I wondered if, since the robbery and shooting at Peachy’s gas station, the Logans had entered the frame of inquiry and if I was perhaps stepping on the toes of the local law enforcement community by driving out to their homestead. If that was the case, then tough; because I wasn’t going to give up on Jay, Nicole and now Ellie Mansfield so easily, the way that the cops had on Helena Blackstock.
11
The heat had grown stifling, so much so that Jay’s clothing was soaked through and chafing her skin. She was very thirsty, her mouth sticky with foamy saliva that worked to seal her lips shut. The ropes that bound her wrists were shrinking, or her hands were swelling, and causing intense pain. Jay imagined that the circulation had been cut off completely and soon her flesh would necrotise and drop off her bones. She had not realised it earlier but her ankles were also bound together, though only loosely so that she could walk if needs be, but would be unable to run. Not that there was much chance of either in this box.
She kicked up with her feet. At the far end of her tomb-like prison the tin sheets buckled slightly, but that was all. A chain had been fastened over the roof and held it in place. Testing the tin sheets with a shoulder, she’d found that they were chained down in two further places: no way could she force her way out without leverage. The sturdy wooden sides had resisted her attempts to kick the planks loose, and now that she thought about it, she believed they had been buried below the surface of the desert to strengthen them. The roof was level with the ground outside, but at least it hadn’t been covered by sand. Light spilled inside through the old nail holes, like thin lasers that she feared might burn her exposed flesh.
She had no conception of time. She did not know how long it had been since she was placed in this coffin and left to stew in her own juices; she did not know if her captors were ever going to release her. Only the fact that they hadn’t fully concealed her prison gave her some hope.
But if they were coming back for her, that gave her a new sense of urgency. If she was ever going to escape and bring help for Nicole and the girl, then she needed to do something quick.
Earlier she’d screamed and pleaded, then demanded that she be released; now she held her peace, because she did not want to face the men again. Fancifully she’d thought of them as characters from The Wizard of Oz, but twisted into evil caricatures. The brainless idiot with the yellow hair could only be the Straw Man. The cold and heartless cowboy, he was the Tin Man. The third one, squat and ugly, was the Wizard himself. He was a sham, a fake, but worse than that: something evil and demented lurked beyond the curtain he hid behind. What did that leave her: the Cowardly Lion? She joked about living dangerously, but up until now she hadn’t shown that she was prepared to do so. She needed to get a grip, she realised, grow some balls as her dad would say, and get them all out of here.
Lying on her back, bound as she was, she could achieve nothing. But that was only an excuse.
She looked at one of the pinpricks of light, and then twisted on to her side so that she could probe the hole in the tin with a fingertip. Her fingers were almost numb, but she could feel a burr of sharp metal. It was corroded and brittle but would it be enough?
Jay rocked sideways, then allowed herself to roll over on to her belly. The position severely limited any hope of offering resistance if her captors returned for her, but there was nothing else for it. With the pressure off her ropes she was able to manipulate her arms and she drew in some of the slack until it was bunched next to her right fist. She began rubbing the rope against the metal burr, taking it easy, though desperate to move faster, so that she didn’t break it off. Perspiration flooded from her hair, streamed down her face and invaded her eyes. She squeezed her lids tight, because there was no need of vision at that moment.
While she laboured, struggling for each breath, she recalled what happened after she was brought to this place in the desert, though the memories boiled through her mind in an incoherent jumble. She had to concentrate before she could bring them into order.
The teenaged girl was carried from Jay’s dad’s SUV by the young man with blond hair, Brent. She remembered his name with a stab of revulsion. She was led by the gargoyle, both her wrists enclosed in one big hand. While she was pushed towards a decrepit wooden shack, she squirmed round, looking for Nicole. Her friend was unconscious and lying over the lanky cowboy’s shoulder as he strode from the pick-up towards an equally decrepit house half-concealed beyond a zephyr of dusty air. ‘Nicole!’
Her captor’s spare hand clamped hard over her mouth, muffling her next yell as he rasped in her ear. ‘Make another sound and I assure you it will be a scream of pain.’
Jay peered about frantically, wondering why his warning had been so explicit. Was it because they were in earshot of a neighbouring property? She doubted that very much. All she could see beyond the ill-kept homestead were wind-scoured mountains and strangely shaped rock formations. To think the beauty of the desert was what had brought her and Nicole out here in the first place. Now all it denoted was a barren hellscape. As though the man had read her mind, he said, ‘There’s no one within twenty miles of here. I just don’t like people shouting round me. Screams I’m fine with.’
He forced her to the shack and through the door. Inside was even shabbier than the disintegrating boards outside. It was dark, although strips of light punched through chinks in the walls allowing a strobe-like perusal of the interior. It smelled dry and musty, underlain by the bitter tang of corroding metal. Old tools and implements hung from the wall at the far end and a large wooden bench dominated the centre of the space. Rusting chains hung from worm-holed beams, from which dangled dusty cobwebs. Another chain lay in a loose coil on the floor, attached to one of the sturdy bench legs, large steel bolts fixing it to the wood. At one end was a half-moon of thick leather, hinged where it met the chain link. Jay’s vision fixed on it and she began to shake her head furiously.
Her captor spun her, slapping her hard across the face with a hand that was as hard as steel, and she almost blacked out. While she slumped at the knees, the man danced round her and hauled the chain off the floor. Jay felt the two horns of leather clasp round her throat, forming a tight collar. Before she could pull free, the man snapped some kind of hasp shut and secured it with a padlock.
When he stood back from her Jay wilted, going all the way down to the floor as her hands came to the collar. Within the leather she could feel iron: no way on earth could she pull it free.
‘I need to go and help with your friends, Nicole and Ellie. Be good, do as you’re told, and maybe I’ll bring you food and water. The choice is yours.’
With that ominous warning, the man had walked out without a look back. Jay knew why: he had no immediate interest in her. But was he as engrossed with Nicole and Ellie as his two crazy friends? She thought not. His gaze fell on them with a different hunger.
The night had been long in coming.
Jay tested her bonds but they were solid. She thought about demolishing the bench, but it resisted her efforts. The chain was old but strong. She couldn’t reach any of the tools on the wall. Finally she’d fallen asleep on the warped floorboards as insects and rodents scuttled among the filth.
A scream woke her.
‘Nicole!’ she’d yelled in response, because her friend’s howl had been tinged with terror. ‘Nicole? Nicole?’
There was no reply and all went quiet again.