Town of Fire Page 14

  Alex crouches beneath the window.

  Screams erupt from the upstairs and a bedroom window is thrown wide open.

  “Fire!”

  A figure appears behind the girl and her captor. That’s two. Where’s number three?

  Jessie trains the bow on the man holding the girl. He stands in the shadow of the porch, hidden from view by the roses and honeysuckle vines. She waits for the glint of moonlight on his temple as he shifts. He takes a step down.

  Movement to the right catches her eye. The flash of a blade. Jessie trains her sights on the man as he steps forward to Alex. The bolt hits the man, piercing his chest beneath his raised arm. He staggers forward, the bolt blocking the stabbing motion, and falls against the wall.

  The terrorist holding the girl steps down into the driveway. “Bring the car.”

  Silence.

  “Bring the car to me or I kill the girl after they die.” He jabs the knife at the upstairs room. Smoke curls from the window.

  Bill walks out of the driveway and disappears down the lane. The car’s engine thrums, a door slams and headlights shine. The figure of the man, his arm now wrapped around the girl’s throat, the blade sticking into her ribs, is illuminated as the car swings into the driveway. Bill steps away from the car and moves to stand with Alex as the terrorists walk with the girl to the car.

  The boy yanks the back door open and the older man pushes the girl’s head down, forcing her inside the car. She pushes back, a foot against the lip of the door frame.

  A woman, hair dishevelled and clutching a boy to her side, steps out from the porch. The boy coughs, breaks free from her arms, and runs down the steps. “Amy!” he shouts before being yanked back up from the final step. The woman makes a prison of her arms as they lock around his chest.

  Jessie can’t let them take the girl. “Take me!” She steps away from Alex. “I’m the one you really want.”

  Alex grabs her arm as she takes another step towards the terrorists. “No!”

  The terrorist stares at Jessie then continues to push the girl towards the car.

  She has to stop him. “I’m the one who killed Bin Sayeed.”

  His head whips round and their eyes lock.

  “Give the girl back and you can have me instead.”

  The man makes no response though he continues to stare.

  She has to make him understand. “Give girl to mother.” Are they stupid? “Take me.” Still no response. Jessie takes another step forward.

  “Jessie!” Bill’s voice is angry. “What are you doing?”

  “Dangling a carrot. You said they were talking about what they wanted to do to me-”

  “If you knew what he’d said then you wouldn’t be doing this.”

  “I want the girl back. The way he’s touching her makes my skin crawl. They’re foul bastards. You know what they’ll do to her—she’s just a kid.”

  Bill grunts.

  “Let me do this. I know what I’m doing.” She turns back to the men. “Take me.” The terrorist grunts, shakes his head, then pushes at the girl, forcing her into the car.

  Jessie won’t give up. “I’m the one,” she calls, goading now. “I’m the one who skewered Bin Sayeed on the railings outside Parliament and I’m the one who watched your friends beg for mercy as they pissed themselves on the bridge.”

  He swivels to stare again, his teeth clenched.

  That’s right, get angry. Get real angry. “I’m the one who put the noose around their necks. I’m the one who pushed them over the edge.” His teeth bare. Come on! Jessie returns his glare and smirks as she takes another step forward. She raises her voice and laughs. “It’s me you want.” She pats her chest. “I’m the one who made them squirm like maggots on a fishing line.”

  The man growls with rage and pulls the girl back to her feet.

  That’s right! Hand her over. Jessie takes another step towards the terrorist. His eyes bore into her. “I’m the one.” Her voice is only just above a whisper, seductive, willing him to release the girl. “It’s me you want.”

  His lips in a snarl, his eyes narrow, and he shoves at the girl. “Throw down your weapons.”

  Jessie throws her bow to the ground though every cell of her being wants to launch herself at the man and rip him to shreds with her nails.

  “You,” he shouts at Bill, and Alex, prodding his knife at them in turn. “Stay. I kill the girl if you try anything. Karim, check the woman for weapons.”

  The younger man pats at the woman’s limbs, hovering over her breasts, sliding his hands down her sides, then slipping them between her legs before rolling up her trouser leg and removing the knife strapped there. He takes it and throws his down to the grass then stands and holds it against the woman’s belly. A length of white cloth tie her wrists behind her back and her ankles are hobbled.

  “In the car.”

  Without any attempt at defiance the woman slides into the back seat. The younger man, knife in hand, follows. The door slams shut. Sarah’s heart pounds. The tip of the knife is still pressed to Amy’s ribs and a dark patch of blood is seeping into the fabric of her t-shirt. Bastards!

  “I kill her if you come after us.”

  Amy squirms then squeals as the man’s arm tightens around her neck.

  “No!” Sarah screams as Amy splutters. The terrorist takes a step back to the car pulling Amy with him. “Please! Please let her go.”

  A smirk, thick with hate, spreads across his lips as he pushes the blade between Amy’s ribs. She screams and then seems to fly as the man shunts her with a violent kick away from the car. As she stumbles, he jumps into the car, reverses it with a squeal of tyres, then disappears down the road.

  Chapter 24

  Jessie’s scans the petrol forecourt as they pull into one of the remaining parking spaces. On her last visit, there had been a few cars shoved into the hedgerows and the parking bays had been mostly empty. Now they were full. The skin on her neck prickles as a queasy nausea twists at her guts.

  “Hassan is here!” Khaled shouts and bangs his fists on the steering wheel. “Now we will avenge our brothers, alhamdullillah.”

  The boy is slow to reply. Jessie watches every movement of his face. There was a sullenness and despair about him. “… Insha’allah.”

  The car comes to a jolting stop, and the contents of the boot thud. Khaled throws open the door and strides across the forecourt, his voice carrying above the excited jabbering of the other men. The younger man remains beside her.

  She’d listened intently to their conversation during the twenty minutes it had taken to reach the petrol station. To her surprise, the boy didn’t speak Arabic. The older man had seemed angry towards him, the boy’s replies wary, though desperate to placate. The boy doesn’t move, just watches Khaled as he gesticulates, jabs towards the car then jabbers to the others. Jessie leans forward slowly, peering at the dashboard—the keys dangle in the ignition. Getting them is her only hope. Her wrists chafe against the rough cloth. Her chances of escaping the group of armed, and probably trained, men, is next to zero. She closes her mind to failure, and what that would happen before they finally killed her, and turns to the boy.

  “Karim, you can get out. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I’ll stay here.”

  “You said that without an accent.”

  “I’m from London.”

  “You’re a long way from home then.”

  “… Yeah …”

  Jessie keeps a watchful eye on Khaled. “I bet you’re looking forward to getting home.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You kind of seem … like you don’t belong here.”

  The boy sucks breath in through his nose and closes his eyes. When they open, Jessie makes her play. “Do you? … Belong here?” Their eyes lock, Jessie’s heart pounds; he may be her only chance.

  “No!” His shoulders sag. He breaks her gaze. “I mean … hell—this is hell.”

  Khaled takes a man by the arm and leads him awa
y from the larger group, deep in conversation.

  “At first it was a way to protect myself—in prison—you either joined them or they’d come for you—make your life … Jesus!”

  “You joined them when you were in prison?”

  “Yeah. I was doing eight months in Olney for GBH. I dipped a kid in the park—he was asking for it though.”

  “Dipped?”

  “Yeah, with a shank—a knife. I knifed him.” He quiets. “In Olney it’s the prisoners who rule and there’s a lot of them in there—they gang up on you. Joining them,” he gestures to Khaled, “you get through the days.”

  “But you’re here? Once you’d left prison you could have-”

  “Nah—once they’ve got you, they’ve got you. They’ll kill you, threaten to kill your family, if you try to leave. When I got out, I wanted to do something, make a better life for myself, not this. I told them I wasn’t interested but then they started on Kass.”

  “Kass?”

  “My sister—they attacked her on the stairs—slapped her about—told her that they’d be sharing her around if I didn’t do as I was told. I couldn’t let that happen.

  “Like a gang.” Jessie watches Khaled as he turns to walk back to the group. His face shines with excitement. He’s insane!

  “Yeah, it’s just like a gang, only this lot claim it’s a holy war.”

  “We can get away.”

  The boy stares at her.

  Tap! Tap! Tap!

  The boy startles. “What the hell is that?”

  The tapping sounds is followed by a muffled voice. “Jessie!” Tap! Tap! Tap. “Jessie!”

  The boy twists in his seat and stares into the back. The tapping pushes at the back seat, a firm pressure on Jessie’s back.

  He’s in the boot! “Jesus! Uri.”

  “Uri?”

  “He’s in the boot.”

  “What?” The boy looks from the back seat, to Jessie, and then to the men outside. Sweat beads his hairline.

  Jessie twists, shoving her wrists at him. “Quick, undo my wrists.”

  “But-”

  Jessie jabs her tied wrists towards him. Her arms ache with the strain. “Please! Quick. We haven’t got much time.”

  “But if they catch me.”

  “You know what they’re going to do to me, don’t you? Please, untie my hands. You can say I got free and knocked you out.”

  “But-”

  Remembering the sister, she tries a different tactic. “Khaled’s on the other side of the court—they’re all busy talking—making plans to destroy the town and everyone in it. Is that something you want on your conscience?”

  “No, but-”

  “One day it will be your sister they … rape, if they’re not stopped. Please!”

  “Turn around.”

  Jessie turns and in the next seconds her wrists are unbound and she’s free. She bends to untie her legs then clambers into the driver’s seat as Uri continues to tap.

  “You’re going to have to stay there, Uri.” She floors the clutch.

  “What are you doing?”

  She twists the key in the ignition. “Getting out of here. Do your seatbelt up.”

  Khaled and his cronies are deep in conversation, the others are gathered in two groups whilst a few stragglers move between them. Jessie slips the gear into reverse then gently eases off the clutch and moves the car back in an arc. Heads turn. Jessie floors the accelerator and powers the car past the first group. Figures run towards the car. She swerves, knocking into them. The boy thuds against the door but makes no attempt to leave. A grunt sounds from the boot. Sorry, Uri! The car knocks into a figure sending it bowling backwards. Jessie swerves around the final pump and aims for the exit. Foot to the floor, the car hurtles, its engine vibrating with strain. Come on! Get me home! Steering onto the road back to town, she checks the rear-view mirror. Multiple car lights move onto the road behind. She crunches the gears into third and is blinded as lights flood the front of the car and a van is suddenly in her path, straddling both lanes. She twists the steering wheel to avoid it but its bonnet crashes against the car. Shunted onto the steering wheel, she screams as the boom of the crash fills her ears and the car flips. The car fills with thuds, bangs, and screams and then the shattering of glass. It lands with a crash and she’s thrown to the roof, then back to the seat as it rolls down the embankment before stopping with a heavy crash on the road below. She sits for a moment in stunned silence as pain wracks her body. The boy is silent, his head leant against the window.

  Thud! Thud! Thud!

  Uri!

  The stench of petrol is strong. Light fills the car as vehicles approach. She pushes at the car’s door. It moves but doesn’t open. She pushes again. Metal creaks as she forces it open. Unclipping her seatbelt, she falls from the car. The hum of engines grows with the brightening light. On her knees, she pushes up, leans against the car and makes her way to the boot and flips the lid.

  “Jessie!”

  “Get out. They’re coming.”

  The cold, hard tip of a gun’s barrel presses against the back of her head. “They’re here.”

  Killing the bitch would be the last thing he’d do to her. Before that, he’d show her just what they did those who attacked the brethren. It was something he’d got a taste for in Rawwa and then Raqqa and the brothers had chosen him to ‘punish’ the women given his previous training as a butcher. The only difference was that the animals he slaughtered back home had their throats cut first. “On your knees, bitch.” Khaled swings the rifle across the back of the woman’s head and kicks at her buttocks before turning his attention to the blond giant.

  Michael takes a tentative step then leans up against the door frame. His legs feel tight, the muscles stiff.

  “You should be lying down with your feet raised.” Clare takes rapid steps down the stairs.

  “I had to use the toilet.”

  “I put a bottle beside the sofa.”

  Michael groans. “I couldn’t stand another second on that sofa. Its hot and stuffy in the room—there’s no air.”

  “Come on back and sit down. We need to keep listening.”

  He grunts but allows her to take hold of his elbow and walk with him back to the sofa which had become his bed. On the coffee table the radio crackles.

  Clare picks up the pad and pencil as Michael tunes the radio. White noise crackles.

  Viktoria waits at the door. “Any news?” She wrinkles her nose then walks to the window and opens it. “Hope you don’t mind. It is hot in here.”

  “Nothing yet, Vicky. I’m sorry.”

  “Uri will be back soon. He always comes back. I wait for him so many times.”

  A voice, guttural and harsh, crackles from the receiver. Alert, Clare sits forward and begins to scribble. Another voice, a man’s, crackles over the radio waves. Clare makes notes. The room is silent as they listen to the voices bounce back and forth. Finally, the radio falls silent and Clare leans into the writing pad on her knee, intent on translating the words.

  “Well?”

  “Was it them?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “I think they’re planning to attack the town.”

  “Again?”

  “Yes, but this time they talked about an army. And listen, they talked about attacking the blockades.”

  “When?”

  “One said: ‘It gets light at four’. The other replied: ‘Then we strike at three.’

  Michael, reaches for the handset and tunes the dial. “Firestorm. This is Bramwell. Do you copy?”

  “Bramwell this is Firestorm. We copy.”

  The handset crackles and Bill crouches low, holding it beneath his jacket. Sam’s voice is muffled but clear. “Bramwell have intercepted a communication. The Barbarians are planning to attack at three am. Repeat: Barbarians to attack at three am.”

  “Reinforce the blockades and get Haydock. Tell him to go ahead. Over.”

  “Haydock? Go
ahead? What the hell!”

  “Talk to him, Sam.”

  Bill slips the radio back into his jacket pocket and stares across the petrol forecourt.

  It was an oversight that they’d left it as a functional station, a place the enemy could use to regroup and refuel. He could understand why Jessie had offered herself in exchange, but … he runs fingers through his hair.

  Chapter 25

  The last body is carried to the verge. Four bodies lay in a neat row. Sam stands on the top of Haydock’s Mercedes Benz and throws the rope over the thick bough that hangs ten feet above the blockade. It extends across the verge and across the road. The bodies will hang in a perfect, if not horrific, display.

  Sam throws the first rope. It hooks over the tree and he catches the other end. Though thin, the rope is long and tough. He’s quite sure it will hold the weight of the men’s bodies. “Tie the end round its neck,” he calls down to Chugger.

  Chugger grunts as he steps forward, his belly spilling over the top of his jeans as he leans forward. He kneels next to the first body and slips a long length of the nylon rope beneath the neck then proceeds to wrap it around twice and tie it off. Sam pulls. The rope burns in his hand and the body barely moves. “Give me a hand!”

  With Chugger’s help the body is hoisted from the dew-laden grass, slapped against the side of the van, then hoisted until it clears the car’s roof by a couple of feet. Chugger knocks the body as he jumps to the road, making it swing like a pendulum and catching at Sam’s side. He pushes down his revulsion. The bodies weren’t fresh.

  The clatter of footsteps. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Colin bloody Haydock!