Miss No One, Mark Ayre [romantic love story reading .TXT] 📗

so don't for a second think that's what's going through my mind."

It took a little while for Ana to process all this. Once she had, she took a breath. Abbie could see there was something else on her mind.

“I’ve remembered Flash Gordon. He was the bully from Spider-Man.”

“That’s Flash Thompson.”

“Damn,” said Ana, “there’s a lot of Flashes in the fictional world. Is that the plural? Flashi?”

“I’m going to take it you understand,” said Abbie. “Now come help me move the lump.”

Together, they dragged the corrupt cop to the car's boot and dumped him inside. Though he was unconscious, there was a degree of satisfaction in slamming the lid and closing him in.

Abbie turned to Ana.

“You might want to let him out before you reach the town limits. Probably for the best you don't get caught by one of his colleagues with him in there."

Out of the car, in the open, Abbie's eyes were adjusting to the dark. She saw Ana nod and looked north-west. The shapes in the darkness were no clearer. She needed to get closer.

"That thing," said Ana, pointing at the tallest shape, "looks like some sort of watchtower. They'll see you coming."

Abbie followed Ana's finger and looked to the same shape. Considered, then gave a slow nod.

"You're probably right."

"They'll kill you before you can get close. Before you can figure out what you're dealing with. You have to let me help."

"No," said Abbie. "Too risky."

"Forget about me," said Ana. "Forget about explaining what happened to my mum. None of that matters. What matters is saving Isabella. She's the priority, isn't she?"

Damn. It was so annoying when people used Abbie's arguments against her.

"This mission has a low chance of success whatever we do," said Abbie. "I want at least one of us to get out alive."

In the silence following this answer, Ana turned towards the shapes in the dark again, thinking.

"Fine," she said at last. "I'll go. Drop this corrupt bastard off somewhere. Wait for your call, which will come, because you’re not going to die.”

"Thank you," said Abbie.

"Well," said Ana. "I'll do that, but first, there's something else."

Abbie turned, and even in the light, she caught the glint in Ana's eye.

"Something else?"

"Something to help you get inside without putting either of us in too much danger," said Ana. "See, I have a plan."

Thirty-Eight

Ana adjusted the driver's seat, started the car, redirected the box-shaped vehicle, and stopped. She was facing north-west. Direct ahead was the dark shape of what appeared to be a watchtower. Ana didn't know what it was. As far as her map was concerned, she was staring into empty fields.

She accelerated. The car (piece of junk that it was) went from nought to ten miles an hour in the space of a half minute. Incredible. How they had managed to evade the police in this rust bucket was anyone's guess. How close would she be to the Becker base when Ana was noticed? She had the lights off. The car was all but invisible in the dark. But the night was silent, and the vehicle was not. It's engine strained and groaned with every metre of land they chewed up. If the Beckers came out, guns raised, would this shit heap have the speed to evade them, or would they tear Ana to shreds?

Probably best not to think about that. Ana had committed to this course of action. There was no turning back.

She continued to gain speed. It was hard going over the grass and the dirt, but within a quarter-mile, she was up to forty miles an hour. Soon after, she hit sixty. Then sixty-five, then seventy. By then, she could tell what lay ahead, and it made sense. The tower stood at the end on one side of a short and presumably unregistered runway. On the other side, five metres back from the tarmac, was a long, tube-shaped building that ran almost the runway's entire length. On the same side as the tower, but at the runway's opposite end, was a cube-shaped stone building that seemed far too close to where any planes would land. Further proof this place was built by criminals, for criminals. Before long, someone would notice its existence, and it would be destroyed.

But not tonight.

With two miles down and one to go, about forty-five seconds at current speed, the car began to shake. This car had probably struggled at eighty miles an hour when new. All these years and owners down the line, Ana thought the engine would probably explode before she reached the big 8-0. If this car was a Doc Brown time machine, you'd never know it. She could drive for a hundred years on straight, smooth roads and still never hit the magic eighty-eight miles an hour.

The shaking worsened, though the car was no longer speeding up. Ana wasn't weedy but nor was she particularly muscular. The wheel was fighting her, jerking this way and that. Her wrists, all the muscles in her arms, were screaming, but she held on. She was seconds away from the tower and the runway beyond.

What was that? Ana thought she heard something. The night was silent, but sitting in the car was like sticking your head in a running washing machine. She could hear nothing beyond the engine. The sound even seemed to drown out her thoughts.

Then a side window shattered. Ana withheld a scream which no one would have heard anyway and sped past the tower. Three seconds later, she bounced off the grass and onto the tarmac.

She gave a whoop of joy. Almost released the wheel to slap it with triumph, but that would have been disastrous. The car calmed on the tarmac, but she was still going far too fast. If she let go with one hand, the wheel would wrench free of the other. The car would spin, probably flip.

Not wise.

So she held on, zooming down the runway. Once she was off the other side, she would grow safer with every metre. All she needed