Lying amongst the weeds, blinking up at the stars and the swirling dots of midges, drawn by the head-torch glow.
Heavy metalthummm-thummm-thummmed at the caravan’s walls. Angry and jarring. Like her knee.
The bastard had broken something inside it. Or torn the ligaments, or dislocated her kneecap, orsomething.
And he’d do the same to the rest of her, then dump her in a deep pit and bury her, if she didn’t move.
Right.
Now.
Natasha fought her way to her feet, and limped towards the caravan. Cos there had to be a phone in there, right? At least, the bastard would have a mobile and even if it was locked, she could still make emergency calls. And onceinside, she could barricade the door and wait for the bastard to bleed to death. Or pass out. Or she could grab a kitchen knife and finish the—
‘BITCH!’
Detective Sergeant Davis hobbled into the courtyard, bloodied legs stiff as a rocking horse. Arms up and out for balance. Glaring at her in the head torch’s glow as bright red dripped from his torn face and slashed chest.
Even when her dad was drinking, he didn’t looksofull of rage.
Natasha staggered the last few steps and grabbed the caravan door handle. But it wouldn’t even turn.
Locked.
What kind ofbastardlocked the door when he was only going twenty paces?
Keys – where were the keys?
Must’ve dropped them on the way out the window.
‘FUCKING KILL YOU!’ Getting closer.
How was she supposed to run away when she could barelywalk?
Shit.Shit, shit, shit.
She abandoned the caravan and limped towards the barn instead, with Davis lumbering along behind her – snarling like a rabid dingo.
The barn door yawned open, with nothing but darkness on the other side. Natasha stumbled through it, the head torch’s beam raking the dead machinery and floor. Then lurched around to slam the door in Davis’s face.
But he was too close, jamming his foot into the gap before it could fully shut. ‘YOU’RE GOING TO SUFFER, BITCH!’ Shoulder pressed against the wood.Shoving. ‘I’M GOING TO SKIN YOU ALIVE!’ He reared up then slammed forwards, making the doorboomand creak. ‘I’LL MAKE A NEW MASK OUT YOURFUCKINGHIDE!’
Natasha pushed back: good leg braced against the rough concrete floor.
‘BITCH!’ One last crash and the door flew open, knocking her off her feet, sending her tumbling across the concrete as DS Davis lurched into the barn. ‘Going to make youscream!’
She scrambled backwards, until her shoulders bumped into the workbench.
He hobbled closer, leaving a trail of blood on the dusty floor. ‘Tell you what: why don’t I give you the same chance you gave those poor migrants? That would be fair, right?’
‘Please – I have money, I have—’
‘NOTHING!’ Spittle flying, glowing in the torchlight. ‘Fast asleep in their beds while some right-wing racist monster SET FIRE TO THEIR HOME!’
She raised her chin. ‘You’rethe monster.’
‘Maybe.’ Davis loomed over her. ‘But if Iam, it’s because that’s what you made me.’ Grabbing Natasha by the arms he yanked her to her feet, grinning, eyes wide and pinprick sharp.Pressinghimself against her. ‘I’m the hurricane.’
He wrapped a fist into her hair, holding her head tight asthe other fist curled...then slammed into her face. Snapping her head back.