‘But it doesn’t take three people to babysit a locked door,’ I point out. ‘If we’re very lucky, there’ll only be one or two out there, not all three.’
‘You think the two of us stand a chance against grown men?’
‘Libby, we stand no chance at all if we don’t try. You want to be a coward and do nothing? Go for it. Me? I’m gonna do something.’
For Shaka’s sake! Libby is a real dead weight around my neck. It’s like having to fight our assailants and her at the same time. Heading up the rickety wooden staircase, I’m aware that my tone is unnecessarily brusque, but I’m not sure how much longer I can stay in this cellar without losing it completely. I’m not a fan of confined spaces at the best of times – but this? This is like someone has reached into my head and extracted my idea of hell.
Fists clenched, I pound on the door. ‘LET US OUT OF HERE! LIBBY HAS COLLAPSED! SHE NEEDS HELP!’
‘I have not—’ Libby calls after me.
I glare at her. ‘Shush!’
‘Oh!’
Bloody idiot.
‘PLEASE! LIBBY NEEDS HELP! SHE’S HARDLY BREATHING!’
I keep pounding on the door and shouting until my throat protests and my hands and wrists are red-hot and aching, but I’m not going to give up. I can’t. If I give in to the despair flooding over me, then I’ll drown.
fifty. Libby
* * *
Troy is making far too much noise. The last thing either of us wants or needs is to accelerate whatever plans our kidnappers have for us. Troy is right about one thing though: I do just want to make myself as tiny as possible until we’re rescued. How does banging on the door and demanding to be let out because I’m supposedly ill help us? Like suddenly the ones who grabbed us off the street will listen to Troy and think, One of them is sick. We shouldn’t have abducted them like that! and then they’ll let us go?
‘Troy, you’re giving me a headache,’ I state softly for his ears only.
He glowers at me, incredulous.
‘Are you kidding me, Libby? Is your home life with your mum so awful that you’d rather stay down here and rot?’
Now he’s not the only one who’s scowling. He has a whole repertoire of low blows when it comes to me.
‘How is demanding to be released getting us anywhere?’ I ask, exasperated. ‘All you’re going to do is piss them off.’
‘Good. Then they’ll open the bloody door and—’
The sound of the bolt being drawn back is unexpected, jarring. Troy and I both freeze until we hear the sound of the key turning in the lock. Troy quickly beckons me up the stairs before he takes a step back, ducking to his right to stand just behind the door as it slowly opens.
Oh God! My heart is inflating inside my chest, pushing against my ribs, my spine, till there’s a tight band right round my torso. I walk halfway up the stairs. The man wearing the rabbit mask appears.
‘Water. Aspirin. Stay there.’ His voice is deep and gruff, but there’s something not quite right about it, as if he’s trying to disguise his voice. He bends to place two large bottles of water, what looks like a packet of biscuits and a blister pack of tablets on the floor. His head turns to look at me. I see the frown in his narrowed eyes behind the mask. ‘Where’s your friend?’
Oh, Troy, don’t do anything stupid—
Too late!
Troy shoves the door forward. It smashes into Rabbit Man just as he’s straightening up. A yell of surprise and the man falls to the floor on all fours, his bare hands thudding against the quarter-space landing at the top of the stairs. Troy pulls back the door, slamming it forward again on the man’s head. Not even a groan. The man in the doorway drops like a stone. Troy leaps out from behind the door and charges through it, jumping over the guy now lying spark out on the floor. I race upstairs in full panic mode. I have no idea what Troy is up to, but I don’t want to get left behind. Being stuck in this cellar with Troy is bad enough. Stuck down here on my own would be far worse. When I reach the doorway, to my dismay I see Troy battling a tall, thin man in jeans and a black leather jacket, wearing a fox mask. The driver. The fox leaps onto Troy’s back and is trying to put him in a chokehold. Troy pulls at the fox’s arms, spinning round and backing into the nearest wall at speed to try and dislodge him.
I jump over the rabbit guy, looking about for some way to help Troy. A frantic glance around gives me a better grasp of where we are. It’s definitely a house, with stairs running up to a first floor, and a basement. On the ground floor, through the closest doorway, I can see two old, collapsible wooden chairs and some empty, discarded pizza boxes on the floor – that’s it. The rest of the room is empty. The hall is bare floorboards with protruding nails and discoloured walls. We’re in an abandoned house that shrieks neglect. A second to take it all in. My only thought now is how to get out. Troy manages to dislodge the fox man on his back who falls to the floor. I leap out of his way as he lands. Immediately the fox jumps up, launching himself at Troy, his gloved hands round Troy’s throat. Troy lashes out. The fox only just manages to dodge his flailing blow. I take a step forward, ready to make my own dash for the door. One of us … one of us has to escape this house. A hand grabs at my ankle. Instinctively, I kick back, smashing my heel into the rabbit’s face. Tuck into that, you bastard!
‘Ooof! You little bitch!’
An icy frisson of recognition runs through me. That voice … Where have I heard it before? No time to stop and think. I run for the door just as Troy manages to land a blow to the fox’s chest, which floors him again.
‘Stop them!’ calls out the rabbit, scrambling to his feet.
That voice …
Troy is only a step or two behind me. This might be our one and only chance to get away. I wrench open the door – and we run.
fifty-one. Troy
* * *
A street. Evening by the feel of it. The air is filled with darkening blues and sodium orange. The shock of the outdoors. I’d lost track of the time of day down in that basement without my phone, and now being outside makes me stumble and pause, but only momentarily. Now that the sky is my ceiling, the thought of being dragged back to the basement sends a chill down my spine.
RUN!
We’re out of the door and sprinting along the road faster than I’ve ever run before. We’re in a street of terraced houses, all boarded up and dilapidated. I don’t recognize the houses, the area – nothing about this place is familiar. And the worst thing? The whole area is quiet. Eerily quiet.
We run – like the devil himself is chasing us. Libby is racing along beside me, matching me step for step.
Where are we?
I look around for a road sign, a recognizable landmark – but there’s nothing.
Keep running.
Behind us a car engine starts, the sound ripping through the quiet. Already it’s in motion. I didn’t think it was possible for my heart to roar any harder. I was wrong.
‘Troy …’ Libby’s terrified whisper echoes in my head.
‘Don’t look back. Keep going.’