The Blood Road

by Stuart MacBride

  ‘Don’t worry, Orgalorg.’ She picked him up in her tied-together hands. Gave him a hug – all fuzzy and squishy. ‘I won’t let the tits hurt you.’

  Becca laid down on her side. The chain around her armpits clinked and rattled as she pulled one half of the sleeping bag over herself, making sure Orgalorg was tucked in too. Breath all jaggy and shaking in her throat.

  No crying!

  Sally stands at the sink, leaning on the cool stainless steel, staring out of the window. All the lights are off, turning her into nothing but a faint outline in the glass. Tartan nightshirt barely visible. A ghost.

  The shed outside is a dark silhouette, one side blurred by the swathe of ivy.

  Looking at it makes her chest ache.

  ‘I’m so sorry…’

  Maybe she should have left Becky with a night light? Or a torch? What if she’s afraid of the dark? What if—

  ‘Sally? What are you doing in here with all the lights off?’

  She lets her eyes focus on the window again as Raymond’s reflection steps up behind her, his naked skin more visible in the glass than she is. Because he’s still alive.

  ‘Her name’s Rebecca Oliver. Her mother was on the news, Raymond: crying and pleading for her little girl.’ Sally huffs out a trembling breath. Wipes her eyes with the palm of her hand. ‘Just like I used to do. Standing there with Aiden’s photo, begging for whoever took him to bring him back safe and sound…’

  ‘You have to stop blaming yourself.’ He wraps his arms around her and kisses the skin between her collar and hairline with warm dry lips. ‘I know it’s horrible, but you didn’t have any other choice.’

  ‘But the police—’

  ‘You were careful, remember? No one saw you. And even if they did, they wouldn’t recognise you: with the wig and the baseball cap and the hoodie and sunglasses? There aren’t any CCTV cameras in the area, no automatic number-plate recognition either. That’s why we chose it.’ He hugs her. ‘No one can connect you with this.’

  She looks through his reflection to the shed again. ‘She’s a little girl.’

  ‘You had to do it. They won’t let new people into the Livestock Mart without something to sell. It’s how they know you’re legit.’ He takes hold of her shoulders and turns her to face him. Standing there naked in the kitchen, staring at her with those serious grey eyes. The ones that match the two streaks in the swept-back hair at his temples and the stubble on his strong chin. Her knight in shining armour. Only there’s nothing shiny about what they’re doing. Nothing shiny at all.

  Raymond cups her chin and lifts her face to his. Kisses her. ‘Listen to me: it’ll be OK. We get Aiden back, then we ramp up the reserve price on the girl so high no one will be able to afford to bid for her. We drop her off somewhere safe and call it in anonymously.’ A lopsided smile. ‘And we come home with Aiden.’

  Sally looks away. ‘But what if it doesn’t work like that? What if someone can afford her?’

  He sounds so very dependable and reasonable. As if he does this kind of thing every day. ‘Then Andy and Danielle follow them home, beat the crap out of the dirty paedo scumbag, and bring the wee girl back. He won’t get to lay a finger on her, I swear.’ Raymond wraps her up in a hug, his naked skin warm through her nightshirt. ‘It’ll all be over soon. Trust me.’

  — a dish of wasps in aspic —

  23

  Sunlight barged in through the kitchen window, making the mouldy wallpaper glow, glinting off the toaster and kettle.

  Naomi and Jasmine were ‘helping’. Which seemed to involve running around the kitchen with plates and tins of ratatouille no one had asked for, while shrieking. Instead of sitting down and eating their breakfast like they’d been told.

  Logan poured muesli into a bowl ‘You: horrors, put that stuff down and get ready for breakfast.’ He slid it across the table where Tara topped it with sliced banana.

  The radio played in the background, adding to the general din. ‘…twenty-one victims in the third mass shooting this week. San Francisco police confirm the gunman was shot dead at the scene…’

  He grabbed Naomi as she thundered past. ‘Have you washed your hands?’

  Jasmine held hers up to be inspected. ‘I’m all clean!’

  Naomi wriggled. ‘All cleeed! All cleeed!’

  ‘Urgh.’ Tara poured orange juice into a glass. ‘This must be what it’s like to work in a lunatic asylum.’

  ‘Looontic! Looontic!’

  ‘…continues for missing five-year-old Rebecca Oliver at Hazlehead Park this morning. We spoke to Detective Chief Inspector Hardie…’

  ‘Sit down, you little monster. Who wants toast?’

  The doorbell rang, two long sonorous notes that echoed through from the hallway. Tara put down the juice. ‘I’ll go. You …’ she pointed at the disaster, ‘deal with this.’ Then strode from the room.

  DCI Hardie’s voice growled out of the radio. ‘…want to stress that our number one priority is getting Rebecca home safe and sound.’

  Naomi clambered up onto her chair, singing. ‘Toast! Toast! Toast!’

  A reporter’s voice: ‘Is Rebecca’s disappearance linked to that of abducted three-year-old Ellie Morton?’

  The Arch Scumbag, Roberta Steel, sauntered into the kitchen, dressed casual in jeans and a jumper. She stopped and frowned at the table. ‘What the hell are you feeding my kids? Is that muesli? What is this, 1974? Where are the sausages?’

  Naomi jumped down from her seat and ran at her, arms wide. ‘Mummy!’ Grabbing her legs and hugging, staring up at her. ‘I seed vampeers! Vampeers!’

  Susan appeared in the doorway, perfectly turned out in Laura Ashley’s finest. As usual. She thumped Steel on the arm. ‘Don’t be rude, Robbie. A healthy breakfast never harmed anyone.’ Then bent and kissed Naomi’s head. ‘Hello, teeny horror.’

  ‘Sod healthy – what about bacon. Baked beans. Eggy bread!’

  ‘…any information, no matter how trivial you think it is – anything at all – call one-oh-one and let us know.’

  ‘Pfff…’ Steel hauled out a chair and slumped into it. Snapped her fingers at Logan. ‘Hoy, garçon: coffee. Milk, two sugars. And a decent fry-up! Who do I have to kill to get some black pudding around here?’

  Oh joy.

  Logan groaned, shook his head, then put the kettle on.

  Sunlight breaks through the trees, washing the garden in shades of gold and silver. The wet grass shines, as does the hulking ivy beast slowly eating the smaller of her two remaining sheds. A pair of rabbits sit in the middle of the lawn, nibbling the grass.

  Sally stares through the window, mug of tea clutched to her chest, feeling the warmth through her red corduroy shirt. Shame it can’t penetrate all the way to her heart.

  Red cord shirt, new Markie’s jeans, hair brushed, make-up on. Making the effort for Raymond.

  He tears another chunk off his croissant and nods at the patio doors. ‘Do you want me to go check on her?’

  Sally puts her mug down. ‘No. No, I’ll go. Becky will be hungry.’ OK: a bowl from the cupboard and the Coco Pops. She stops on the way past the fridge for the semi-skimmed milk, and heads for the patio doors.

  Raymond holds up a hand. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Then points to the baseball cap, wig, and sunglasses sitting by the toaster. ‘Don’t want her recognising you.’

  Heat blooms in Sally’s cheeks. ‘No. Sorry. Yes.’ She puts on her disguise, slips on her old brown hoodie and pulls up the hood. Slides open the door and steps out into the sunshine.

  The rabbits scatter as she picks her way through the wet grass towards the shed, breathing in that heady scent the world has after the rain. Tristan scrabbles at the end of his run, making little yowling noises, wanting out to chase the rabbits. Not that he ever catches any – he’s far too big and slow for that, great hairy lug that he is.

  Maybe they should take him to Bennachie this afternoon for a walk up Mither Tap? He’ll like that. Or out to the beach. Or
over to the Bin forest… Anywhere but the woods at the back of the house.

  A small shudder runs down Sally’s spine and she looks away from the greedy trees, tucks the Coco Pops under her arm so she’s got a hand free, unlocks the shed door, and steps inside.

  Lee adjusted his mask, removed the padlock, slid back the bolt, and stepped into the garage. ‘Teddy Bears and Elephants’ bounced out of the speakers, jolly and cheery, raising the spirits.

  ‘Go up the stairs, you sleepy bears, it’s time to brush your teeth,

  Then climb into your cosy beds and snuggle underneath…’

  Sobbing came from one of the crates – high pitched and painful. Poor old Lucy Hawkins. She was only three.

  Maybe it was time to give the garage another coat of paint? It was getting kind of gloomy in here. That might help?

  He placed his tray on the workbench and clapped his hands, voice a touch muffled by the mask, but it was safer for everyone this way. What the children didn’t know, wouldn’t get them killed. ‘How are we all this morning then, did we sleep well? Did we?’

  And right away Lucy stopped sobbing. Good girl.

  He took the clingfilm off the sandwiches – well, rolls really – and opened the twelve pack of little water bottles. Humming along with the music as he unbolted Stephen MacGuire’s crate.

  ‘Hey, Champ.’ Lee undid the gag and handed over one egg mayonnaise with salad. Then one ham, cheese, and coleslaw, and two bottles of water. ‘You get those down you.’

  He opened the next crate. ‘Here you go, Vernon, got to keep your strength up.’

  Poor old Vernon. But maybe he’d get lucky this time?

  He thumped the crate lid shut again, slid the bolt home, and moved on to the next one. ‘Lucy! Who wants lovely sandwiches for breakfast?’

  Of course she did, and soon as he had her gag off she was wolfing them down like the tiny trouper she was.

  Ellie Morton next.

  He opened the crate and Ellie blinked up at him with red-rimmed eyes.

  ‘Good morning, Princess. Egg mayonnaise, your favourite! I even put some cress in there, specially for you.’ He smiled at her – not that she could see it, because of the mask, but she’d hear it in his voice and that’d be nice for her. ‘You’ll be happy to know that even though some other kid’s gone missing, the police are still looking for you. Yes, they are. Yes, they are!’

  Ellie shrank away from him, till her back pressed against the crate’s wall. Well, it was all a big change for her. Things would get better when she had a more permanent home. More settled.

  He placed the sandwiches and water in her crate.

  ‘Don’t worry: I know this Rebecca Oliver’s getting a bit of coverage, but you’re still in all the papers and that makes you worth a lot more money. Isn’t that nice?’

  He unbuckled Ellie’s gag as the song tinkled to an end, then started up again.

  ‘Teddy bears and elephants went up the stairs to bed,

  They’d had a lovely dinner of tomato soup and bread,’

  She snatched up the egg mayonnaise and tore into it, leaving a white smile imprinted on her cheeks as she glowered and chewed.

  ‘That’s the spirit. Now you eat them all up. Going to be a big day tomorrow!’

  ‘Good morning, sweetheart, did you sleep well?’ Sally squats down in front of her little guest and has a bash at a reassuring smile as she lays the cereal bowl on the wooden floor between them.

  Becky’s face is grimy with dirt, smeared with dried tears. She sits on top of the sleeping bag, clutching Mr Bibble-Bobble tight. Somehow, she’s managed to wriggle out of her gag, but that’s OK. She can shout as loud as she likes, the only one who’ll hear her is Tristan. And at least her hands are still tied together.

  ‘You like Coco Pops, don’t you, Becky? Course you do.’ She opens the box and pours a generous portion into the bowl. Then adds milk. ‘Everyone likes Coco Pops.’ Holding the bowl out as the semi-skimmed darkens. ‘Here you go, sweetheart.’

  Becky shuffles backwards until she’s up against the shed wall, her chain rattling.

  ‘Shhh… It’s OK, it’s OK. Look,’ Sally scoops up a spoonful and swallows it down. ‘See? Mmmm, it’s yummy. Do you want some, Becky? I bet you’re really hungry and—’

  ‘RAAAAARGH!’ Becky’s arms flash forwards, something shiny whipping out at the end of them.

  It’s the chain, the chain isn’t—

  The bracket on the end clatters into Sally’s temple, sending her sunglasses flying as she crashes sideways against the shed floor. Hot orange noise blares inside her head, followed by an avalanche of gravel and nails. The cereal bowl bounces off the boards beside her, spraying out its brown goop.

  ‘Gnnnn…’

  Becky springs to her feet, gathers up the chain, grabs her new teddy, and leaps over Sally – trainers thumping on the shed floor as she lands. ‘Only Daddy calls me Becky, you stupid tit!’ Then the shed door bangs open and she’s gone.

  Becca slid to a stop on the soggy grass. It was a garden. A big garden, with swings and a slide and things for climbing on. A big hedge with loads of trees on the other side. A big burned thing. A house…

  A man inside stared out at her, eyes getting bigger and bigger as his mouth fell open. Surprise, you tit, Super Becca was free!

  She tucked Teddy Orgalorg under her arm – not easy with both wrists tied together – and stuck her middle fingers up at the man – like Daddy did every time Question Time came on the telly – turned and ran.

  24

  Becca leaped over a big branch, trainers scrunching on the fallen leaves. Running fast as a cat through the gloomy woods. Trees swooshing by on both sides. The chain rattling and clanking in one hand, Orgalorg bouncing along in the other. Ducking under a big spiky bush and out the other side. Arms jiggling in a weird elbows-in way because of the string around her wrists. Legs singing an angry song.

  Faster.

  Charging through the woods. Grinning. Because she was saving Orgalorg from the Horrid Monster Woman. They were escaping!

  Sally staggers out of the shed, clutching her throbbing head, bent almost double. The door frame thumps into her shoulder and she slides down it, sitting with her legs on the wet grass as the world spins.

  Tristan goes from little yowling noises to full-throated diaphragm-rattling barks as Raymond slithers to a halt in front of her.

  His mouth moves, but nothing comes out.

  Blood drips between her fingers, disappearing into the red of her shirt.

  Raymond stares. ‘What—’

  ‘I’m fine. Go. Go!’

  A blink. Then he turns and sprints across the lawn to the gap in the hedge and stops. Looks left, then right, head cocked to one side as if he’s listening for something. Then he darts forward, disappearing into Skemmel Woods.

  Sally clutches the door frame and does her best not to be sick.

  Becca scrambled around a clump of jaggy green bushes. Jumped over stones. Ducked under a fallen tree. Running and running and running.

  She darted around a tree and her trainers skidded in the slippy leaves, but she didn’t fall over! She thumped a shoulder into a branch, stayed upright, and kept going. Through the woods.

  Looked back over her shoulder, but there was no sign of the Chasing Man.

  Maybe he’d given up?

  She slowed to a walk. Trees everywhere. All around her.

  An old house sat off to the left – tumbled down and broken, its windows just big black holes in the stones. Roof a rusty saggy lump like wet cardboard. Could hide in there… But what if they set the Big Dog on her? What if the Big Dog sniffed her out and then bit her and she’d have to go in the Horrid Monster Lady’s shed again and they would chain her up and she’d be all sore from being bitten.

  No. No hiding. Running.

  Becca clutched Orgalorg tighter and ran away again.

  A big green splodge of bushes blocked her way, covered in long brown beans that rattled as she fought her way through it
– hissing like angry snakes as she wobbled out into a space where there wasn’t many trees at all.

  They gathered around the outside, like kids waiting for a fight to start in the playground. But inside it was all sunny and bright and warm. The leaves beneath her trainers were orangey and yellow, like jelly and custard. Scrunching and crunching as she walked over to a gurgly stream.

  Someone had tied flowers and an old grey teddy bear to a tree on the other side of a little wooden bridge. Its eyes were all scuffed and dull, most of its fur either missing or covered in greeny-black mould. Who would do that to a dead teddy bear?

  She hugged Orgalorg, pressing his big soppy face against her chest so he couldn’t see.

  All she had to do was cross the stream, march through the woods on the other side and she’d be free. They were going to make it. They were going to—

  Behind her, the bush made its angry-snakes noise again, joined by crashing and snapping.

  Becca barely had time to turn before the Chasing Man burst from inside the bush and leaped at her, arms out like the rugby people on the telly.

  He thumped into her and Orgalorg went flying as they bashed down into the leaves. Rolling over and over. Only when they stopped, the Chasing Man was on top, pinning her down, face all red and sweaty, teeth bared, breathing hard.

  ‘HELP! MUMMY! HELP ME!’ She kicked and she squirmed and she bit, but he held on tight. ‘HELP! HELP—’

  The Chasing Man slapped his hand across her mouth, but she kept on screaming – even though all that came out were muffled grunts.

  ‘Hold still, you little monster!’

  No. Never.

  Big fierce strong girl!

  She writhed and wriggled and fought as he stood, dragging her with him.

  He looked around. Smiled a nasty smile at Orgalorg – lying there in the churned-up leaves and twigs.

  ‘If you don’t hold still, I’m going to hurt your teddy bear. You want that? Want me to rip his arms off and poke out his eyes? That what you want?’