Читать книгу The Chase: an ebook short story - Paul Finch - Страница 5

Alex was somewhere between Oxford and Daventry when she met the Traffic cop.

He should have been a godsend.

Darkness had fallen an hour ago, and it was two hours since she’d diverted from a log-jammed M40 motorway in an effort to navigate her way north via different routes – and okay, she had her sat-nav so it shouldn’t have been a problem, but sat-nav systems weren’t infallible as hers had since proved. Alex had now turned the useless thing off and dropped it into the passenger footwell; in fact, she’d been tempted to rip it from its socket, smash it face down several times on the steering column, and chuck what remained of it out of the Corsa hatchback’s window. It wasn’t just that the damn thing had issued instructions bearing no relation to geography, but its voice facility was on the blink. So as well as trying to steer her way along looping, twisting country lanes, she’d also had to keep glancing at the tiny glowing screen. None of this made it any easier to play back the last couple of meetings she’d recorded that afternoon on her Smartpen, or add the occasional afterthought or footnote as she’d been planning to on the journey home. The Smartpen at least was operating properly, but Alex was barely paying attention to it because she no longer had a clue where she was. This area could hardly be classified as wilderness, but all she was seeing at present were hedgerows, woods and farmland that seemed to run on forever. So, at roughly nine-thirty, the sight of a spinning blue beacon in her rear-view mirror ought to have been a blessing. But then she noticed her speedgauge, which said that she was pushing close to fifty – when stressed at the wheel, Alex had the habit of putting her foot down (back home, Joe went mad about it) – and when the pursuing Traffic car flashed its headlights at her with more than a hint of belligerence, she realised that a shitty evening had just turned a lot shittier.

She pulled up in a lay-by, powered down her window and waited. Soles crunched on gravel as an indistinct figure approached from the Battenburg-patterned car that had cruised in behind her. He shone his torch directly into her face. It was a rude thing to do, but Alex understood why he did it – she could have been any kind of maniac. In addition, it might help her. Alex had just turned forty, but with her natural blonde hair – a little wild and shaggy at present, though that in itself could be fetching – and her bright blue eyes, always rimmed with mascara, she was the sort of woman blokes tended to do favours for.

‘Any idea how fast you were going back there, miss?’ He was a tall man – she could make that much out behind his bright light. It gave him a stern aura.

‘Yes … I’m sorry. Look, I know it’s not an excuse, but I’m lost and I’m late.’ This was always the bit where the wheel might come off. As a sales manager who needed every break she could get, Alex never had a problem with exploiting her looks. But she was well aware that outside Merseyside her Liverpool accent could be a disadvantage. As a rule she tried to play it down, but she doubted she’d be able to play it down sufficiently to impress an irritable police officer. So she added quickly, ‘And all these dark roads, with no signposts anywhere … to be honest, I was getting a bit jumpy.’

‘What name is it?’

‘Alexa Goddard.’

‘And where are you from, Alexa … as if I didn’t know?’

That irked her, but she kept it polite. ‘Liverpool.’

‘You’re a long way from home.’

‘Tell me about it. I’ve been at Life Science 2013 in Oxford. I sell pharmaceuticals. It finished at six o’clock. I should have been home ages ago, but there’s a big smash north of Bicester and I was trying to make my way to the M1.’

‘Have you had a drink this evening?’

‘No … like I say, I’ve been working.’

‘Got any ID with you?’

‘Only my driving license. I can present my insurance and MOT certificate at a police station up north … is that okay?’

‘You’re no stranger to this procedure, I see.’

That irked her again. She tried to visualise him properly behind his light, glimpsing a white Traffic Division hat and a white shirt under a black stab-jacket, with a radio affixed to one shoulder. She could discern short, dark hair and a firm jaw. His accent was neutral, with a slight Midlands lilt.

‘The license will do for the moment,’ he said.

She reached into the passenger seat footwell to fumble in her handbag, now aware that he’d dipped his torch slightly, his eyes roving over her.

She found her purse, took out her license with attached paperwork and handed it through the window. He examined it for what seemed like several minutes.

‘I see you’ve already collected six points for speeding offences this year,’ he said.

She gave a contrite smile. ‘I’m on the road an awful lot.’

‘So you drive for a living. You should know better than the average motorist.’

‘It’s the speedcameras. You can’t go anywhere without one of them clocking you.’

He handed the license back. ‘The speedcameras are there for a reason. I’ve followed you for over four miles, and all the way you were doing nearly fifty along thirtymilesperhour roads. If you’d knocked someone down at that speed, you wouldn’t be looking at a fine right now … you’d be looking at prison. So in some ways I’m doing you a favour, aren’t I?’

This was probably true, Alex reflected, feeling a tad guiltier than she had.

He paused. Though the beam of torchlight was angled into her face, Alex again had the distinct and rather creepy feeling that he was looking down at her thighs, which her knee-length skirt had exposed a little.

‘f I issue you with a fixed penalty notice now,’ he said, ‘that’ll be another three points on your license. That means you’ll have nine. One more strike after that and you’re disqualified.’

‘I know …’

‘That means every trip you take, not just on work time, but every time you go for a ride with your husband and kids, you’ll be on a kind of probation. You’ll be scared to death in case you get pulled over again. Be constantly worried about losing your job.’

Alex was well aware of this, but she couldn’t help wishing he’d get on with it. Okay, she’d crossed the line and would now have to pay the consequences, but she could have done without a lecture from someone who, by the sounds of him, wasn’t yet thirty.

‘Course, there’s one other possibility,’ he added.

‘There is?’ She tried not to sound too hopeful.

‘There are ways to pay your dues without having to cough up cash or speed points.’

‘I see …’ Alex’s heart sank. She immediately knew what he was implying. Somehow she could tell it from his body language, the way he was suddenly leaning towards her. She realised she ought to be outraged, but frankly she was just too weary. ‘And I wonder what those might be?’ she said.

‘No you don’t.’ His tone had softened, though there was still a degree of firmness there. ‘Worldly woman like you. Been here, there, everywhere. Who’s done it all … and probably more.’

She looked up at him, glimpsing a pale sickle of grinning teeth behind the torchlight. ‘Quite a charmer on the side, aren’t you?’

He shrugged. ‘I meet so many ladies in need of company. My heart bleeds for them. I just can’t help it … I always want to give them a second chance. Of course, some of them are too dumb even to take that. But it’s your choice.’ He reverted to ‘business mode’ with indecent speed. ‘The alternative is you go it your own way … and pay the price.’

‘And just out of interest,’ she said, ‘where were you planning to give me this second chance?’

He shone his torch past her into the back of the Corsa, but its rear seat was cluttered with boxes spilling leaflets, not to mention her suit jacket and the patent high heel shoes she’d worn for three toe-throbbing days on the conference stand. ‘Not much room back there.’ He grinned all the more. ‘Fortunately, there’s plenty in my car.’

‘So let’s get this absolutely clear,’ she said. ‘I mean, let’s not beat around the bush … though I suppose that’s what you’re planning to do?’

‘Well yeah, sort of.’ He chuckled, perhaps pleased to find that she was every bit the knowing lass he’d hoped for.

‘Just to be absolutely sure what kind of deal we’re making here … I get into that police car with you and let you have sex with me, and in return you don’t issue me with a speeding ticket? In fact, you forget this whole thing ever happened?’

‘That’s usually the plan.’

‘Usually? I see … so you make a habit of this?’

‘Helps pass the long, boring shifts.’

‘Okay … hmmm …’

‘One stipulation.’ He chuckled again; a hard, humourless sound. ‘You have to wear the high heels in the back there. I’m not interested if you’ve got those passion-killers on.’ He speared torchlight at her feet, which were currently clad in the tatty white sneakers she always wore for long-distance drives.

‘Well we can’t have you uninterested …’

‘And just in case you’re having trouble making your mind up …’ For the first time he shone the torch on to himself, revealing dark brows, a sharp, aquiline nose, green eyes, a lean, wolfish smile; no matinee idol, but somehow it worked. ‘This is what you’ll be getting.’

‘Cool,’ Alex replied. ‘And just so you know what you’ll be getting …’ She held up her Smartpen, the red light on the end of which revealed that it was on ‘record’. His grin collapsed like melting jelly; that alone was worth all the inconvenience he’d so far put her to. ‘Every single word of the conversation we’ve just had now exists for posterity!’

It was almost comical the way his mouth had sagged open, the way his eyes had half-glazed. He’d gone from man to goldfish in the space of a second.

‘So let’s me and you now make a new deal,’ Alex said, reverting to full on ‘Liverpool 8’. ‘You cocky little shit! You walk back to that fucking police car of yours. You don’t even look at me again, never mind say another word to me. And you drive away from here, and you keep on fucking driving for the rest of the night, and you never mention to anyone else, for any reason, that you caught me speeding. And maybe … maybe, I won’t feel the need to send a copy of this conversation to your superiors. PC …?’ She checked his epaulette. ‘PC 3841. So what do you say, eh?’

He mumbled something inarticulate.

‘I can’t fucking hear you!’

He mumbled something again. But now his expression was changing. A little of his youthful truculence was returning; but he was still pale-cheeked with shock, and that might not be a good thing. Not wanting him to do anything impulsive, Alex didn’t wait for his response. She switched on her ignition and threw the car into gear.

As she spun back out onto the blacktop, she glanced into her rear-view mirror. He was standing by the roadside, gazing after her, not – to her relief – dashing to his car to give pursuit, or putting his radio to his mouth to send a message ahead. It was difficult to imagine that any arrogant young pup like that, cop or otherwise, could be taught a lesson so easily. But she had him by the short and curlies – by Christ she did. She glanced again into her rear-view mirror. He was still on the roadside, now with hands on hips – still not following.

Did that mean she’d won?

Of course you’ve bloody won! What else would you call it?

A sense of exhilaration flooded through her. She laughed, but more with relief than glee. Despite the tough ‘Scouse girl’ persona, Alex’s heart had been thumping back there. She again glanced in the mirror. Thanks to a sweeping curve in the road, the cop and his car were no longer in sight. Meanwhile the country lane spooled out ahead, briefly straightening so that she could see at least as far along it as her headlights penetrated. It was early September, so everything was still in leaf. Bugs flitted across her path, bright blobs in the glare of her lights.

But where exactly was she going?

She still didn’t know. With her sat-nav on the blink, she realized that the only road map she had was lying in crumpled, oil-smeared tatters somewhere in the loaded boot.

She eased her foot off the gas, wondering if she’d been too hasty in her flight.

That cheeky bastard had been asking to get his nose pushed out. But instead of running like a frightened rabbit once she’d got him to back off, she should have asked him for directions; demanded to know where she was and which was the quickest way out. Instead, she was driving blind again, along tangled roads which seemed to exist without rhyme or reason, still a hundred miles from home, and – she glanced at her clock – it was now almost ten.

Alex swore under her breath.

She filched the mobile phone from the side pocket in the door – but calling Joe would serve no real purpose. He couldn’t consult a map on her behalf, or even go online and try to pull off an AA road guide, because she had no reference points to give him: she’d seen occasional huddles of farm buildings, but there’d been no lights in their windows and no village signs. The net result of calling home now would be to set Joe pacing the house – and with his blood pressure that wouldn’t be good.

She slowed the Corsa and pulled in against the side of the road, before flicking on the interior light. She felt incredibly isolated, her car a glowing capsule in a sea of empty darkness. She checked the sat-nav again, but dropping it into the footwell hadn’t helped. Its screen had cracked, and now she couldn’t even activate the power switch.

The way she saw it, she had two choices: she could carry on ploughing through the night, hoping to see something that might guide her. Or she could go back and ask the Traffic cop for directions.

She didn’t like the latter option, but increasingly, it looked like her only choice. No doubt he’d be stewing in his own juice by now, getting angrier and angrier about being bested by her. But what was he going to do? Confiscate the Smartpen? In effect rob her? He might fancy himself a Lothario, but she’d seen no sign that he was violent. If anything, when she’d first turned the tables on him he’d looked like a scared little lad. But just in case. she slid the Smartpen under her seat; he wouldn’t be able to put his hands on it even if he tried. Jesus, he might be glad to see her return, might be grateful for a chance to negotiate. Either way, she’d brazened it out with the officious little wanker once, so she could easily do it again.

Unhappily, she put the car back in gear and swung it around in a three-point turn.

By her reckoning she’d come about a mile since leaving him. He might not be there now, of course – she’d told him to piss off. But after driving nervously for several minutes, the road ahead curved to the right and she recognised several clumps of trees. This was the spot. As she rounded the bend, his vehicle came back into view in the lay-by. His interior light was on, but he was standing alongside his driver’s door – or at least somebody was. Alex was about forty yards away and approaching fast when she realised that the cop was actually in the driving seat. Whoever was standing on the road conversing with him through his window must have arrived since she’d left, because now she could see the sleek outline of another vehicle parked about ten yards behind his.

Good! In fact, ideal! He won’t try anything with someone else here.

Three bright flashes inside the police car suddenly distracted her.

Alex didn’t realise what they were until she heard the belated trio of gunshots. And even then she at first dismissed the idea, or tried to. Numbness seeped through her as she drove forward. For the next few seconds she viewed events in staccato fashion, seeing the world as a procession of blurred freeze-frames:

The Traffic car and the standing figure approached on her right.

The figure was clad head-to-toe in black.

Its left arm was poked through the Traffic car’s window.

There was now no sign of the cop – had he slumped down?

The inside of his windscreen was filmed with crimson spatters …

Alex unconsciously decelerated, almost slowing to a halt as she glided incredulously past. The figure pivoted slowly around to watch her. Perhaps he hadn’t heard her approach because of the full head rapist mask he was wearing, complete with narrow slots for his eyes and a zipper where his mouth should be.

Then he was behind her, falling steadily away again.

Alex’s heart juddered in her chest. Her hands were like claws on the wheel.

They were playacting – they had to be. It was a game, some kind of rehearsal.

There was another flash and a loud report, and a massive impact on her rear window, one whole side of which spider-webbed. Even this failed to jerk Alex from her daze. She yelped and ducked, but it was pure instinct. Only when a second report followed, her right wing mirror exploding in shards and splinters, did she scream aloud and slam her foot down. The Corsa lurched forward as she worked up through the gears. At the same time she fumbled for her mobile, but her hand was slick with sweat.And as she caught a swirl of movement in the rear-view mirror, a long, sleek vehicle spraying gravel as it swung around on to the blacktop, the phone slipped from her grasp, bounced off the handbrake and landed somewhere in the darkened recess behind.

Alex screamed again, panic-stricken.

It was amazing how it concentrated your mind, knowing that one tiny slip could end your life. For all her fast driving at home, Alex had never taken hairpin bends at ultra high speed. But that was what she did now, tyres shrieking as she fishtailed around corners, a stench of burnt rubber filling her nostrils.

Her pursuer’s headlamps, like two luminous eyes, constantly swung into view behind her.

‘He killed that cop! Just walked up and shot him!’

It was absurd, but even saying those words aloud didn’t make it seem real.

WHUUUMP! Another blow struck the rear of her vehicle, swaying it on its shocks.

Good God, the bastard’s shot at me again!

The road straightened out ahead, and she floored the pedal. Darkened hedgerows rocketed by on either side. There had to be someone around here whose front drive she could park on, whose front door she could hammer down. But perhaps even that wouldn’t save her. She goggled at the rear-view mirror; he was tailgating her by only a few feet, a distance he soon closed to a few inches. His engine revved insanely; he was so close that she could see his anthracite outline hunched behind the steering wheel. He’d kept his mask on. Of course he had, because he was going to need it when he was standing over her, to create a final instant of horror as he trained his gun on her face, the zippered mouth curved in a jack-o’-lantern smile, his leather-gloved finger crooking on the trigger …

No … dear Christ, no! Don’t think like that. You’re going to get out of this! You have to! Joe’s waiting at home for you!

Her normal life would go on. This was nothing; a nightmare, a nasty interlude …

With a thundering impact, he rammed her rear end.

Alex screamed as she swerved. A glance at her speedo showed that she was doing nearly ninety. If she lost control now, she’d roll the Corsa for hundreds of yards.

CRAAASH!

He struck her again – he was definitely trying to force her off the road, and his vehicle was clearly more powerful than hers.

‘Bastard!’ she sobbed. ‘You sodding maniac bastard!’

A T-junction loomed ahead, a road-sign nestling beneath a single streetlamp. But Alex had no time to read it; she spun to the right at heart-stopping speed, her nearside wheels bouncing over the kerb, thrashing through undergrowth. The chasing vehicle copied the manoeuvre, but fell behind a little, allowing her a proper glimpse of it in the fleeting yellow light. She thought it might be an Audi Saloon, possibly black, but she didn’t waste time trying to be sure. The road arrowed on and on through her headlights. She got her foot down again, as hard as she could, and at the same time groped behind her seat with one hand to see if she could locate her mobile, but nothing came to hand.

The road swung left; she flung the Corsa around it, the rubbery reek again assailing her. Then it veered right, sharply, terrifyingly. Alex ducked as branches and twigs rattled along her bodywork, as the passenger side window imploded against a particularly heavy bough. The car hit a manhole and leapt like a bronco, throwing her hard against her seatbelt. She gripped the wheel for dear life, gagging with pain – only to land upright again and continue headlong, trees and bushes flickering past like speeded-up movie footage.

And then she spotted something: a break in the hedgerow coming up on the right.

It looked like the entrance to a drive because it was framed by stone pillars.

A farmhouse maybe? A pub or restaurant?

She wrenched her wheel around, the Corsa jackknifing through the narrow gap, rending and crumpling its offside flank in the process; her lovely Corsa with its handsome, metallic-green finish – it was already virtually wrecked.

She jolted along a rugged, unmade road, hemmed in on either side by tall barbed wire fences. In the bouncing glow of her headlights, she saw a dirt surface. fringed down the centre with tussocky grass; so much for this being the entrance to an inn or restaurant. She glanced at her rear-view mirror. The gateway receded behind her, but though her pursuer’s headlamps were visible there, they were stationary, falling behind, vanishing into the dark. Did that mean the bastard knew this was somewhere she’d find help? Or was he unsure and weighing up his options? Either way it was a chance Alex couldn’t miss. She got her foot down, speeding on along the rough, narrow trail – for an entire fifty yards or so before it ended abruptly. She hit her brakes hard, the Corsa skidding forward, its tyres scarcely able to grip the broken surface.

A closed farm gate blocked her way, chained and padlocked. Her headlamps cast stripes of light through its timber bars, showing nothing beyond but a field. A pillared gateway like that, like the entrance to some country estate – and it led to this? She craned her neck around. The track behind still lay in darkness. Sweat stood on her brow as she released her seatbelt, kicked the driver door open and clambered out. The internal light came on, but it hardly mattered – she still couldn’t see her mobile. She lugged the back door open and frantically searched the footwells, groping with both hands under the seats. It had to be here somewhere, but all she encountered were paperclips, dusty pens and scrunched toffee wrappers.

Light fell over her.

She jumped up, ramrod straight. The sweat chilled on her cheeks as she watched a far-off glow coalesce into two distinct but fast-approaching headlights.

What do you expect?–For all he knows, you saw his registration number!

She scrambled out and flattened herself against the car for shelter, even though she knew that wouldn’t save her any more than it would if she hit the deck and slid underneath. He would check down there too; he couldn’t risk not checking. Good God, she was going to die here … she was really going to die. A desperate thought came to mind: could she get away on foot? She glanced at the fences to either side. They were six feet high at least, and Alex was only five-five, plus they were made from barbed wire.

What about the farm gate?

It was padlocked, as she’d seen, and as high as the surrounding fences, but its bars were simple timber struts and there was no wire. The headlights grew larger at her rear. There was no option. Alex hiked her skirt to her waist and climbed. Breathless, she landed on the other side and started across the field, which was evidently a pasture because it was rutted and comprised thick tufts of grass, making her trip and stumble. She blundered ahead, gasping as exertion took hold of her. After about fifty yards, the pasture sloped downward, which helped a little. But glancing back, she now saw that the Audi had parked up behind her own. Was he wondering which way she’d gone? She prayed that he was. Perhaps this was the end of the pursuit? She might have run off in any direction. But when she looked again she saw something that iced her blood. A powerful cone of light, extending for dozens of yards, penetrated outward from the farm gate, sweeping across the field like a searchlight. It would swing in her direction imminently, and with her blonde hair and white blouse she’d be a sitting target.

It blazed past, catching her briefly. She hurled herself full-length to the ground, tasting dirt and damp grass. The light passed on, only to flirt backward, catching her again. Alex attempted to roll away. There were two loud booms, and a couple of smoking divots were torn up where she’d just been lying. Whimpering, she scrambled to her feet and ran on, attempting to zigzag. A third boom sounded as the light briefly lost her; something whined past her ear like a wasp. Unintentionally, she went to ground again; the field had dipped steeply, and she found herself rolling down a gradient, winded and bruised, but realising in the same instant that she was suddenly out of his eye line. She came to rest on her back, and saw the searchlight beam slashing back and forth overhead.

Panting, she threw herself on to all fours and crawled to her left. The hillside steepened steadily. He’d have to jump over the fence and follow her; that was his only solution, and he’d have to do it soon. The angle of the field now blotted out the searchlight completely; the ridge behind her was a dark shoulder smudged against the stars. She got to her feet and hurried forward, still trying to keep low but risking further backward glances.

The cone of light reappeared, but far to her left. It was narrowing, which meant that he’d come over the fence and was advancing. She stumbled on, lungs burning, heart knocking against her ribs. Ahead, the terrain flattened out and then rose towards a second ridge. She was sure she could get over it; she was running on pure adrenaline – until she got close and saw that it was actually a dyke; a steep, man-made embankment. Its apex was maybe fifteen feet above her, and crowned by another tall fence.

Alex’s whimpers became subdued wails as she gazed breathlessly up. She could probably climb it at a push, but how close was he? She looked round again – and was shocked to see that demonic orb of light jolting its way towards her. He was some distance away, but clearly he’d picked up her trail because he was running.

How the fuck had he located her so quickly?

She followed the dyke rather than attempting to scale over it, and almost immediately a tunnel came into sight, leading through to the other side. Scarcely able to believe her good fortune, Alex skidded to a halt. It was a black passage, cylindrical, rimmed with brick. She could just about distinguish a circular blot of grey at the far end. She went through at speed, stumbling on stones, sliding in what presumably was cattle-dung, turning her right ankle but battling through the pain. Emerging at the far end, her eyes adjusted more quickly to the starlight, and she saw that she was in a second field, though this was smaller – more of a paddock. About fifty yards away there was another fence, and beyond that a belt of trees. Even better, a gap in the trees revealed what looked like a track winding uphill towards the straight-edged outline of a building.

With new strength, Alex ran forward. All the time she glanced back, focusing on the black mouth of the tunnel but seeing no light pour out of it. Had he given up? If he knew there was an occupied building near here he might well have done.

She reached the track. This too was muddy, stony and deeply rutted – probably by the passage of tractors and other farm machinery. All to the good. She hurried on, trees enclosing her from either side, but with the building firmly in her sights.

“HELP!” she screamed. “HELP ME, PLEASE! PLEASE HELP!”

It was a risk – if he’d lost her trail, she’d now draw him right to her, but letting the occupants of the house know in advance that she was coming would give them more chance to call the police.

Except that it wasn’t a house.

It was a barn.

She realised this just as she reached it, the rough wooden boards with which it had been constructed emerging like phantoms through the gloom. Her first reaction was to hammer furiously on its nearest wall, crying out in despair. But then it occurred to her that it might only be one of a clutch of farm buildings. She stumbled along the side of the barn, her legs like jelly now that the adrenaline rush was flagging. The palm of her left hand stung fiercely. She glanced down and saw a gash crossing it diagonally. The whole hand was dark and sticky; fresh blood squelched between her fingers. She’d probably done it climbing over the farm gate. It would likely need stitching and a few shots, but there was hardly time to worry about that now.

Wheezing for breath, she reached the other side of the barn, only to find no additional outbuildings save a couple of cowsheds and a gherkin-shaped silage tower. Another track led away from this, again cutting through the encircling woodland. But how far would it go on? How much more running did she have to do? Alex hadn’t done much exercise in recent years and she was now bone-weary, her body damp, cold and stiffening.

She continued probing along the side of the barn, hoping against hope that she’d find something – a tractor, a quad bike, maybe even a tethered horse – anything she could use to affect a getaway. But all she found were two slightly open doors.

She hesitated, peering at the darkness inside with heart pounding. She didn’t like the idea of hiding and possibly trapping herself, but running was getting her nowhere and at least if she was hiding she could rest. She sidled into a dank interior, which, though she couldn’t see it, she could sense was enormous. There was an eye-watering stink of manure, but if she poked around in here there had to be somewhere she could conceal herself. It didn’t need to be the best hiding place on Earth. This guy was surely running out of time; that cop would be missed at some point.

She might even be able to lie low until dawn; though how far off was that? Alex wasn’t sure she could tolerate the stench in here for six minutes. Grimacing, she lurched forward, arms outstretched. Even so, she managed to miss a solid wooden stanchion, which she walked into face first. It caught her right on the nose and brought fresh, hot tears to eyes already swollen with weeping.

Irritably, she wiped them away and glanced back. The entrance was defined by a narrow slice of darkness vaguely paler than the darkness around it. She listened, but there was no sound from outside. Satisfied, she scrabbled leftward of the stanchion, and found an upright ladder. It was firm, secured in place. Without really thinking, she began to climb. No doubt it would lead to a hayloft; there’d be no escape from up there if she was cornered. But at least she’d be looking down on him,which would give her an advantage of sorts. That said, she climbed much higher than she would have been happy with. Eventually, about sixteen feet up, she ascended through a square aperture, and clambered from the ladder onto a straw-covered shelf, though in the pitch dark she couldn’t see how far it extended.