Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Richard Once more, we drive, covering the same ground, when, with a jolt, James sits upright. “There’s the signal again! It’s only a mile or so away, on the road, back the way we came.”

His fingers dance over his keyboard as he zooms in on the signal, pausing only to clutch at the dashboard as Michael makes a screeching one-eighty turn. The three of us press back in our seats as he accelerates hard, the smell of burning rubber blooming through the air.

Screaming down the winding mountain road, we break out from the dark enclosure of the pines and as we take a corner, swaying into the turn as we do so, the headlights swing onto a running figure….

No…. Two running figures….

It’s Charlotte, racing pell-mell, dragging Elizabeth behind her, almost towing her….

She’s done it!

She’s fucking done it!

Whatever you want Charlotte….

…. Anything you want….

But as the headlights catch them, Charlotte twists around, the lights directly in her eyes. Even from here, her expression, feral with calculation, is clear.

She U-turns, almost spinning to run the opposite way, her fingers gripping Elizabeth’s wrist, hauling my wife behind her….

All she can see is glare….

As she turns, Elizabeth stumbles, losing her footing, but Charlotte yanks her upright, dragging her along and away.

Michael slaps a hand on the wheel. “Fuck! They don’t realise it’s us.”

Elizabeth is staggering, clearly exhausted. But Charlotte doesn’t release her grip, leaning into her stride as she pulls her along. In the dark, I struggle for a moment to find the window switch, but as it slides down, I yell out, then lean out, waving. “Elizabeth! Charlotte! It’s us….”

My wife is slow to react, her movements sluggish. But Charlotte spins on her axis, still with Elizabeth swinging behind her, and now, running directly for us, is shouting something at us, her free arm gesturing wildly….

What’s she saying?

…. but within seconds her message is overtaken by events as car lights swing onto us from off-road.

Another vehicle races up the hill towards us, towards the fleeing women.

Michael curses and slams onto the accelerator, but it’s not clear who will reach the women first. Spot-lit by beams from three directions, Charlotte halts, hovers for a fraction of a second, then suddenly releases Elizabeth, shoving her in our direction, gesticulating and screeching instructions at her.

My wife totters towards us, but Charlotte dashes off to one side, vanishing into the darkness, and one of the cars turns to follow.

“Shit!” spits James. “We can’t follow both!”

“Neither can they…” mutters Michael, his foot still hard on the gas as he helter-skelters towards Elizabeth. “Get ready to pull her in,” he shouts back to me, but I’m already half hanging out of the back door, reaching for my Love.

She can see me and in the harsh light of the headlamps, her eyes are desperate, swollen, her face white and tear-streaked as, seeing me, arms outstretched, she screams my name.

As we are all but on top of her, Michael jams on the brakes, in a tyre-shredding, teeth-jarring deceleration, but the other car is almost on us.

“Get her in!” he yells as, our own vehicle still moving, I encircle my wife, lifting her clear off her feet as I haul her in. As soon as I have her inside, without even the door closed, with a gut-slinging turn, we set off at speed.

For a moment she lies floundered across my lap, sobbing and wailing helplessly, but there is no time for hesitation as, outside the car, shots shriek and bullets jump….

With every shot, Elizabeth whimpers, burying her face in my chest. “Charlotte,” she whispers. “She got us out, got us away.”

I hold her tight. “We're not abandoning her….”

The car swings violently as Michael swerves, driving at reckless speed around some object in the dark.

All the while, James guides him with bare words and gestures that, to me, not in their loop, feel like some weird telepathy.

James peers out and down at where bullets skip and jump. “They’re going for the tyres…”

Again, Michael treads hard to the floor, and the car shrieks away into the night, following Charlotte’s direction….

But now we have two cars giving chase, shots firing as we skid madly from side to side, Michael swerves crazily to swing the headlights back and forth across our path, to avoid boulders, trees and gulleys, any one of which might be the hiding place for Charlotte.

Elizabeth emerges from my embrace, still shaking violently, but now watching the view ahead, such as it is. The headlights beam ahead into a bright blindness of trees, scrub and rocks, but with no sign of our quarry.

Where is she?

To have rescued Elizabeth, at the cost of losing Charlotte….

How would I ever look them in the eye again?

But there is no sign of her, and with shots ricocheting all around us, it is only a matter of time before our pursuers succeed in taking out the tyres….

I can’t say anything…

…. I just can’t….

So, with my trembling wife cradled in my arms, instead, I tap my phone. “Will, are you still there?”

“What the fuck’s happening, Richard?”

“We’ve got Elizabeth, but not Charlotte. She’s here somewhere, but she’s running, and we’re being pursued. They’re shooting at us.”

“Hold tight. I’ll flood the area with cars and officers.”

James speaks, sounding sick at heart. “We can’t stay. If we lose a tyre, we’ve all had it, and we’ll be no use to her then.”

Michael, still driving like some drug-addled speed addict, jerks a glance at him, his voice unbelieving.

“You’re saying we should go? If they catch her again, what do you think are her chances of escaping a second time?”

James pinches the bridge of his nose, speaking quietly. “We’ve got Beth. Let’s get her to safety. We’ll come back. How far away can she be? And if we come in daylight, with the police, perhaps she’ll see it’s us and come out of hiding.”

Michael shoots him a glare, then sags in his seat, nodding. “Can you navigate me to a road?”

I speak into my phone. “Will, we’re coming back to the highway, before they get the tyres and disable the car. If we stop, we’re finished.”

“We’re on our way.”

As I disconnect, I tap James on the shoulder. “I’ve spoken to Will. He’s going to saturate the area with patrol cars. If we can get back to the highway, we’ll have company very quickly.”

Elizabeth sits up beside me, beginning, despite the gunshots, to regain her composure. “And perhaps Charlotte will break cover then,” she says.

James is following a map on his screen, weirdly illuminated on a night-vision setting. “We’re only a minute or so off the main road.” He points. “That way, if you can.”

Michael nods, a terse, unhappy gesture, but follows the direction.

Will wasn’t exaggerating about flooding the area, and as we approach the highway, lights, blue and amber, flash in all directions. The pursuing glare behind us falls away, and some of the police cars turn to follow it, skidding past us in pursuit.

We pull up, surrounded by a rampart of police vehicles. James, still peering at his screen, sighs, his voice weary. “We’re down to just the one tracer and it’s travelling with us.” He twists to face us. “Beth, where have you got it?”

She stirs in my arms, wiping a hand over her face. “Sorry, James. I’m not with you.”

He swallows hard. “We found you because Charlotte planted tracers on herself and her car. She didn’t tell you?”

Elizabeth trembles, her breath shuddering against me. “She set herself up? To find me?”

Michael is silent, his knuckles knotting on the steering wheel. James’ speech is slow and slurred. “She started with seven trackers. There’s only one left, and it’s here in the car. It’s got to be on you. Did Charlotte give you anything?”

She shivers, reaching up into her hair, “Um, yes, a couple of combs. There were lice in the room they were holding us in.”

James exchanges a glance with Michael. “I’m sure she found that convenient.”

Yes…. that would suit her modus operandi….

He holds out a hand. “May I see the combs, please, Beth.”

Hands shaking, she struggles to remove them, and as she pulls them free, her long red hair, normally so beautiful, now stinking, drops in greasy plaits to her shoulders.

James takes the combs, using the flashlight of his mobile to get a better look. He’s clearly far beyond upset, but nonetheless, his brows rise as he examines the work of his red-haired prodigal.

The combs are nothing special. Any market stall or budget store could have sold them for small change. “Mmm.… she did a good job of disguising the tracer, at least to the casual eye,” he comments.

“She replaced one of these pewter type gems with the tracer; slotted it into the socket. No-one would notice it on a casual inspection.”

He swallows again. “Beth, was she wearing a necklace when you saw her? With a locket? The kind you can put a photo in?”

“She was when they first brought her in, but when they made her change all her clothes, they took it off her.”

What?

James and Michael exchange another look. “Changed her clothes? Was that before or after she gave you the combs?” he asks.

“Some time later.”

That nose pinch again….

He’s trying to think straight, but he’s just about disabled by stress….

After a moment, James continues, “It looks as though they caught on that she had the tracers, but didn’t realise that she’d already planted one on you.”

This isn’t going to get us anywhere….

…. We need to get the story out in a coherent whole….

“What now?” I ask. “I’d like to get Elizabeth home.”

Where I can get the complete tale from her….

Michael nods. “Perhaps one of the police cars? Now that Charlotte knows we’re here, and the police too, maybe she’ll show up.”

*****