Someone Who Isn't Me, Danuta Kot [good books to read for adults TXT] 📗

Andy saw his face, relief flooded through him. He knew this guy. He was OK, he was a mate – and then the chill came back. This wasn’t a mate at all.

This must be Stoner.

He’d known them all these past few weeks, and he hadn’t realised. He’d thought he’d been mixing with the small-timers, the help, and now, because he’d got it so wrong, he was going to die.

Unless he had a plan.

The fingerpost. It was the only way.

Now!

He could feel the adrenaline flooding through him. Time slowed down. Even though there was only the moon to light the scene, everything around him seemed bright and clear as daylight.

He could hear the sound of Doc moving closer behind him, and he braced himself.

Andy’s foot shot out as he spun, delivering his kick straight into Doc’s knee. Doc dropped to the ground, his mouth gaping. Andy cracked the second kick into his groin and then he was vaulting over the car, sliding over the roof and onto the ground. He dodged the man on the bridge – who moved forward just too late to stop him – and ran, feeling the long grass catching at his feet. He’d been right. His gamble had paid off. There was a path along the top of an embankment where the fingerpost stood.

It was barely a chance, but if he could get far enough away, he could find a house, find somewhere to hide, call in for help.

As he reached the top of the embankment, he glanced back. Doc was struggling to his feet, still doubled over, his hands clutched over his balls. Andy could hear a stream of curses apparently aimed at the other man, who was trying to help Doc up.

The girl was half out of the car, frozen.

There was no sign of the woman.

Andy spun round and forced himself to move faster. He wasn’t a sprinter, but if he could put the distance between them, he could keep going. He headed east along the embankment. Try and cut across to the road? No. He could tell from the gleams of water that the land was criss-crossed by drains. It was probably marshy as well. He couldn’t risk getting cut off. He was better off higher up.

For the moment.

He couldn’t work out which way to go. There were no lights, no buildings, just the dim shadows of flat expanses and the occasional glint of water running in straight lines across the land.

Now he knew where he was. He was in Sunk Island; the marshy area near the mouth of the estuary where only the drains kept the land from flooding. Almost no one lived here. There were just scattered farms and isolated buildings, and vast expanses of emptiness.

If they hadn’t seen which way he went, then he might make it.

The path was leading down now, away from the exposed embankment.

His chest was starting to burn. He needed his second wind as he pushed himself forward, listening all the time for the sound of footsteps behind him, or a car engine shadowing him from the road.

Where were they? What the fuck were they doing? He slowed down. There was no sign of pursuit, but they must be after him. They must be somewhere. Where the fuck were they?

The estuary gleamed below him, a barrier he couldn’t pass, but he could see something ahead of him. Trees.

Trees, here on the emptiest part of the coast? But trees could hide him. He could climb, get up high where he could see all around, stay safe and make his way back in the morning.

He fumbled in his pockets and pulled out his phone. It took seconds to get the battery in place, but then he had to wait as it powered up. What else did he have with him to help him through the night? Cigarettes, but he couldn’t risk smoking. Some gum – that would help to fool the thirst and the hunger.

His phone chimed the start-up signal. Right. Right. His fingers were clumsy with urgency as he pressed the keys – call it in, officer down, they’d be here from Hull in twenty minutes, less.

But nothing happened. The signal was gone.

He looked around him. The path stretched away from him in either direction, empty and featureless. Beside him, he could hear the surge of water, the vast and powerful estuary. The trees were the only place to hide.

Then he heard the beat of a bike engine. Cars couldn’t cross this ground, but a bike could.

This was it. They were coming. They must know the area well. They knew the path and they just had to get ahead of him.

He spun round and was running, away from the trees, away from the direction of the sound, anywhere.

What was that? A flicker of movement in the darkness close by! He veered away, and something hit him hard. It felt like someone had punched him in the side. He staggered, almost fell, then regained his momentum.

Run.

He was in the open, on a concrete hardstanding, a mesh fence between him and the surging waters of the estuary. A deep culvert at his feet cut the hardstanding in two.

Nowhere to go! He had to keep—

All the strength drained out of his legs. He sank to his knees. There was pain – he’d been aware and not aware of it – was he having a heart attack? He fumbled at his chest, then stared in bewilderment at his hand, stained with a dark, shiny substance…

Blood.

He tried to get back to his feet, but his legs wouldn’t do what he wanted them to. He was gasping, as if the air he was sucking in wasn’t air at all and… It was like he was watching from a long way away, and it was OK. He was dancing with Becca, watching the way her hair swung round her face as she moved. Oh, Jesus. Had he got her into trouble as well? He was singing to Mia as he bathed her. Row, row,