Charlie opened his eyes and saw the two men exchange glances and shrugs. The blade moved from his skin, just a fraction, but it was enough of an opening.
He stamped hard on the big man’s foot and pushed at him, the surprise move giving Charlie an advantage. He bolted towards the door. Someone shouted. There was the rumble of heavy boots. Charlie’s hands were slick on the latch as he panicked, but he was able to turn it and pull the door open as someone came up behind him. He ran through and slammed the door shut, so that the chasing figure banged into the glass, knocking Charlie onto the landing, the door slamming shut. It gave him more time.
He thumped the light button and ran for the stairs. He had little idea of what he was doing. There were shouts from the flat, and all he knew was that he had to get away, driven by panic and instinct.
The door to Donia’s flat flew open as Charlie reached the stairs. There were people coming after him. He couldn’t stop. His hand slid along the painted rail as he ran, his feet banging on each step. He stole a glance upwards. The large man was running along the landing and got to the top of the stairs as Charlie reached the bottom. Charlie didn’t stop to get a good look.
As Charlie ran along the landing below, just two flights to go, something metallic flew at him. He didn’t have a chance to avoid it, and he cried out as it stuck into his shoulder, only the shoulder pads in his suit stopping it from sticking too far in. He yanked on it and winced with pain as it came out.
He got to the next stairs, and thought he was losing the race. There were more people running after him, loud shouts in the confined space of the stairway that turned quickly into screeches of rage.
Charlie looked back. The large man looked strong, his teeth set in a grimace behind a goatee beard, his biceps bulging from the black T-shirt that was tight to his chest.
Someone opened a flat door, probably curious about the noise, but closed it quickly again. Charlie’s feet skipped down the next set of stairs, barely touching each step, his skin hot against the stair rail as his hand ran along it. The chasing feet were quicker, hitting the top step before Charlie had got to the bottom. All Charlie could do was try to go faster as he dashed along the landing and then turned to go down the stairs. He was breathless from fright and exertion. As he rushed for the final set of stairs, he saw the front door ahead and tried to speed up, but when he was halfway down, one of his feet missed a step. He skidded forward, his arms flailing for balance.
Charlie stumbled into the hallway, his hands and knees hitting the floor, but he couldn’t stop. The footsteps were getting closer, and so he ran at the front door, the street visible as the orange glow of streetlamps through the glass panel.
The night air outside turned the sweat on his forehead cold but Charlie kept on running, his shoes making loud slaps on the tarmac, his arms pumping hard, his throat hoarse with effort. The door banged behind him, but as Charlie ran down the street, he couldn’t hear his pursuers anymore.
He looked back. The small group in black were emerging onto the street, watching Charlie as he got further down the street. One of them went towards a white van. Were they going to chase him in that?
Charlie ran across the road and into an alleyway, too narrow for the van. He didn’t want to stop yet, just in case they appeared round the corner on foot, but as the evening echoed with the sound of shoes pounding hard on the bricks under his feet, he began to realise that he was alone.
As he rounded a corner where the alley emerged onto another terraced street, Charlie stopped to put his head against the wall. His chest ached with effort as he gulped down air, and sweat streaked down his temples. The pain in his shoulder began to make itself known as sharp jolts, and once he was able to straighten himself, he looked at his jacket. There was a tear and a dark stain. It looked like blood.
He put his back against the wall and looked upwards and blinked at the stars. He let his breathing get back to normal and then started walking across the road, heading for the shelter of another alley, where it was long and dark, no streetlights, just chinks of light that came from the houses that backed onto it, and the occasional glow of a side street.
He had to keep moving though, and so Charlie hobbled along, wincing, his shoulder sending sharp jolts of pain. He thought about Donia. She was in danger now. He had to help her, but then he realised how little he knew about her. Why would anyone believe him? Julie’s phone call earlier told him that he was someone, and he knew how blinkered investigations could get when the police fixated on a suspect.
Charlie had worked out where he was going next. He just needed to get there without being seen.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
John was walking round the house, checking each window, when he saw her.
He shouted, banged on the window, but it was no use. It was Dawn, running across the field, her hair streaming behind her, pausing only by the Seven Sisters, just for a moment, touching one of the stones. Then she looked back and set off again, before heading for the wall.
‘Shit! No, you don’t,’ he shouted, and then he bolted towards the stairs, taking them two at a time. People called his name in the house, curious, but he kept going. Dawn must have heard him as he ran out of the house, because she looked round, but it just made her run faster, sprinting for the tumbledown section of the wall.
His footsteps were loud in his ears as he ran, and he remembered to avoid the traps. As he went past the Seven Sisters, Dawn was scrambling over the wall, crying, sounding desperate, heading into the woods and making for the path.
John hit the wall at a sprint, vaulting over, ignoring the scrape of his knees on the top or the judder in his ankle as he landed. His lungs ached, but he had to keep going. Panic was driving her. All he had to fall back on was his own strength. He almost stumbled on tree roots, and his knees gave way as his feet hit hollows in the path, but still he kept on going. She was still within sight, a dark shadow moving quickly, not heading for the long path towards Oulton but for the road, hoping to stop a passing car.
Dawn looked back as she ran though. A mistake. It slowed her down, so that he gained on her and could hear her fear coming out in yelps and cries, audible over the thumps of his feet and the urgency of his breaths. She wasn’t going to make it to the gate.
He got within ten yards of her, and Dawn went to her knees, gasping for breath, her arms over her head. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ she cried, between gulps of air. ‘Please don’t hurt me. I won’t do it again. I was weak. I’m scared. I’m sorry. Forgive me.’
John stood over her, his heart beating hard in his chest, his lungs dry from exhaustion. ‘Why did you run?’
Dawn scrambled to her feet, and so John grabbed her, to stop her running again. She looked down and her shoulders started to heave with sobs.
‘It’s not going to end how you think, believe me,’ she said. ‘There is no rebellion, no uprising. So help me, please, just let me go.’
John pushed her to her knees. His fists clenched and Dawn shrank back, frightened, her eyes frantic. ‘Don’t hurt me.’
He closed his eyes, one hand gripping her shoulder. He breathed through his nose, deep and angry. A flush crept up his cheeks.
‘Why are you trying to escape?’ he said in a growl. ‘We have to stay together. It’s important.’
‘You sound like Henry.’
‘Of course I sound like him. We are part of the same group. We have the same ideals, don’t we?’
Dawn shook her head and started to laugh, but it was hysterical, tears streaming down her face.
‘You say we, but you don’t know who Henry is.’
‘I know what he has taught me.’
‘Bullshit! It is all fucking bullshit. You know nothing.’
John