Acolyte (34 page)

Nobody around. The sudden privacy of where she was hit her as a wave of relief. A huge sigh escaped her lungs.

Then she glanced in her mirror.

‘No,' she said. A black four-by-four, taking the same right turn she'd just taken.
Impossible
, she thought, then she looked again. It wasn't black. Dark blue. Not the same car, but that was hardly a comfort. The sense of threat was there. If both cars had been following her …

‘Crazy, paranoid, sleep deprived, scared,' she told herself, keeping her speed steady and watching behind. ‘Nothing more.'

This road was deserted; the buildings were deserted. A moment ago she'd been taking comfort in that. Now all it did was make her feel completely exposed.

The car behind seemed to lunge forward, and she knew the empty road had proved too tempting an opportunity for them. She could see it eat up the distance, and when she tried to pick up speed, her ancient Toyota did little more than shrug, the engine pitch rising with no significant change to the power it was actually putting out.

She looked in her mirror. It was coming. Unable to outpace them, and armed only with the canister she'd taken at the hotel, all she had left was surprise.

Do something drastic.

Something crazy.

The dark blue car caught up with her and drifted over to the oncoming lane. Annabel figured they planned on pushing her off the road into the wide scrubland that ran along by the substation fence.

Suddenly, she thought of something suitably drastic.

She shifted down a gear and veered hard right, towards the scrub, foot to the floor. Her car's engine was screaming in the lower gear, but it was enough to give her that boost of speed as she swung back again, almost perpendicular, and smashed into the rear of their vehicle.

She lost control, continuing all the way across the road, trying to keep track of what was happening to the other car, seeing it
turn, slide, then roll before she herself hit a utility pole off-centre at the roadside. Airbags sprang into action, but she felt the hard thump of her head against the door window, much harder than she'd expected, hearing herself shout out in panic as she felt her awareness slip: grey, grey, and then black.

*

She opened her eyes with a gasp, looking around to find the other car. It was motionless in the centre of the road. Her car's engine had stopped. She turned the key, hoping against hope, but there was nothing at all. The engine was a fatality.

She opened her door and went to the front of the car, ruefully impressed by the damage she'd managed to inflict on it. She looked across at the other car, which had come to rest upside down maybe sixty yards away. She knew she had to move. Given how rapidly she'd seen it roll, there was a good chance they'd been left unconscious, but …

There was movement from inside. An arm, flailing out of one open window, then moving with a little more purpose.

Annabel tore her eyes from the sight, trying to assess where to run. One ankle hurt like hell. Her foot had been hard on the brake when she'd impacted the utility pole, so maybe
run
was a little optimistic. The rows of small concrete units were the only cover she could reach.

She walked alongside the building as fast as her ankle allowed. Some of the doors had padlocks that looked as though they were in working order, suggesting they were still in use, but there were no markings or signs to identify if any businesses were being run from here. Certainly, there was nobody around this time on a Sunday morning. Little more than a set of garages, perhaps, storage with cheap rent and no facilities. She wondered if it was associated with the substation, perhaps – spares, maybe, or tools.

Tools.
Weapons.

She reached the end of the row and saw that it continued along
at right angles, maybe another twenty small doorways interspersed with a few roll shutters large enough for a vehicle. At the corner she took one last glance back at the other car and got a shock: both the men inside were working their way out, looking around them and towards her car, but she had some cover from foliage and they didn't seem to have noticed her. She took herself fully out of sight around the corner and worked her way up, testing doors.

Feeling a drop of sweat slide down the side of her face, she wiped at it. Her hand came away red. She was keenly aware of how much trouble her ankle was giving her, but what was really scaring her was a severe weariness, a sense that she didn't have long before she would simply fall.

A row of vegetation at the far end of the building was sparse enough for her to see the movement of traffic behind it, but reaching it would have proved difficult enough even without the men coming for her. She had to find somewhere to hide, fast.

She tried each of the unpadlocked doors in turn, but none gave. Then, five along, one door was badly dented and rusting more than the rest. She pushed at it, wincing at the shriek of rusty hinge and sending a look back to the end of the building, expecting to see the men lumbering around the corner.

She stopped pushing and put her head through the gap she'd made. Inside was a bare concrete room, perhaps twenty feet square, dirt and dry leaves and old cabling. She hoped for a bolt on the other side of the door, but there was nothing, so she decided to move on.

The next door seemed in better condition and to her relief it opened silently. Inside was a longer room, an L-shape that seemed to cut back around the end of the one she'd just been in, but it was clearly unused, the same kind of dirt and debris lying around. There was another door in the far wall, though, which might mean she would have another exit.

Her dizziness was increasing moment by moment. She shut the door behind her, disappointed but not surprised that there was
no way to lock it. On the floor a few feet away was a square wooden post, around five feet long. She bent to pick it up, reeling for a second before regaining her balance, then carefully she braced the post against the door. The concrete floor of the room was sufficiently uneven to give the post some purchase, but she wasn't so naïve as to expect it to hold out against much. She just hoped it wouldn't have to.

She heard voices, deep muttering and harsh angry barks that couldn't be far away. Annabel allowed herself a little satisfaction that she'd managed to spoil their day thus far.

She backed away towards the other door, gripping the handle and turning. It wouldn't open. Perhaps a little more force would do it, but the last thing she wanted was to risk revealing her position. Instead, she moved around the end of the L-shape, out of sight. It was the best she could do.

She heard a thump a little way down; what she presumed was foot-on-door.

‘No,' she heard one man say. ‘Try that one.'

The familiar shriek of hinge came from the dented door in the neighbouring room, painfully loud. The sounds of shuffling footsteps were interspersed with complaints of injury – whoever it was on the other side of the wall, they were battered, just like her.

‘Nobody,' came the voice, just a few feet away.

She noticed something on the floor near her, a two-foot metal rod. When she heard the shrieking hinges of the closing door, she crouched down and retrieved it, standing again. Solid, a good heft. If the wooden post she'd braced against the door didn't hold, she might get a lucky hit, maybe two. They were injured, after all.

She should have been ready for the solid
thump
on her own door, but it took her by surprise, the rod nearly slipping from her grasp.

A pause. She was waiting for them to say ‘no' again, to move along. Annabel felt another drip run down the side of her head. Leaning back on the wall she wiped at the drip with her left hand.
Noticing just how much blood was on her fingers, an image hit her, along with a surge of weariness, and darkness at the edge of vision. The image in her mind was of the door she had come through as she came into this room. Old, off-white and dirty, yes, but not
so
dirty.

Not so dirty as to hide the smear of blood she must have left on it as she'd pushed it open.

Shit.

Another kick.

Another pause.

To get their strength
, she thought.
No rush. Not now they know where I am.

She knew she was beaten, knew it was done. She could feel tears running down her cheek, intermingling with the blood, but they were tears of frustration as much as anything. Frustration that she could be so easily cornered.

Another kick. The post slipped a fraction. Annabel gripped the metal rod in both hands.

Her tears were still coming but now she realized there was grief in there too. She was allowing herself to admit at last that Jonah and Never were likely just as dead as the cop who had been with them, Bob Crenner. Just as dead as she would soon be.

Another kick. A cry of pain, and some swearing.
Good
, she thought,
hurt yourself.

‘Keep going, she's in there,' said one voice.

‘My fucking knee's gone, you finish it.'

Kick.

The post shifted again. Annabel raised her weapon, bracing.

Kick.

The post fell, the endless clatter as it bounced against the floor the loudest thing Annabel had ever heard, reverberating around the bare walls. The sound of her last hope dying.

Under cover of the noise she hurried towards the door, standing to the side of it against the wall. She would rather be right there
when it opened, and have the chance to take as many swings at them as she could. Rather that, than cower with the child-like hope that if they couldn't see her immediately, perhaps they would leave.

Her teeth were gritted. Her tears were all anger now. The door swung open, its movement so gradual it seemed almost mocking. She held her breath, gripping the metal rod. Then she stepped away from the wall and faced the open doorway, ready to fight with what little she had.

It took her a moment to register that nobody was there.

Her eyes moved down to the gravel outside. Two feet, legs, the rest of the man out of sight.

She edged forward. Maybe they wanted to avoid being jumped. Maybe this was just a trick to get her out of cover. She stepped left to get a better view of what was at the other end of those feet.

The man was lying on his side, facing away from her. She could see blood in his hair. He wasn't moving.

Hell
, she thought,
if it's a trick, I'll take my chance.
With one man on the ground, maybe one swing was all she'd need. It was certainly all she had in her, perhaps only a dozen more seconds before her strength would fail and leave her unconscious.

She raised the metal rod and strode out, looking left and seeing nothing, then turning right to face the other man. And there he was. On the ground. Blood still pumping from a small hole in his temple.

A woman was standing over him, arms folded. The slight girl from the hotel, with two dead men at her feet and a mischievous smile.

‘A simple thank-you would be fine,' said the woman.

‘Thank you,' Annabel managed, before her legs buckled and she fell.

*

The woman helped Annabel to sit up against the outside of the building.

Annabel watched her drag the bodies of the men inside, one by one, then pull the door closed. Stepping back from it, the woman looked thoughtful, before taking a handkerchief from her pocket, leaning over, and wiping away the bloody smear Annabel had left on the door.

‘There,' said the woman. ‘We have to get moving, but by the look of you, I'd better run and bring my vehicle here. Sit tight. Once we're far enough away I'll take a look at your injuries.'

The woman ran back towards the far corner of the building and disappeared.

Now that she wasn't standing, Annabel's weariness was under control, letting her think with a little clarity about what had just happened. Whoever this woman was, she had just saved Annabel's life. Without a better idea of what was going on, Annabel would have to be wary, but she was in no condition to try and run.

After a minute the woman returned, driving a sporty red Nissan that brought a smile to Annabel's lips. The car yelled
speed
, and right now speed was good. When they were both inside the car, the woman didn't hang about. She flipped it around and sped off back to the road, heading away from the crashed vehicles. Annabel could see another car there, someone standing beside it.

‘He's only just shown up,' the woman said to her. ‘I told him I'd found one person and was taking them to hospital. Said I reckoned the other driver must have caused it and run off.'

The road they were on was narrow and twisty, the woman pushing every corner hard but making it look as casual as sin. Soon enough the road opened out and straightened, joining another road with a little more traffic.

‘What's your name?' Annabel asked, aware of how weak her voice was.

The woman smiled. ‘You mean, “who the fuck are you”?'

‘That's what I mean,' said Annabel, finding herself smiling back, in spite of her determination to be wary.

‘You can call me Sly.'

‘Well, thanks for saving my life, Sly.'

‘Don't speak too soon, girl. We're not out of this yet.' Sly glanced at Annabel's head wound. ‘I'd thought they were under orders not to hurt you. They weren't doing such a good job, huh? Oh, hang on …'

She brought the car to a sudden halt. They were on a bridge over the highway. Sly leaned back and grabbed something from the rear seat that Annabel took a second to recognize.

‘You got my bag from the car?' she said.

‘We're better not leaving anything behind,' said Sly, rummaging around inside until she produced Annabel's phone. ‘Voilà!' she said. She stepped out of the car and stood watching the oncoming traffic below for a moment. She hurled the phone expertly towards a truck, getting it to land safely in a dip in the blue tarpaulin tied over the truck's load.