Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [83]
She didn't know.
They waited. After a bit, the cop turned his headlights on and off. Then again. On, off. On, off. Left them off.
Finally Effie got the message. She turned off the van lights. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The moon helped, shining through a tear in the clouds, casting a silvery light over everything, including the figure marching towards them across the gravel. He looked familiar. Skinny. Wearing a ski mask. Wearing Dad's clothes. About the same height.
"Holy fuck," Martin said. He flung open his door. "Mr Park. Andy. We thought something'd happened to you."
"Hang on," she yelled. Her dad would never wear a policeman's cap.
But Martin was gone, leaving the door open. "Savage is coming," he said to the figure who was now jogging towards him. "Got to get you out of here."
Effie shouted, "No."
Martin glanced at her, narrowed his eyes, looked back at the figure in the ski mask. He still didn't get it. "How did he escape?" Martin asked the man. "And how did you end up in a police car?"
The figure drew a gun out of his waistband.
"What're you doing?" Martin said. "Oh, sweet fuck."
There was an explosion and Martin collapsed.
Effie grabbed the steering wheel. She let go. She grabbed it again. Fumbled for the keys. She wanted to get out of here. She wanted to stay, too. See if Martin was okay. She couldn't leave him. But she had to.
Her fingers shook. Oh, Christ. Martin's door was open. She couldn't see where he'd fallen. She listened but couldn't hear him cry out. Just heard the echo of the explosion. Faint, as if she was underwater.
She clutched the keys again.
"I don't think so." Savage stood in the passenger doorway, pointing his gun at her.
She let her hands drift away from the dashboard.
"Where's Jordan?"
She didn't say anything.
"You better pray he's here and unharmed."
She heard a scrabbling in the back of the van. So did Savage. He looked in the direction of the sound as his son wriggled into view above the partition behind the seats. Jordan squealed through the tape over his mouth.
Savage lowered his weapon and she knew she had a chance to start the engine and floor the accelerator. But she couldn't. Even if she made it, jolting Savage through the open door as she took off, she couldn't leave Martin. He'd been shot. He'd need her. She had to stay.
She stared at Savage as he raised his gun again.
"Untie him," he said.
She turned round, knee on the seat, and thrust a hand towards Jordan. He yelped, moved his head back.
"Go on," Savage said. "It's okay, Jordan."
But the kid wouldn't move any closer. So she leaned over the partition and grabbed his chin before he could get out of the way. "Don't fucking move," she whispered. She let go, and he didn't budge. She flicked at the top corner of his taped mouth and with her other hand, groped for the bag of tools in the hope her fingers might close on a weapon.
Suddenly Jordan dropped like a stone. Her fingers were crushed to the floor, forcing her to yell. The little bastard was kneeling on her hand. Judging by the look on his face, he was putting as much pressure on it as he could.
She tugged her hand, but it wouldn't move. Tried again and felt some give. Third time lucky. Her hand came free, throbbing, dead centre.
"Can't be trusted," Savage said, inside the van now, pulling her backwards. "I should have known that. Get out."
She twisted round and opened the door, trying to control the shaking that rippled through her body. She stepped outside.
"Further," he said. "Move over a few feet."
She did.
"Kneel down."
She didn't.
"I warn you," he said, "I don't have much patience. And we don't have much time. Somebody might have heard that shot. If we're really lucky, they'll think it's a poacher and leave it be. But they might call the police. You want them here even less than I do. So move."
She lowered herself to her knees. Felt tiny stones digging into her kneecaps.
"Hands behind your head," Savage said.
She did as he asked, turning her head slightly, not trying to see him but trying to see where