door. It opened silently.

  Richard was alone in the main cabin, standing at the wheel, peering forwards as though struggling to see ahead. We’d reached another offshore mass of stacks and the navigation was tricky. If I knocked him out – which was basically the plan – we could easily hit one of the huge granite rocks around us. Once the hull was breached, the launch would sink quickly and I’d have to launch a life-raft (always assuming there was one on board), get three unconscious women on to it and deal with a strong and violent psychopath. All this with only one good leg. Like I said, I didn’t fancy my odds.

  On the other hand . . . I really didn’t like what was on the other hand.

  I needed a weapon. Grandad’s horse gun lay on a shelf at the far side of the cabin but I’d never be able to reach it without Richard seeing me. I looked all around. The floor was still slick with blood – my blood – and my stomach churned. I forced myself to look away. I checked the shelves that ran around the cabin and found where the boat tools were kept. I slipped my hand down. It was like a life-or-death game of jackstraws – dislodge one from the heap without moving the others or making a sound. Amazingly, I managed it. I raised my hand and examined my find. Some sort of pliers, thick steel, about twelve inches long. They would do. No point hanging about. I limped forwards, arm above my head.

  Of course, Richard saw my reflection in the cabin windows. He spun round, catching my arm, pushing it down, behind my back. With my free hand, I pushed at his chest then, in desperation, clawed at his eyes. He hit me, just once, a heavy blow across the temples. Blood shot from my mouth and flew across the cabin as my legs gave way under me. I grabbed the lapel of Richard’s jacket and clung on. As I toppled I took him with me.

  We landed heavily, he on top of me. He pushed himself up. For a second, I could only stare at him, wait for him to act. Then I grabbed his earlobe and he yelled with pain. He hit my arm hard and I had to let go, but with my other hand I went for his eyes again. He sat up, straddled across me, pinning me down. With one hand, he grabbed my right wrist and held fast. With the other, he reached for my throat.

  Knowing it could be the last sound I ever made, I screamed.

  Richard’s hand wrapped around my neck and squeezed. I thrashed my head from side to side but his grip wasn’t budging. He was incredibly strong; I’d been a fool to imagine I could overpower him. With my left hand I struck out at his face but his arms were longer than mine and I couldn’t reach him.

  I tore at the hand holding my throat, dug my nails into skin, tried to wrench it away. The instinctive panic that goes hand in hand with oxygen deprivation had set in, giving me strength I wouldn’t otherwise have had, but it still wasn’t enough. Richard was no longer looking at me, but at a point over my head. He wasn’t capable of looking me in the eyes as he throttled me. I think I took a small measure of comfort from that as the darkness began to grow.

  Then he convulsed – just once – and his grip relaxed, releasing the pressure on my throat. My lungs started pumping, desperate for air, but my throat had been damaged by the pressure of Richard’s strong hand. Like a dented pipe, it couldn’t let enough air flow through and the darkness in my head continued to grow.

  Richard fell forwards towards me; his eyes met mine but were expressionless. His weight shifted, my lungs made a gigantic effort and air flooded in once more. I managed to raise both hands to fend him off and as he collapsed I shoved hard.

  He rolled to one side and I pushed against him, without a clue what was happening but grasping at any chance to be free. He fell face-down on the floor of the cabin. A circle of blackness stained the thick white hair on the back of his head and, as I watched, a small bubble of blood rose from the wound and burst as it reached the air. Tearing my eyes away, I looked at the figure kneeling above him. Eyes met mine and I thought I saw a brief glimmer of recognition before they glazed over. There was a heavy t
hud as the humane killer, the thick iron-bolt stained dark with Richard’s blood, fell to the floor.

  Pushing myself up, I reached over and felt for a pulse in Richard’s neck. There was nothing. I pulled myself to my feet, stepped over him and peered up the companionway steps. Gair was nowhere in sight but I could make out flickers of light as he signalled to another boat.

  I bent down, picked up the weapon and reloaded the bolt. Then, at last, I reached out and touched the face of Richard’s killer. Eyes dazed with drugs looked back emptily into mine. Then I saw a gleam of intelligence and Dana’s lips stretched into a smile.

  ‘Can you understand me?’ I whispered, feeling myself smile in response. She nodded, but didn’t seem able to speak.

  ‘Stephen Gair is up there,’ I said, gesturing towards the cockpit. ‘He is very dangerous.’ No surprise in her eyes. ‘Can you watch the steps? When he appears, let me know?’

  She nodded again and I stood up and limped over to the helm. I could see no immediate hazards ahead; the depth gauge was unable to read the depth – always a reassuring sign – and I flicked the boat on to auto-pilot. Then, I picked up the radio and switched to channel 16.

  ‘Mayday, mayday, mayday,’ I said as loudly as I dared, knowing Gair would hear the crackle of the response and hoping he would think it was the other boat talking to Richard.

  ‘Mayday, mayday, mayday,’ I repeated. ‘This is motor launch Arctic Skua, Arctic Skua. We are in Shetland waters, travelling south down the eastern coast of Tronal island. We require urgent medical and police assistance.’

  There was a crackle of static. No response.

  I glanced round. Dana’s eyes hadn’t left the companionway steps. I could hear footsteps above us.

  ‘There are six people on board,’ I said into the mouthpiece. ‘Two of us are injured. Three have been drugged. Only one is able-bodied and he is a danger to the rest of us. We need help urgently. Repeat, urgently.’

  Another crackle. Still no response.

  It was close to hopeless. Even if anyone were listening – which the Shetland coastguard, at least, certainly should be – they would never get to us in time. The second Tronal boat would be here any second and the other women and I were going overboard. All I could do was make sure we didn’t disappear without a trace.

  ‘We are Tora Hamilton, Richard Guthrie, Stephen Gair and Dana Tulloch. Repeat Dana Tulloch, who is alive and well.’ Not for much longer, though – I could definitely hear another engine getting closer. ‘Also two other women whose real names I don’t know. We have been abducted and held prisoner by Richard Guthrie and Stephen Gair. Both men are extremely dangerous.’

  That was stretching it a bit. Richard hadn’t moved and looked anything but dangerous. Gair was another matter. If he came below he would kill me. He would have no choice. Without Richard, he would be unable to administer the drugs that would keep me insensible until we got back to Tronal. The baby would have to be sacrificed. He would kill me and throw me overboard. Dana too. The other two women might survive the trip, but for what? Another eight months of imprisonment and a violent death. I could not let Gair come below. I had to go up and tackle him head on.

  Except I couldn’t do it. I was weak from loss of blood and dizzy from pain. I’d spent most of the night running on adrenalin and the tank was empty. I couldn’t fight him; couldn’t even climb the steps. I would wait, hide inside one of the sleeping cabins, jump on him when he came back down. It was the only possible way.

  A noise above. Someone had leaped on the roof of the cabin.

  ‘Hey, ladies!’

  Gair’s face hung upside-down in the companionway. He was lying on the cabin roof staring down at us. Veins bulged on his forehead and I could see his large white teeth. I realized that he and sanity had parted company. His eyes darted to Richard’s body and narrowed. Then he looked back at me.

  ‘Get up here, Tora,’ he said.

  40

  UNABLE TO TEAR my eyes from gair’s face, I shook my head. I wasn’t going anywhere near him. He terrified me.

  His head disappeared. I heard him striding along the roof and I stepped closer to Dana. She reached out and held my ankle as I gripped the gun tight.

  Then Gair’s face appeared again.

  ‘I’m opening the seacocks, Tora,’ he sneered. ‘You’ll have about ten minutes before the boat sinks like a stone. If you want to save your three friends, you come up top now.’

  He strode off towards the bow of the boat. I staggered to the companionway and pulled myself up the steps. Gair was bent over the anchor locker. He saw me, straightened up and moved towards me.

  I stood my ground. He was wounded too, although not as badly as I, and I still had the gun. I wasn’t giving in just yet. He climbed on to the cabin roof and stood there, legs apart for balance, towering above me. The wind whipped his clothes against him, showing the lean, strong lines of his body. His face gleamed white against the night sky and his teeth were bared in a hideous attempt at a smile. He no longer looked like a wolf. He looked like a demon.

  I backed away until I came up against the cockpit steering wheel. The contents of my bowels turned to mush and the muscles were no longer able to hold them in place. Evil-smelling warmth started to pour down my legs. Legs that had turned to straw and would hold me no longer. I sank to the cockpit floor.

  Gair held something in one hand; a short length of chain. He swung it round and it crashed against the cabin roof. Then he caught hold of the other end with his left hand and pulled it tight. It was about three feet long and the links must have been a quarter of an inch thick. He stood at the edge of the cabin roof, poised to leap down. The boat rocked and he steadied himself. Below, I thought I could hear Dana’s voice, repeating the mayday call I’d given earlier. I even thought I heard a faint crackle of response. It was too late, though – too late for me, at any rate.

  Just off the port bow loomed a massive shape, for a split second almost as terrifying as the man about to leap at me. Another granite stack, dangerously close. I dropped the gun and reached my right hand back through the spokes of the steering wheel, stretching up and back, towards the centre of the wheel where I knew the instruments must be. My fingers felt buttons and I began pressing. The buttons beeped at me in response. I had no idea what they were, I just had to hope.

  Gair raised himself on tiptoe. I reached high again, grabbed a spoke at the top of the wheel and pulled down as hard as I could.

  The boat responded; one of the buttons I’d pressed had disengaged the auto-pilot and I was in control of the helm. Travelling at speed, the launch almost tipped over under the force of the abrupt turn. Below, objects rolled across the cabin floor and I heard Dana cry out. Gair staggered, almost slipped, grasped for something to steady himself and then miraculously regained his balance.

  Just as we hit the twenty-foot-high granite stack.

  As the boat swerved, I’d fallen to the floor of the cockpit; the force of the impact threw me back against the wheel, jarring my shoulders and nearly knocking me out. Through eyes that could barely see I watched Stephen Gair fly towards me. His eyes held mine and in that split second I saw fury, then fear, as he sailed through the air and crashed hard against the steering wheel. I heard a crack that I knew must be bone breaking and made myself turn to face him as he collapsed over the wheel. Then the freewheeling motion of the boat sent him over again, to land slumped in the stern of the boat.

  I took hold of the wheel and dragged myself up. I pulled myself around it, close to Gair. He was starting to move, to lift his head up from the deck. Bracing myself against the wheel I kicked out; my foot connected and he slid backwards. His hand shot out and grabbed my ankle. I held the wheel with both hands, lifted my other foot and jumped on his wrist. He let go and I kicked again. He slid further back and I kicked him again, this time connecting with his face, sickened that I was capable of such violence but unable to stop. I pushed one last time with both feet. I fell down into the stern as he slid overboard.
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  I don’t know how long I knelt there, staring down at the wash. I think I even considered rolling overboard myself. Realistically, it could only have been a few seconds before I realized the boat was spinning out of control. I crawled back into the cockpit and reached for the button that would switch the engines off. The engines died and their sound faded into the night. The boat was still moving with the wind and the tide, but no longer careering around madly. And that was it, absolutely it, nothing more I could do. I collapsed down, leaning against the steering wheel, wondering where help might come from. Whether there was any real possibility of it doing so.

  Then Dana’s face appeared in the companionway. She saw me, but still didn’t seem able to speak. Then she disappeared and I wondered if she’d fallen. I wanted to go and help her; I think I even tried to stand up, but I couldn’t do it. I wanted to cry, too, but I didn’t even have the energy for that.

  Then something appeared over the top of the companionway steps. A tangle of canvas straps and metal. It was a life jacket – they’d been stored on one of the shelves around the main cabin. I watched and another appeared. Then a third.

  ‘Tora, come on. Get one of these things on yourself.’ I could barely hear Dana’s voice, so feeble did it sound against the wind. Reaching up, I took hold of the wheel and managed to pull myself up on to all fours. I crawled round the wheel and across the cockpit floor. My leg was throbbing again and I tried not to think about it; to concentrate only on getting to the steps.

  A hand appeared, a woman’s arm. I reached out and grabbed it. I had no strength but I held on as I fell backwards and a woman collapsed over the top of the steps. Her dark hair fell forward, covering her face. I pulled again and heard Dana grunt as she pushed from below. The dark-haired woman came up over the steps and landed on top of me. I pushed her to one side. It was Freya, the younger of the two. Her eyes opened briefly, she stared at me then closed them again and sank back against the cockpit seat.