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I see a flash of movement in the chrome bumper of the van and it’s just enough warning for me to turn and deflect Fuse’s attack. The knife he’s holding, a huge serrated hunting knife, barely misses my arm as I lunge left.
He doesn’t come after me, but just stands there, slightly hunched over, holding his knife ready for another attack but he’s not making it. His eyes are in total shadow, but I feel his hateful gaze. It burns like fire.
Blood is running down my left forearm, warm and thick. He didn’t miss. But I feel no pain.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, speaking in my best aggressive voice, as I run through all my options in my head.
He’s got a knife, I’m unarmed.
My best bet would be to make a run for it. In a fight, he has the obvious advantage, but in a race, he’ll probably lose. He must be well in his fifties.
“You think you can just take her?” he hisses at me.
It’s the manic tone of his voice as much as what he’s saying that confuses me completely.
“Who?”
“Beatrice!” he screams her name so loudly a flock of birds take flight from a nearby tree, cawing shrilly.
I’m not always the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to putting two and two together, but I think I understand this. I don’t want to. It’s too sick to even imagine.
“She was willing enough,” I say and the shadows covering his eyes deepen.
“She doesn’t know what she wants. She needs looking after, watching, protecting,” he hisses taking a step towards me. I take one back, staying as far out of reach of his knife.
“You’re the one stalking her?” I say. “Why? What would her father think?”
“He’d want me to take care of his little girl,” he says. “I continued watching her even after that bitch, her mother told us she wants nothing to do with us. Watched her grow, made sure no one hurt her, kept her safe.”
“And scared off or killed any guy she was with?”
“Yeah, and you’re next,” he says. “That Aaron guy squealed as he begged for his life. Are you gonna do the same?”
“You sick fuck! What do you think will happen? That she’ll fall in love with you?”
I’ve never been good at knowing when to keep my mouth shut either. He growls and lunges at me.
Stand and fight. It’s my only option. Else I’ll die here like Bea’s last boyfriend died, only my body will never be found. And then he’ll go after her. That can’t happen. It won’t.
He’s slower than he thinks he is, especially on this uneven ground. And I’ve spent most of my free time training back in Afghanistan. It was one way to keep fear of a random bomb blowing me to bits, or having to watch it happen to my friends in the car in front of me. It worked then and it’s paying off now.
His first two attacks go wide, but he’s quick to regain his balance after each, quick to turn and slash at me with his knife. Clearly he’s had a lifetime of practice at this.
But he’s breathing hard now, beads of sweat rising on his forehead, falling into his eyes. On his next lunge, I stay close, risking a knife in the chest so I can bring my elbow down on the back of his neck as he misses.
For a split second, right before my elbow connected I thought I had lost and he had won. But he’s on the ground now and I don’t much care if I kill him as I land three fast, hard kicks in the side of his head, then three more in the ribs for good measure. The knife is lying half an inch from his limp lifeless fingers and I kick it away, before pulling out my belt and tying his hands as tightly as I can.
I think he’s still alive, but I don’t check and I don’t care either.
I load him in the back of the van, slam the door shut, and get behind the wheel. The cut on my arm isn’t as innocent as I thought it was. Blood is still streaming from it and I’m getting lightheaded fast. I feel no pain as I tear a strip from my t-shirt and wrap it around the wound as tight as I can.
Then I reverse back along the forest path, and gun it as soon as I hit the pavement.
The ride is a blur and my vision is dangerously blurry by the time I reach Sanctuary.
Fuse is awake in the back of the van. His banging and screaming at me to let him out was the only thing keeping me conscious for the last couple of hours.
“Get Cross,” I tell the guy at the gate. “I need to talk to Cross.”
“Who are you?” the man demands, but by then I’ve lost too much blood. I lose consciousness mid-sentence as I try to explain who I am and why I’m here.
