Page 16 of Savage Warrior

Another place I’ve never heard of. “Where is that?”

“Scotland. North, in the Highlands. Fucking miles.”

My heart sinks. “How many miles?”

She shrugs. “Maybe three hundred.”

Fuck. How much longer before they let us out of this van? I’d thought the ship’s hold was awful but I’m quickly rethinking that opinion. All things are relative. Then, we were chilly and damp, now our quarters are claustrophobic and freezing.

I resort to my usual method of defence. I lean back against the wheel arch and close my eyes. Sleep doesn’t come. I never imagined it would, but I can let my mind drift until I’m forced to focus once more.

I don’t know how many hours of respite I manage before the grey light of dawn and the slowing motion of the vehicle conspire to nudge me back to consciousness. I sit up to peer out of the rear window, disturbing Lucy.

“What is it? Are we there?” she hisses.

“I do not know,” I reply.

From what I can see we’re in another car park, but not deserted this time. The driver finds a relatively quiet area as far as possible from any other vehicles and kills the engine. The sound of the driver’s door opening, then slamming shut, followed by the same from the passenger door, tells me that our captors have probably stopped to use the facilities. I doubt we’ll be offered any similar luxury.

Sure enough, I spot two shadowy silhouettes loping away from where we are parked, heading for a brightly lit building a few hundred metres away. An illuminated sign offering burgers, kebabs, and fish and chips suggests some sort of truck stop. Maybe they’ll return with food.

The other women entertain the same misguided optimism, and one even kicks at the inside of the van. “Let us out,” she yells.” I need a piss.”

Someone warns her to shut up, but she’s having none of it.

“You shut your mouth,” she snarls back. “I need to get out of here.”

“Don’t we all. It’s not happening, so—”

The angry reply is halted by the sound of a resounding slap. I grind my teeth in frustration. As if things are not bad enough, do we have to resort to attacking each other?

More voices join in the din. More women take to battering the metal walls, kicking, shrieking abuse, and hurling threats at each other. Someone has managed to locate a foot pump and is hammering on the side with that. Metallic crashing pierces the eerie pre-dawn silence.

Running footsteps approach. There are male voices, speaking in rapid English. I curl up small again and huddle in a corner. Our captors are back. There’s going to be violence, and I want none of it.

“Who’s in there?” A face is at the window, peering into the gloom within. “Do you need help?”

I sit up and venture a look. Two men I’ve never seen before are circling us, viewing the van from every angle. They are in uniform, and one is talking into a radio at the same time as he studies the registration plate. Police!

I sense rescue and join in the commotion, hammering on the doors with my fists. I make eye contact with the closest police officer and mouth the word ‘please…’

My rescuer’s brow furrows, then clears in understanding. He nods, just briefly, before his head explodes before my eyes.

I’m still gaping at the blood-spattered glass when the door is wrenched open. I tumble out, hurled forward by the crush of women stampeding for freedom, made crazy by terror. Carried forward by the momentum of my fall, I roll across the rough tarmac to come up hard against the fencing at the perimeter of the car park. I’m winded. It takes me a second or two to gather my breath and my wits. Meanwhile, our captors are grabbing women and dragging those they can keep hold of back, but it’s an unequal task. Two men, even with guns, can’t control a dozen rampaging women intent on running for their lives.

It’s over in moments. The chaotic struggle gives way to silence when the gunmen leap back into the van and roar away with just a few females recaptured. The rest have scattered into the darkness.

Stunned, I sit up. The dead police officer is lying a few feet from me, his colleague kneeling at his side and yelling into the radio. Their marked vehicle is close by, blue light flashing and headlights blazing to illuminate the carnage. Already people are running in our direction, attracted by the din.

I have to get away. This is my chance, most likely my one opportunity. If I’m still here when the police arrive in force, I’ll probably be arrested and locked up. I’m an illegal immigrant with no papers, no right to be here.

Worse, what if my captors return? I’m a witness to… whatever. Murder, at the very least. They won’t let me live to tell the tale.

Every instinct I have screams at me to make myself scarce, to put as much distance as I can between myself and this carnage. My mind racing and oddly numb, I stagger to my feet and do just that.

Surrounded, suddenly, by shocked bystanders milling about, shouting above each other, demanding to know if the police have been called, it’s not too difficult to move silently among them. I reach the edge of the crowd and I run.

CHAPTER 5

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