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“Hopefully, we’ll have her nice and safe by then.”
“I know. And, Tony…”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t want her hurt.”
Ruth
I don’t look back. I don’t dare.
Head down, legs pumping, heart pounding from a mix of exertion, fear, and sheer bloody determination, I make for the wooded area five hundred metres away. It means running headlong across open land, in full view of the house, but I have no choice. My sole purpose is to put distance between me and my prison.
Me and my jailor.
I pause briefly when I reach the shadow of the tall, swaying boughs. I bend over, panting, check over my shoulder but see nothing to suggest the alarm has been raised. No sirens, no gunshots. For the first time since I crept out of that bedroom, I believe I might make it. Just a few more yards, then scale the wall.
I dive in among the tree trunks and run for my life.
There’s shouting. Loud voices, somewhere behind me. Getting close. Closer.
They’re coming.
I didn’t think I could run faster, but somehow I find another gear. I’m so near I can almost taste it. I can’t fail now.
“There!”
I can’t contain my sob of agonised despair. Just a few more seconds, that would be enough.
They’re in the woods, behind me, crashing through undergrowth, shouting to each other.
“Moses, your left.”
“Just ahead. There.”
“Jimmy, cut her off from the right.”
They’re closing in. All around me. If I can just…
Suddenly, the perimeter wall rears in front of me. Solid, smooth, the stonework weathered over the years, seven feet of unassailable barrier between me and my hard-won freedom.
I never even pause to think, just fling myself up it, grasping for the top and coming up a good few inches short. I scream in bitter frustration and slither back down, right into the arms of the huge guard who brought me my breakfast what seems like a lifetime ago.
I’m fighting, grappling for dear life, driven by instinct rather than optimism.
This bear of a man lifts me off my feet, swings me around and away from the wall. Others are there, too, surrounding me. Too many, more than I can count.
I manage to land an elbow in the midriff of the man holding me, and this just annoys him.
“Seriously?” He flings me over his shoulder and carries me back through the trees as easily as he would a sack of potatoes.
We emerge back into the late morning sunshine, where another familiar face awaits.
It’s the man I met in the cells, the one who tackled me to the floor and took my gun from me. He’s leaning on the bonnet of a Land Rover, an amused smirk on his face.
“Nice run, Miss Lowison?” He opens the passenger door of his vehicle. “Let me offer you a lift back.”
The man-mountain drops me unceremoniously on the ground. I find myself sprawling in the grass, fighting back tears of rage and frustration. I ignore the outstretched hand and stagger to my feet.
