Read Skin and Bones Online

Authors: Tom Bale

Skin and Bones (3 page)

BOOK: Skin and Bones
7.84Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
Four

She took his advice. It didn't matter that she was giving him what he
wanted. It meant she had a chance. Every second she stayed alive was
a tiny victory.

There was no point trying for her car. He'd never let her get close
to it. She spun on her heels and ran back the way she'd come. Back
on to the lane behind the cottages, back towards the church. It was a
couple of seconds before she heard his feet on the gravel. He was deliberately
giving her an advantage.

Remembering something she'd read, she began to weave from side
to side, trying to present a more difficult target. The churchyard was
only sixty or seventy yards away. She had maybe ten yards on the
killer, and could probably extend that to twenty. But it wouldn't be
enough.

The problem was the gate. The latch was heavy and cumbersome.
If she stopped to open it, he would be on her in seconds. Game over.

She studied the gate, and the wall either side of it. Made some
calculations. The wall was roughly three feet high, the gate an inch
or two higher. She'd jumped taller obstacles in her life, but not since
her schooldays. A good fifteen years or so.

But there was no choice. It was that or die.

No, she reminded herself. It was that or be raped, and then die.

She pumped her arms, measured her stride. She was aiming at a
spot on the wall just to the left of the gate. She focused on timing
the jump, thanking God she'd worn jeans and trainers today.

She almost made it. She launched herself into the air at exactly
the right spot. Her leap was strong, her body lithe and primed by
adrenalin and fear. Her feet lifted and curled to give her clearance,
and as she started to descend she thought she was over. But then her
left foot dropped, just a fraction, and caught on a lump of flint.

She pinwheeled, frantically trying to maintain her balance, but
landed heavily on her right foot. A searing pain tore through her ankle.
She fell sideways and rolled on the wet grass. Her knee scraped a
gravestone, tearing her jeans, and there was a whoop of laughter from
the path.

Well, fuck you
, she thought. A surge of fury gave her the strength
to get up. She risked a look back. The killer had reached the gate.
He was smiling, as though he expected to chase her around the village
for as long as it amused him, then finish her off.

There was an agonising jolt when she put her weight on her right
foot. She took a few steps, hobbling at first, testing the ankle until she
trusted it not to give way on her. Gritting her teeth against the pain.

She ignored the church. As a place of shelter it hadn't offered much
protection to the vicar or the cleaner. Instead she cut across the grass,
towards the lych gate. She didn't give any real thought to where she
would go: all that mattered was putting some distance between her
and the killer.

Disturbed by the commotion, the rooks flapped above the churchyard,
their bleak throaty cries like a comment on her prospects. Julia
reached the gate and wrenched it open. The houses in Arundel
Crescent were bathed in sunlight, lending a honeyed tint to the white
render. She wondered if any were unlocked.

She took another glance over her shoulder. The killer was trotting
in her wake, a little faster now, and scowling, possibly beginning to
regret giving her a head start. It made her feel absurdly pleased. He'd
underestimated her.

But hitting tarmac increased the pain in her ankle. She realised
she couldn't run for much longer. She had to find somewhere to hide.

She crossed the road a few feet from the mail van, disturbing a
sleek black crow perched on the postman's chest. It turned its inky
gaze upon her, decided she was no threat, then pecked lavishly at the
dead man's face.

Shuddering with revulsion, she looked away and caught something
far more significant: a woman's stricken face in an upstairs window
in the crescent. A moment's guilty eye contact and then she was gone.
If not for the curtain swaying in her wake, Julia might have believed
she'd imagined it.

She increased her speed, wincing as her ankle protested. She clung
to a vision of a front door opening, the woman beckoning her inside.
If they timed it right, she could rush through and slam it shut before
the gunman reacted. Then the two of them could barricade themselves
in. Wait for help to arrive, or even find a weapon and fight
back.

Julia was halfway across the green, still believing she could make
it to safety, when the bullet brought her down.

She didn't hear it coming. Didn't even feel anything at first. Just a
coldness on her skin, a disturbing friction, and she glanced down to
find blood soaking through her jeans. The bullet had grazed her right
calf, taking a sliver of flesh with it.

A moment later the pain hit and her leg seized up, slapping her
to the ground. She landed awkwardly, one arm caught beneath her
body, forcing the air from her lungs.

Bastard!
she thought
. He's not playing fair.

She twisted round and saw him, standing in front of the lych gate.
He looked immensely satisfied, as if winging her had been precisely
his intention. He was back in control. Now the real fun would begin.

Some primeval imperative refused to let her surrender. She struggled
to her feet. Her right leg wouldn't bear her weight for more than
a moment at a time. She saw she was only fifteen or twenty feet from
the yew tree, and instinct propelled her towards it, even though her
rational mind knew it was hopeless as a hiding place.

She took one difficult, lurching step. Then another. Turning away
from the killer was the hardest part. Every nerve screamed with tension,
expecting another bullet to strike. Probably he'd aim low again. He
would want her conscious for what else he had in mind.

'You. Cowardly. Evil. Wretch.'

The voice came from nowhere. Not a shout but a determined growl,
delivered slowly and through terrible pain. Julia and the killer reacted
to it at the same time.

It was Philip Walker. He was a tall, thin man, perhaps seventy years
old, with white hair and a face almost as pale. He was slumped in
the doorway of the Old Schoolhouse, pressing a blood-soaked towel
to his chest.

Julia heard the killer grunt, taken aback by this intervention. He'd
obviously left Walker for dead. The old man caught her eye and gave
an almost imperceptible nod:
get out of here.

In her peripheral vision she saw the killer turn and approach the
Old Schoolhouse. It should have given her renewed hope, but instead
there was an awful temptation to collapse on the grass, just shut her
eyes and let it happen: defilement, death, whatever he had planned
for her.

Then she rebelled against the defeatism. But she also knew she'd
never make it to the house in the crescent. In any case, there was no
guarantee the woman would let her in. Her best chance was the yew
tree.

She limped towards it, dragging her useless leg like a ball and chain.
As she drew close she saw the tree comprised four massive trunks,
creating a natural hollow in the middle. Moving around the base, she
located a gap large enough to squeeze through.

Walker was speaking again, snarling at the killer, who laughed in
response. Julia heard the creak of the garden gate, then footsteps on
Walker's path. She concentrated on pushing herself into the centre
of the tree, experiencing a burst of excitement as she realised she was
now out of the killer's sight.

Then she heard the peculiar spitting sound of the silenced gun.
Peeked out in time to see Philip Walker, shot twice at point blank
range, drop at his killer's feet.

She ducked back, tears clouding her vision as it hit home that he'd
sacrificed himself for her. She owed it to him not to waste this chance.

But what could she do? The only option was to climb the tree. If
she could gain some height, she might be able to use the thick branches
for concealment. Denied a clear shot, the killer would have to climb
up after her. She might be able to fight him off, perhaps kick him or
stamp on his fingers.

She grabbed the highest branch within reach, pressed her back
against one of the trunks and began to lever herself up. Even with
her bad leg, it was a surprisingly effective way to climb. The bark was
cool to the touch and resembled sunburned skin, dry patches flaking
away from the smoother surface beneath. The branches were thick
and sinewy, like something from a fairy story. At any moment she
expected one to curl around her waist and lift her to safety in the
higher reaches of the tree.

She was seven or eight feet above the ground when she regained
a view of the killer. He was walking away from the Old Schoolhouse,
doing something with the pistol. Reloading, Julia guessed. She could
see Walker's body crumpled in the doorway of his home.

The killer replaced the magazine, reached the green and stopped
abruptly. He looked round, at first confused, then angry. Julia felt a
savage exhilaration.
That's twice I've outwitted you
.

She continued to ascend. The short needles of the yew grew thickly
around her, obscuring her from view. He would have to walk right
up to the trunk to see her now. Another couple of feet and she could
hide completely.

Now she had a real chance of surviving. After all, she reasoned,
this nightmare can't go on for ever. Help must come eventually.

Something's got to happen
, she told herself.

And then it did.

Five

He looked like something from a movie. A superhero, a Special Forces
agent and James Bond all wrapped up in one.

Her saviour.

He was clad entirely in black leather: boots, trousers, jacket, gloves,
like some sort of costume. He wore a black motorcycle helmet with
a full-face visor. He burst into view from Hurst Lane and marched
towards the killer. He didn't appear to be armed, but he showed no
fear. He moved fast, his body confident and determined. It was the
most thrilling sight Julia had ever seen.

He called out in a gruff voice. The killer heard it and spun round.
His demeanour changed immediately. He seemed to shrink, bowing
his head in deference to the man striding towards him.

'What the hell are you doing with that?' the man demanded. Julia's
heart leapt with joy. Finally, someone with the moral and physical
strength to confront the killer.

The man in black shook his head, as if disgusted, and raised his
arm in the air. It looked like he was preparing to punch the killer in
the face, and Julia willed him on, praying that the murdering bastard
wouldn't read the blow in advance.

But it wasn't a punch.

It was a high five.

* * *

What shocked her most was that she'd been about to shout a warning.
She saw the killer adjust his body to what the other man was doing.
He's going to dodge it, Julia thought. And then he'll shoot you. And
suddenly she couldn't bear to see this man, this wonderful brave man,
become yet another victim. Her best hope of rescue wrenched from
her grasp.

So she opened her mouth to scream a warning. Filled her lungs
to fuel the words. Delayed half a second while she searched for the
right phrase:
Be careful!
Or
Watch out!
Or
He's got a gun!

And then the man in black slapped his hand against the killer's
hand, and the killer grinned and whooped and nodded ferociously at
something the stranger was saying. Talking in a low voice, their heads
close together, the killer almost blushing with pride as the man in
black spoke to him.

Congratulating him.

Julia's whole body spasmed with fear and despair. She threw both
arms around the tree and clung to it until the feeling passed. Her left
leg was wedged uncomfortably against the trunk, her injured leg
dangling in the air as if it no longer belonged to her. Blood ran over
her shoe and dripped on to the leaves below. The sight of it made
her head swim. She gulped in fresh air and looked up instead. Saw
aircraft trails criss-crossing a milky blue sky. It seemed incredible to
think that beyond the village there was a whole world carrying on as
normal.

And then she cocked her head. She could hear something. Faint
and far away, but it was there.

A siren.

The killer's words floated up to her: 'I shot this bitch, but she got
away.' Julia peered through the leaves and saw him gesturing towards
the tree. The man in black also turned to look. The faceless visor sent
a bolt of terror through her. He's Darth Vader, she thought. A dark
angel of death.

'. . . hiding over there,' the killer was saying, his voice whiny and
defensive.

The man in black leaned close and murmured something Julia
couldn't hear. To her astonishment, the killer meekly handed the pistol
to his partner, then slipped the shotgun off his shoulder.

Then both men froze. They could hear it too. Urgent pulses of
sound, growing louder.

The man in black took a step away from his partner and pointed
across the green. The killer swivelled his shotgun in the same direction.
Julia almost went to look herself, but then had a flash of insight:
it's a bluff
.

She saw the gun coming up and instinctively shut her eyes.
Remembered how the young mother had protected her son from the
knowledge of his death.

Heard the familiar
phutt
.

She opened her eyes. Saw the killer falling, shot in the temple at
point-blank range. Blood everywhere, all over him, all over the grass.
A spray of it on the motorcycle leathers. The man in black stepping
back, nodding to himself.

Julia made a noise, a little horrified yelp. She couldn't help it.

Then the branch cracked.

It didn't break. It didn't give way. It just dropped an inch or two and
she dropped with it, scrabbling desperately with both hands to hang
on. Her movement caused the tree to shake, the leaves whispering as
they rubbed together. Telling on her.

The man in black whipped round and faced the tree. At the same
time Julia realised the siren was fully audible. Perhaps on Chilton
Way by now, she thought. A couple of minutes away, maybe less.

But still too late to save her.

She hung suspended in the tree as the man in black approached.
At times his head seemed to be dipped, facing the ground. Julia was
confused. Why look down?

Her trainer offered the answer. Blood. He was following the blood
trail. It confirmed the noise in the tree wasn't from a crow, or a pigeon,
or even a frightened cat.

Her bladder let go. Hot urine soaked through her jeans and ran
down her legs. She barely noticed it.

Calmly, even casually, the man in black walked back to the body
of his partner, then turned and fired a rapid burst of shots into the
tree. Julia heard the bullets striking leaves and branches above her
head, gouging out chunks of bark. The debris rained down on her,
but she couldn't squirm away from it without revealing her position.

The next sweep was a couple of feet lower. She felt the bullets
whipping past, the lethal
zing
of displaced air.

Bizarrely, she didn't feel the bullet that hit her.

The impact caused her to topple sideways, where she struck her
forehead on a branch and then slithered and fell through the tree,
taking a few smaller boughs with her, finally bouncing off the lowest
branch and dropping cleanly the last four or five feet, landing face
up on the grass with a dull thud.

The man in black waited a couple of seconds, watching her body
for movement. The siren was very loud now, battering against the
vivid peace of the morning. He couldn't fail to be aware of it.

With a last thoughtful look in Julia's direction, he placed the gun
carefully by his partner's corpse and hurried back towards Hurst Lane.
Then he vanished as if he'd never been here.

As if he had never existed at all.

BOOK: Skin and Bones
7.84Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

All That Is Red by Anna Caltabiano
The Millionaire's Proposal by Janelle Denison
Happy Baby by Stephen Elliott
The Demon's Game by Oxford, Rain
Flowers From The Storm by Laura Kinsale
Green Card by Ashlyn Chase
Autumn Calling by T. Lynne Tolles
High Country : A Novel by Wyman, Willard