Claire.
It hurt to think about her. That had never happened before.
Even though they weren’t together, there was a magnetic pull between them. It wasn’t what they said or did. It was like a connection. A shared bond.
She’d had a tough early life like him. But, it was more than that. She had hidden depths; qualities and talents that even she didn’t fully understand the potential of. Like her photography. And it fascinated him.
He had to stay alive. If only to see Claire again.
To feel her lips on his at least one time in his life. To have all of her. He couldn’t think about that. The thought of not seeing her again was too painful.
The car slowed, and he was then thrown sideways when it turned sharply. He guessed that they were at a junction. Then, there were what he surmised to be a series of roundabouts. And after, yet more turns flinging him about.
He sensed now that they were starting to slow. Sion felt the car moving right down the gears. Rough bumps sent jolts of pain through his hip. They were off-road.
Sion’s heart pumped hard; he felt the adrenaline kicking in. They were getting closer. The next few minutes would determine if he’d live, or die.
They rolled to a stop.
Car doors opened and then clicked shut.
This was it.
The boot lid suddenly popped, and Sion squinted as torchlight from a phone blinded his eyes.
“The squealer’s not going anywhere.”
“Probably pissed himself by now.”
Then, blackness again. The boot shut smoothly over his head and he heard their voices around the car.
“Since when did the abattoir start doin’ late shifts?”
“Overtime to meet demand. Started last week, the guard on the gate said. Boss'll be bouncing.”
“Thought you paid ‘em to tell you shit like that?”
“Yeah, well. He’s new.”
“So, who’s gonna tell Irish?”
“Guess that’ll be me? I’ll put him off ‘til midnight. The place’ll be empty by then.”
Back in the darkness, Sion drew a deep breath. Thank God he’d not cut himself free.
‘He’s not going anywhere... Midnight.’
Did that mean that they were leaving him alone for a while?
‘Abattoir?’
He’d be hung up for some ritual humiliation, torture even. Was that the ear thing? A video then posted up. Stitches for snitches.
But, he had a small window of opportunity, if he acted now.
Wriggling his shoulders, he stretched his hands downwards, feeling for the bottom of his trouser leg and finding the sheath stuck to the side of his shin.
Five minutes passed.
No voices. No footsteps. No shuffling around the car.
Deadly quiet.
He was convinced that the men had left him alone in the boot.
Perhaps, they’d stopped for food or a drink?
Perhaps he’d been delivered, and was outside the abattoir waiting for the shift to end?
Either way, he was getting out.
Working blindly with his hands behind his back and arms painfully extended, he carefully pulled the knife free of its holder. Wriggling into a more comfortable position, it slipped in his fingers. He shuffled it back with his palm and thumb.
He had to be more careful. Time was too precious to waste scrambling for it in the darkness.
With his fingertips, he carefully positioned the thin blade in his right palm so he could rub the plastic tie against it with his left.
Holding the blade tight, he worked swiftly, pulling against the tie until he was sure that it was nearly ready to snap.
He tried; using all his strength, willing his hands apart.
Nothing.
He rubbed away at it again. And again.
The misericorde, designed for puncturing, was not the ideal tool for sawing through the tough plastic.
Surely, he was nearly there by now?
Exerting as much pressure as he possibly could, he tried again. Pushing his hands together he thrust them outwards with all the force he could muster.
It snapped.
His hands flung free.
With no time to spare, knife in hand, he tugged the internal fluorescent lever and heard the catch mechanism release.
He froze, ready to stab out with the blade.
Nothing.
But, still, they could be watching the car.
Easing the boot open a fraction more, he peeped out of the crack.
His eyes took a minute to adjust to the sodium streetlight nearby. From the tiny gap, he saw the black mirror of a puddled pothole in front of him. There were no feet, and no one reflected in it.
Gingerly, he inched the boot open a little wider. Weapon ready.
He was in a makeshift car park.
The puddled ground was gravel and mud, and around the edge of the car park there was a high perimeter wire fence topped with a rolled line of razor-sharp barbs.
To the side, and inside the fence, were rows of metal boxes; containers. They were smaller than shipping ones, more the type that people hired for storage. If he got put in one of those, there’d be no fluorescent lever to pull.
The coast was clear.
In a split second, the boot lid was up, and Sion sprang out, softly closing it behind him.
Sprinting on the balls of his feet, he dashed silently across the yard towards the first row of the storage units. He flung himself out of sight, hoping desperately no one had seen him.
Out of view, he slunk back further into the shadows, recovering his breath as he tried to find where the men were.
He spied them at nine o’clock. It was bad news. They were all holed up in the security guard portacabin by the entrance to the compound. The light was on, and he could see them through the open portacabin door. They were sitting together, presumably around a table. One was drinking from a can. And were they playing cards?
Sion couldn’t see, but they appeared relaxed. They were waiting for that call from their boss. Their midnight rendezvous.
One of the gang suddenly appeared at the portacabin door.
He went around to the side of the cabin to pee. After, he walked back, pulling up his fly, taking out a cigarette and lighting it.
Words were said to him, he caught an object in his hand.
Now, he was walking across the empty car park towards the BMW. The man was already pointing at the boot, presumably with the key fob. He’d been told to check their captive.
Sion had ten seconds to find cover.
There was no way out of the compound without going past the security box. And once they found him gone, they’d be straight out, after him. And the perimeter fence was too high to scale quickly. He’d be too exposed. An easy shot.
The metal posted corner of the storage unit rubbed against his shoulder. He only had one reasonable way out of this place. And that was upwards.
Creeping around to the back of the container, he fixed his foot into the jam between the metal posted corner and the corrugated wall. Pushing upwards in one steady motion, he summoned all his upper-body strength and began to shimmy up the post like a lumberjack until he was on the top.
He didn’t have a choice. He knelt down and then lay starfish flat, his head to the g
round on the wet rusty top.
Then, the alarm was raised. Literally.
Seeing Sion was gone, the heavy had started pressing random buttons on the key fob. He’d set the BMW off.
The high-pitched shrieking car alarm and flashing indicator lights brought the two others bowling out of the security guard portacabin. Coats half-on, guns in their hands, they dashed chaotically over to the car to shut it up.
“Wha’ the fuck you doing? Shut it up now!”
Sion listened to them. More shouting when they found the boot empty. More recriminations as they anticipated the shit that was about to go down when Irish found out they’d lost his man.
Then, feet shuffling about.
Sion lifted himself a fraction to see what was going on.
He’d been right about them being tooled up. By the way they were waving their handguns around, there was no way they were professionals. This bunch were more of a danger to themselves, but he was taking no chances. The thugs were fired up and in deep doo-doo with their boss.
He lay back flat as he saw them turn towards the containers.
He heard their steps as they got closer. Explosive expletives were still being fired off into the soggy April night air as the men scouted around the units.
“Any sign?”
“Nah… Looks like he’s vanished.”
“What d‘ya mean he’s vanished? He’s not soddin’ Houdini. He’s about here somewhere. Go fuckin’ find him.”
Sion raised his head again. One of the men was back near the portacabin. He’d been sent to check down the road.
That meant there were two left, below him; scouring the area around the containers. His head back to the floor, Sion heard them shuffling now, around the boxes nearby. If they looked up, would they see him?
Should he slide down and chance an escape? Not with one of them by the exit. It was too risky to run across the open car park space. They’d be sure to take a pop, even if they were crap shots.
The unmistakable sound of a safety catch clicking confirmed that they’d use their guns, and it made his stomach churn. They were below him, to the right. Real close.
“Where the Hell’s he got to?”
“Think he could be up on the roof?”
The pulse in the side of Sion’s eye pumped. Arms spread, face flat to the floor, he kept dead still.
He could sense them, gazing up, searching the tops.