Fighting Chance

by Shaun Baines

  "This way," she whispered over her shoulder.

  "They'll punish us," Adrian said. "Get back here."

  The exit rose up in front of Karin. It was secured with locks, but they looked flimsy enough. She rearranged the remaining boxes and cleared a path.

  "This is it," Karin said. "This is our chance."

  "We're too tired to run," Adrian said. "They'll catch us."

  Karin scurried toward him and slapped him across a quivering face. "Stay, then. You seem to like it here, but you say one word – one word – to them, and I swear I'll kill you myself."

  Adrian backed into the meat boxes and studied his hands.

  "Are the rest of you coming or not?" Karin asked.

  Rachel squeezed around Crash, but he grabbed her by the leg, shaking his head.

  She kicked herself loose and Karin pulled her close.

  Rachel held up her bandaged hand. She frantically stripped away the dressings, revealing the purple stump of a missing finger. "This is our chance. I'm not staying so I can be reduced to pig parts in a box."

  Karin and Rachel inched to the door.

  "Ready?" Karin asked.

  Rachel nodded and Karin slammed her heel into the door. It blew wide open, its hinges squealing in protest, showering them in rust.

  Blinking, Karin saw the outside world for the first time in what seemed like years. And it stank of manure. It was a rich, decaying smell catching the back of her throat. Unruly hedges crept into the road, vibrating with birdsong. Fields rolled over gentle slopes and in the distance was the smudge of Newcastle.

  "Where are we?" Karin asked.

  "Look over there," Rachel said, pointing to a circle of jagged stones. "This must be Carlstown. My auntie used to live around here. We're not far from home."

  Karin leapt from the lorry and helped Rachel into the road.

  "We run," Karin said, "and we keep running, okay?"

  She heard the crack of the whip before she felt it. It rasped along the side of Karin's face. The pain was instant. The sting of bleach followed slowly.

  Her eyes watered and she struggled to find her assailant. Using her pyjama sleeve, Karin wiped her face dry and saw Choo leering at her, a whip in one hand, his pepper spray in the other.

  Rachel launched herself at him and they tumbled to the ground.

  Choo lost his grip on the rope, but hit her over the head with the can.

  She cried out, dodging a second blow. "Go. Now," she shouted at Karin.

  Karin ran down the road, taking all of five steps before turning around. She reached into the hedge row and yanked out a branch. It was flush with thorns, drawing blood from her palm. Karin advanced on Choo as he prepared to use his spray. With a swipe, she knocked it from his grip. Not pausing, she brought the branch down across his body, the thorns raking at his clothing.

  Rachel crawled free, nursing the bruise on her head. "What are you doing?"

  The branch had a mind of its own. It climbed and crashed repeatedly into Choo's trembling form. Karin couldn't stop it. The branch was designed for pain and Karin would bear witness.

  "We have to leave," Rachel said, wringing her hands.

  The two guards reappeared through a hedge and hurried toward them.

  Behind Karin, the road to Newcastle was winding, meandering out of sight long before it reached the city. Adrian was right. They were tired and weak. It would be a testing journey for someone at the peak of fitness, never mind two half-starved girls.

  "Go without me," Karin said. "I'll keep them busy."

  "What are you talking about?" Rachel asked. "You can't stay."

  Karin swung the branch in her direction. Ribbons of Choo's clothing hung from it like tattered meat. "Get moving or you'll be next."

  Frightened into action, Rachel lurched in the direction of home. She grew small before she disappeared around a bend.

  Karin couldn't continue to watch her chance to escape disintegrate, but it had been their only option. She turned back to Choo and the bristled branch.

  The guards walked cautiously toward her, unfurling their whips. Their faces were streaked in mud, like warpaint as they prepared for battle.

  Raising the branch, Karin was happy to oblige. She needed to buy Rachel as much time as possible. If she knew the area, she'd know when to run and where to hide. Meanwhile, Karin felt the familiar irritation at the back of her neck. Blood streamed down her wrist where she gripped the branch too tightly.

  "Right then," she said, planting her feet firmly on the ground. "Let's get to work."

  Chapter Twenty

  "You can't do that." Bear paced around the billiard table, kicking its ornate legs as he passed. A pain blossomed in his chest, but it didn't feel like a heart attack. It felt worse. "What about her parents?"

  Bronson stood behind the bar, his back against the wall. "They've done a fantastic job of raising her so far, haven't they? What makes you think they care?"

  "All parents care," Bear said, his thin frame shaking. He grabbed a billiard cue and snapped it in half, pointing a splintered end at Bronson. "You've gone too far. She's just a girl and you've got her strapped to a gurney in the Room of all places."

  "That girl almost killed me. Age has nothing to do with it and besides, I haven't touched her."

  The pain in Bear's chest sank to his stomach, curdling to nausea. He'd done some bad things in his time, but when he'd married his husband and adopted Helen, it all changed. He'd become a part of a family and had found a sense of direction. Bear still snapped bones when he needed to, but only of those who deserved it.

  He beat the severed cue against the bar. "You have to let her go."

  Bronson's eyes followed the makeshift weapon in Bear's hand. He didn't move. He didn't flinch. He just watched the weapon. "This doesn't concern you," he said.

  "I'm a part of this."

  "You're the cleaner," Bronson said, "and there's nothing wrong with that, but you haven't got the balls for this anymore."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "Let me do my job," Bronson said, "and then you can do yours. You'll probably need a mop and bucket when I'm done, to be honest."

  Bear launched the cue at him. It spun in the air, slapping uselessly on the wood panelled wall.

  Bronson jerked to one side, grabbing a glass from the bar. He shot it at Bear and it crashed off his forehead. Starbursts of glass exploded from his face and he fell into the billiard table, the mahogany edge cutting into his ribs.

  Bear hissed in pain as his hand searched for a ball, preparing to return Bronson's volley, but he was too late. Bronson had leapt the bar and was almost upon him.

  "Okay, okay," Bear said, cupping his damaged ribs. "No more fighting."

  Slowing to a stop, Bronson stroked his twitching cheek. "What happened to you…Losing your family…I wouldn't wish that on a sewer rat, mate, but that girl is taking our business. We can't let that happen. All I'm going to do is persuade her otherwise."

  "There has to be a better way." Bear stood, wincing in pain. "Otherwise, you're no different from the Motorheads."

  Retracting his fist like a catapult, Bear's punch landed on Bronson's already bruised jaw. There was power behind it, made more so by the billiard ball Bear was holding.

  Bronson left the ground and sailed into the bar. He collapsed in a mess of limbs, his eyes fluttering closed.

  Discarding the ball onto the table, Bear watched it sink into a corner pocket. He quickly checked Bronson's pulse. When he was satisfied he'd knocked him unconscious rather than killed him, Bear rushed through the secret door, down the steps, into the cellar and made his way to the Room.

  The girl was waiting for him on the gurney. Her arms and legs were strapped with leather bonds. She struggled as Bear entered, shaking her head. Her frightened face was covered in tangled hair.

  God, she was so thin, he thought.

  Bear leaned over her and brushed the hair from her eyes. They were wide and piercing. She wore a gag of twisted cloth.
>
  "I'm going to take this off," he said. "You can scream if you want, but there's no-one around to hear you. I hope you won't."

  As carefully as he could with his thick fingers, Bear eased the cloth from her mouth.

  The girl screamed. And screamed, only pausing for breath to fuel another high-pitched wail.

  Bear glanced over his shoulder, aware Bronson might wake at any moment.

  "I'm here to help," he said.

  "You're just another psycho," the girl shouted. "Touch me and I'll kill you."

  "I'm not going to touch you, but you have to be quiet, okay?"

  The anger drained from her face and she appeared to compose herself. When she S

  "You have to listen to me first."

  She started screaming again. Bear couldn't blame her and held up his hands in surrender until she stopped.

  "What's your name?" he asked.

  "Why do you want to know? You want to follow me on Twitter?" she asked back.

  Bear wasn't sure what she was talking about, but didn't want to commit either way.

  The girl's shoulders dropped. "Hannah," she said. "That's my name."

  The only wound Bear saw was on her face, its rawness fading into a scar. For all the world, it looked like the outline of a gingerbread man and Bear wondered how it had got there.

  "I can't let you go," Bear said.

  Hannah twisted on the gurney. "I knew it. You're just like that other guy. I should have left him to burn instead of forcing the owner to rescue him."

  "You rescued him?" Bear asked.

  "Maybe next time, and there will be a next time, I won't bother."

  "I can untie you," Bear said, "but you have to stay in the house."

  "What house?"

  "You're under a very big house owned by a very bad man. He needs you to answer some questions."

  Hannah's lip curled. "I'm not saying anything to anyone."

  "Then you get to stay in a mansion with lots of food and clean beds for a long time," Bear said. "Don't worry. I'll let your parents know you're safe."

  "Good luck. I haven't seen my Mam since she went on the game and Dad is missing in action."

  "No-one's waiting for you?" Bear asked, swallowing a lump in his throat.

  "Just my friends."

  "Your friends or your gang?"

  Hannah fixed him with a glare. "I'm not saying anything."

  "You have three options," he said. "I can untie you and you can run. The man who abducted you will abduct you again and by that time, his patience will have worn thin. Or I can leave you here and you can stay silent, but it won't be long before that same man's patience wears thin again."

  "What's behind door number three?" Hannah asked, her question laced in sarcasm.

  Bear undid the straps around her arms. "How do you like your pizza?"

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Tumbleweeds of old newspapers blew down Staby Street in Byker. The modular flats of the Wall had small square windows in frames of green and red. Gangs stood on walk-overs, flicking glowing cigarette butts into the street below. They skulked in the underpasses, listening to tinny music on their phones. It was alive with sound and movement, but the residents stayed inside, occasionally pulling back their curtains when a car alarm wailed.

  Daniel and Bronson climbed a set of metal steps to the second floor of the Wall. The smell of urine was over-powering and they pulled their shirts over their noses.

  "Are we in the right place?" Bronson asked through a mouthful of paisley material.

  "Liz said, it was No. 34, which is this one here."

  They stood in front of a door hidden behind a metal grill which had been secured to the walls. The two windows either side were similarly protected. There was no getting in or out of the property.

  "If Sophia lived here," Bronson said, "she certainly doesn't now."

  Daniel scoured the concrete corridor for signs of life. Further down the way, a thin ginger cat lounged on the lid of a wheelie bin. It flashed its rheumy eyes and with a hiss, the cat bared its teeth, most of which were missing.

  "This is a dead end," Daniel said.

  Returning to the street below, he dragged his shirt from his face. A teenage gang were drinking and hollering by a bus stop. They turned in his direction and immediately looked away.

  A man emerged from the shadows and Daniel's muscles tensed. He was Asian with a shuffle to his gait. Judging from his posture, a strong wind might break him in half.

  "Don't go that way," Daniel said to him, jerking a thumb toward the gang. "They'll eat you alive."

  The man nodded his thanks, mumbling to himself before changing direction.

  Daniel watched him meander through an underpass.

  Bronson jumped the final stone step, landing next to Daniel.

  "What do we do now?" he asked.

  The windows in the Wall glowed. The residents were packed away like sardines. Sophia had claimed she'd once lived in Byker. His mother had insisted she still did.

  "No amount of bleach can rinse that smell away," Liz had said.

  Given that Sophia certainly didn't live in Whitley Bay, this was as good a place as any to look for her. It was a long shot, but without anything else to go on, it was worth a punt.

  Daniel glanced at the bruise on Bronson's jaw, gulping back a spasm of guilt. Not only was he failing to protect his friend on the street, he couldn't even manage it in his own home.

  "What's happening with the girl?" he asked. "Hannah, was it?"

  "That bloody idiot Bear is looking after her now," Bronson said, kicking out at passing litter blown by the wind. "I can't get near her now."

  "You know why he's doing it."

  "He should leave Five Oaks," Bronson said. "It's not doing him any good."

  "He can be just as persuasive as you. Give him time." Daniel stared up and down the road. Neither direction gave him much hope of finding Sophia. "So any ideas on how we find this woman?"

  "We could knock on doors. Shout through letterboxes."

  The last of the sunlight fled the streets of Byker and the lamps flickered into life. Daniel expected the place to ease into silence, but the din grew worse. There was more shouting, more arguments and more music. It was the night time caterwauling of animals in a concrete jungle.

  Above it all, a scream split the air, ricocheting through the avenues.

  Daniel turned quickly.

  Increasingly drunk, the teenage gang horsed around in the bus shelter. One of them had climbed on the plastic roof. He was late teens, wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and jeans around his arse. Encouraged by his friends, he prepared to jump into a nearby bush. The rest of the gang chanted 'Liam.'

  Daniel tutted before noticing a figure lurking in the background. From where he stood, it looked like the Asian man from earlier.

  "Let's just go home," Bronson said.

  The Asian man walked into the streetlight, shielding his eyes, accidentally stumbling into one of the teenagers. The chanting stopped. It turned into a communal growl, punctuated with hostility.

  The commotion drew Bronson's attention. "That fella is about to have a hard night."

  The teenagers amassed as one. Liam climbed down from the bus shelter and took the lead. He jabbed his finger into the Asian man's chest, laughing as his victim cowered. The rest howled and switched on their phones.

  "We should probably do something," Bronson said, checking his own phone for messages.

  "I did warn him," Daniel said.

  The teenagers pushed the man to the ground, raising their heels to him. But something happened. There was the fizz of a spray and more screams, this time drenched in panic. The teenagers fell one by one and the Asian man scrambled on top of them.

  A van screeched into view, its headlights illuminating the fight like a Broadway show.

  Fuelled by fear, the gang struggled free, scattering into cracks in the Wall like cockroaches.

  But Liam wasn't so lucky. Two men in sheepskin coats jumped from th
e van, grabbing him by the hair.

  Daniel barrelled toward them, his thick arms pumping by his side. He dove into the melee. Together, they skidded along the broken pavement. One man rolled free, but Daniel leapt on him, using his weight to subdue him. When the man fought back, Daniel used repeated blows from his fist to drive home his point.

  Wiping his knuckles clean, Daniel saw Bronson wrapped in the arms of the second man who had escaped Daniel's attention. They were swapping head butts until red coursed down their faces. Already injured, Daniel knew Bronson couldn't sustain much more, no matter how valiantly he fought.

  Liam squirmed on the ground, frantically rubbing his eyes. The Asian man dragged him by his sleeveless top toward the van. If Daniel didn't react, the boy would never be seen again.

  He jumped to his feet and ran, heaving a kick at the man who held Bronson. It connected with the small of his back and both men were propelled into the bus shelter, rebounding back into Daniel. They toppled together, but Daniel gained the upper hand, hauling Bronson to safety.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Bronson shouted. "Get the boy."

  The Asian man sprayed a second dose of pepper into Liam's face. The boy choked and cried out, his arms thrashing in the night air. Blindly, he wriggled through the Asian man's legs, clawing his way to Daniel.

  For a second, Daniel was paralysed by the fear in the boy's eyes. Every micro-signal hit him like a shower of hailstones. Daniel read terror and shame and faith. It overwhelmed him and he thought of Hannah, the abducted girl in his house. He thought of his daughter and the images whirled around his head.

  Liam swung a wild elbow. With more luck than design, it hit the Asian man in the face. He yelped, pressing hands into a broken nose, blood leaking through his fingers.

  "Stay there," Daniel shouted at Liam.

  His voice startled the boy and Liam fled, staggering a retreat into the shadows.

  The Asian man stumbled into the van, leaving bloody hand marks on the door. Climbing inside, he gunned the engine and pointed it toward Daniel, moving fast.

  Daniel shielded his eyes from the headlights and leapt to the side, colliding with a wheelie bin. Showered in pizza boxes and mouldering vegetables, he saw the man staring at him, mouthing the word 'Sorry.'