by C F Dunn
For a moment I stared at him, then shouted commands came from nearby and I swung around. Figures, similarly masked, surrounded Matthew in a tightening circle. He held Theo close in one arm, all the while moving to find a weakness in their offence.
“Emma, get to the plane!” he shouted. He made a sudden rush towards two men as their attention wavered, then darted sideways between them, his speed and agility taking them unawares. One of the figures spun around and raised his arm towards Matthew’s back. A sound like angry wasps zipped through the air. Matthew grunted in shock and fell to his knees. Recovering almost instantaneously, he leapt to his feet, his arm protecting Theo’s head. “Don’t fire! Don’t hurt my son! You want me, don’t you? Let my family leave.”
From behind the line, a long-legged man in a thick coat pushed through the cordon now preventing Matthew from moving either left or right. I recognized him from the college, despite the handkerchief held against his face.
“There’s nowhere you can go, Dr Lynes,” Heron-legs said in a voice muffled by swollen lips and a broken nose, and in that instant I realized where I had seen him before: the museum in Portland. “We just want to ask you a few questions. No one need get hurt.” He dabbed at his lip, motioning to the men, and they began a cautious advance towards Matthew. Heron-legs held out his hands, palm up, a bloodstained handkerchief limply flapping in truce. “Come now, Dr Lynes, just a few questions, then you can go home with your family.” He smiled the colour of lies.
“He’s lying, Matthew!” I cried, remembering Maggie’s dead-eyed stare. “He has no intention of letting you go. Joel! Help him!”
Illuminated by the fierce headlights, and trapped, Matthew threw a desperate look at me, then addressed Heron-legs. “For the mercy of God, let them go.”
“What are you waiting for?” the man snapped to the waiting men.
“Sir, the boy…”
“We’ll take him too. Go on!” One of the men came within reach of Matthew, and raised his arm to fire. Theo, terrified and struggling, began crying. Matthew moved suddenly towards the armed man, lifting from the ground and raising his foot as he leapt, bringing it down on the man’s leg. The sickening snap was audible from where I stood, still rooted by fear. Without warning, Matthew changed direction towards me, and several of the men raised their arms, and points of light danced on the snow before focusing on him: not guns – Tasers. Fury boiled through me. The unconscious man lay some feet away, an object in the snow next to him. I made a grab for it and began to run towards the circle. Too late, Matthew was hit in the shoulder, narrowly missing Theo. He staggered, regained his balance, but encumbered, he couldn’t protect himself and was hit again, his body convulsing from the current.
What caution was left to me evaporated in intense rage, and I reacted without thinking. I fumbled the button and fired the Taser wildly, managing to hit the man closest to me in the neck. He fell forwards, writhing stiffly, but by now several men grappled with Matthew, who held them at bay with one arm, becoming rapidly overwhelmed. Several Tasers sent him reeling, and Heron-legs managed to grab Theo as he fell. Theo screamed, eyes wild with terror.
“Don’t you dare touch my baby!” I yelled, and threw myself at Heron-legs, succeeding in dragging Theo from his clutch as he registered surprise at my strength. Thrashing out with my bare fist, I felt bone give way, fresh blood warm on my skin, and I wanted to hit him again, beat his face into a pulp for touching my child. Vengeful, spiteful anger clouding pity, obscuring judgment.
“Emma!” I heard Matthew call me back to my senses. Tearing wires from his body and free to move at last, he charged the group of men, knocking them sideways and running back towards the wooded perimeter, drawing the men away from us – away from the jet.
Struggling back to his feet and holding a gloved hand to his bleeding nose, Heron pointed after him. “Don’t let him reach the trees!”
Matthew’s voice carried over the snow-laden wind. “Get to the plane, Emma.”
“Matthew! No!”
Several Tasers hit him in the chest, bringing him to his knees. “Go!” he gasped, pain searing his face.
“Leave him alone!” I screamed, beginning to run towards him. “Let him go!”
Matthew rose to his feet, diving at two of the men and sending them sprawling before they realized he had moved.
Heron-legs roared, “Take him down!”
“Emma, protect the children! Leave,” Matthew implored. And then he stopped fighting. He simply stopped, raising his arms sideways – sacrificed, crucified. I saw what he was doing, and blood drained from my heart.
“No, Matthew, no!” I screamed. “Fight them. Run!” But he just stood there and someone came up and kicked him viciously behind his knees. They buckled and he sank to the ground, his arms extended as if at the block. He raised his head, staring straight at me, and from nowhere, but as clear as if he had spoken it aloud, “Emma, you promised me…” Men closed in, Tazers raised and pointing. Matthew called out, “Joel, get them out of here.”
From behind me, I heard heavy booted feet running, and then Joel was tugging me after him, back towards the waiting plane.
“We have to go, Emma.”
“I can’t leave without him.”
“We have no choice,” and he nodded towards a group of men who had broken away from the cohort and now made their purposeful way towards us. He took Theo and we made it to the steps, but he had to almost carry me into the jet. “Get buckled in,” he said shortly, climbing into the pilot’s seat. I strapped Theo in next to Rosie.
“Mummy, where’s Daddy?” she asked, eyes dark, hair sticking in strips to her whey-skinned face. I didn’t answer her. I couldn’t, because from the window against which I rammed my face as the jet lifted into the air above the stationary vehicles, I saw Matthew raise his head, illuminated by the car headlights, and watch us leave him to be dragged to his feet and manhandled into the waiting van.
CHAPTER
18
Exodus
“He made me swear – he made me promise.” Stricken, Joel’s blue eyes darkened with anguish. “Don’t you understand? I couldn’t help him.” Crushing Theo to me, I looked away. “Emma, geesh…” Joel rammed the heel of his hand against his forehead. “Why didn’t he fight? Why didn’t he just… kill them? He could have done it.”
I felt a tug at my arm. “Mummy, when’s Daddy coming?” Rosie climbed from her seat and onto my knees next to her brother, wrapping her arms around my neck. I heard her, felt her wriggle to get comfortable, and saw the dark purple confusion surrounding my children, but it didn’t seem real. Numb, detached, I watched the frosted moon silver the shredded clouds beneath us. Somewhere, far below in the scalding night, Matthew faced our worst fears alone.
“He could have killed them, Emma,” Joel insisted, “gotten away.”
I rested my head against the seat back and closed my eyes. “He didn’t want to kill anyone, Joel. He’s had enough of killing. He wanted us to escape, that’s all. He wanted us to be safe.” I opened my eyes and looked at him wearily. “It was always going to come to this. Sooner or later his past was bound to catch up; he just wanted to make sure none of us would be there to suffer with him.”
“He made me promise to protect you and the kids first.” Joel’s face crumpled. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t have done to save him, except break my word. Why did he make me promise, Emma? Why did he have to do that?”
“Because he knew you wouldn’t leave him and because he didn’t want you doing something you would regret for the rest of your life.”
From the cockpit, muffled voices crackled and Joel pushed to his feet. “I filed a flight plan north-west; that’s Canadian air traffic control wanting verification. We mustn’t disappoint.” His mouth twisted bitterly.
“We’re going to Canada?” I addressed his retreating back, although it hardly seemed to matter any more, so I barely heard him when he said, “No – we’ve been over Canadian airspace for some time,” as he climbe
d into the pilot’s chair, and seconds later, the plane swung around the face of the moon, heading on a new, unscheduled trajectory into the darkness.
Rosie shook me awake. “Mummy, Theo’s hungry.”
I blinked in the low light of the cabin, disorientated, coming back to reality with an unpleasant lurch. At some point, Joel must have taken off Theo’s snow suit, and now, strapped into his seat, Theo chewed Bear’s ear furiously. What little milk I had left after the trauma of the past day was sucked dry by the pressurized cabin, and I had nothing to give him. He struggled at my breast, but came away fretful and unsatisfied. The lockers yielded food that would keep hunger at bay for the time being. I fed and then changed him in auto, barely noticing what I did. In the children’s bag, I found the spare nappy I had put there, just in case. I frowned at it: did I ever really think it would come to this? I shook myself free of the leaden gloom. “Rosie, are you hungry?”
She wobbled her head and settled back in the cream upholstered seat, sucking her thumb and watching with huge eyes. Dark circles ringed them, and the cabin lighting made her face unnaturally pale. “When is Daddy coming?”
Concentrating on washing Theo gave me time to compose my answer. “When he can, darling.”
Hearing me awake, Joel spoke over his shoulder. “We’ll be landing soon. It’s a short strip and might be a bit rough.”
“I’ve been helping,” Rosie said. “Joel says I’m a good flyer.”
“The best,” he said. “Emma, this is under the radar, but if we get a reception committee, you’re my co-pilot, right?” That reminded me of flying back home to Maine with Matthew, and the memory of it hurt.
“Right,” I managed, turning away so Rosie couldn’t see the pain screwing tears from sore eyes.
“And if we’re intercepted, we’re landing to check an engine fault and to refuel. You have the passports?” he added. “Just in case?” Did I? I hunted in my bag, stained and damp from snow, and retrieved the document wallet. Inside, I found four United Kingdom passports – mine, Theo’s, one for Rosie… and Matthew’s.
It didn’t matter where we were, or where we were going. A car drew up on the tarmac of the private landing strip. All I knew was that Matthew wasn’t with us, so when a turbaned man in a sweater and black jacket and matching beard said, “Morning, love. Take the bag for you?” I could only answer stupidly, “You’re British.”
“It’s been a long flight,” Joel explained, lifting Theo in next to Rosie.
“I ain’t got a baby seat, mate,” the driver frowned. “Not that far, though. Reckon it should be all right.”
“This’ll have to do.” Joel slid my travel bag under the baby, whose chubby legs – now back in the snow suit – dangled over the edge.
“Where are we going?” I asked, covering the children with my blue blanket, and waiting for Joel to get in the front next to the driver. He remained standing and I knew then he wasn’t coming with us.
“I have to go back, Emma – see if there’s anything I can do, you know?” His skin looked dull beneath the fair stubble lining his jaw, creases of worry running in a sharp V between his eyes. I embraced him for a long moment without answering. His grip finally loosened and he released me. “If I hear anything, I’ll be in touch. You sure you’re gonna be OK?”
I nodded. “We’ll be fine – they’ve got what they want. Just take care – please. I don’t know what sort of reception you’ll get. If they were prepared to do that to Maggie…”
“Yeah, well, someone’ll have to pay for that.”
I rested my hands on his forearms, feeling the tension in the heavily muscled arms. “Joel, no. Matthew wouldn’t want you to take revenge – he wouldn’t want that on your conscience. Anyway, there’s the rest of the family to watch out for now he’s… gone.” I let my arms drop.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “This guy knows where to take you. Matthew said if anything happened… you know… then there’s everything you need in here – everything,” he emphasized, rapping the battered metal case. “You better go. Keep a low profile, right? Keep off the grid.”
“They have Matthew – they don’t need us,” I said.
“Sure, but you can’t be too careful. Stay out of sight; stay low; stay safe.”
“You come a long way, duck?” the driver asked the rear-view mirror as we drove from the airstrip.
A long way?
“Yes,” I replied, “I have.” He waited for me to elaborate but gave a little shrug when I failed to supply any more information. I’d come a long, long way, further than I ever thought possible, and now I travelled with all I had left in the world into an unknown future. In the dim light of the car, Rosie and I held hands and I stroked Theo’s head until he fell asleep, his baby lips parted from which soft snores came. Outside, a gentle drizzle misted the windscreen against which the blades swept in even strokes, too dark to see where we were, or where we were going. I leaned forward. “Where are we going?”
Drizzle had given way to a lean dawn parading the horizon in slivers of silver by the time the car drove down a long drive, past contorted gates and under the broken gatehouse arch to come to a standstill in front of the ancient façade. The angry ticking of a blackbird broke the steel silence of the morning.
The driver jerked a thumb at the weathered oak door. “Seen better times, ain’t it?” He hunched into his padded coat and sniffed the November air. “Sure you don’t want me to drop you and the kids somewhere else? My cousin’s got a place in Leicester. It’s not much but it’s better than this and it’s cheap.”
Rosie let go of my hand and skipped up the broad steps leading to the door and gave it a shove. It remained obdurately shut. On the tips of her toes, she reached up and knocked, the taps absorbed into the great door.
“Rosie, Mrs Seaton won’t be up yet. It’s very early; we’ll wait.” I turned to the driver. “Are you sure this is the address you were given?”
He scratched at his beard. “This is it. Look, love, I can give my cousin a call and at least you can get the kids something to eat.” Rosie stooped by the wonky pot by the steps and reclaimed something from the crumbs of old compost, swathed in dead leaves and cobwebs. She held it up. “I found the key!”
The key. And why would there be a key under the pot? “We’ll hang on here, thanks,” I said to the man. “I don’t expect we’ll be long.” Rosie was already trying to feed the long iron key into the keyhole, smearing her fingers in rust. The driver eyed me with a degree of doubt.
“If you say so. Here’s me card if you change your mind.” He handed me a card with his contact details and a bent corner.
“Thanks…” I checked the card, “… Mandeep, but I don’t have a mobile.”
“No mobile?” He shook his head, patted his pockets and held out his. “You need to call someone?”
Hesitating, I took it from him and found my hands shaking as I dialled the only person I could think of. I spoke swiftly, circumventing the inevitable flurry of questions after the initial dumbfounded silence, then handed back the phone. “You’ve been very kind.” I mined my bag for my meagre emergency stash. “I’m afraid I only have a few dollars.”
He held up his hand. “All been paid for.” He chucked Theo under the chin and waved to Rosie, and left us in a cloud of diesel fumes with the blackbird scolding from a nearby tree. There seemed little point waiting any longer. I went up to the gnarled door and knocked loudly. Then again, straining to hear any answering movement from inside. Rosie waved the key at me.
I sighed in resignation. “Might as well. Daddy must have arranged this with Mrs Seaton.” At the mention of him, my stomach curled into a tight fist, grinding from my belly button through to my spine. I pushed it away, concentrated on the here and now. “Perhaps we can take Mrs Seaton a cup of tea to make up for the intrusion.”
With Theo balanced on one hip, I worked the key in the lock, shedding shards of rust and dislodging a spider. Pushing the door open, I peered around the edge, but Rosie
nipped through the crack. “Don’t trip over the cat,” I heard myself say automatically, although there was a marked absence of life in the porch, but she was away. I left the battered box by her little bag she had dropped by the door and went into the panelled cross passage of the inner hall. It was bare except for the old Gurney radiator, its metal fins cold to the touch and home to feathery webs that blew like pennants in the draught from the door. On our right, the stairs dog-legged out of sight. I stood at the bottom, feeling like an intruder. “Hello?” I called, waited a moment and then, “Hello? Mrs Seaton – Joan – it’s Emma Lynes.”
There was a tap-tapping of feet running on the landing above, and Rosie’s little face appeared through the heavy balusters of the bannisters. “Mummy, there’s nobody here.”
“There must be. Hang on. I’ll check down here.” I went into the great hall with Theo struggling to get down. The tatty sofas were still there by the fireplace and a standard lamp with a wonky shade, but the fireplace was empty bar a few charred sticks and the remains of a pigeon’s nest. I let Theo explore the expanse of the medieval hall and went through the door behind the dais into the Jacobean room beyond. The rooms were empty with neglect, bordering on dereliction, with no sign that anyone had been there for some considerable time. Retracing my steps, I went into the kitchen. The tap no longer dripped, but ivy explored a cracked pane of glass, and the room smelled terminally damp. Propped against an old milk bottle was an envelope. At some point a mouse had nibbled the edge, and small, black droppings littered the table. In the dim light, I read the thin letters: Mr and Mrs M. Lynes. Clippings of paper fell like confetti as I unfolded the letter, the centre as pierced as a doily by tiny teeth. I read it, hearing Joan Seaton’s sparrow voice.
