21: Escape
Holding his breath to avoid making any noise whatsoever, George figured that the longer he spent in the bathroom, the longer the terrorists had to get a lucky shot or come up with some sort of plan to get the door open. He hadn't heard voices, which was encouraging, but even if there was only one man outside the door, George didn't think he'd have much chance in a one-on-one encounter.
There was only one way out, and that was the window which didn't open wide enough. Keeping low, George crawled back into the bath, only standing up as much as he needed to get a good look at the mechanism. It opened from the bottom and the entire window was a single pane of frosted glass, but metal bars locked into place as you pushed it open and prevented it going any further. George pushed it fully open a couple of times experimentally, looking for the weak points. He couldn't break the glass, since there'd be no way for him to get out without potentially ripping his stomach open on jagged edges, but it looked as if the limiting bars were held in place by heavy-duty screws. He didn't have his multitool and couldn't loosen them using the corners of the gun, so after another couple of pushes, he decided on a course of action. Crawling back out of the bath and tucking the gun down the back of his trousers, George hooked his arms under Vi's body and lifted her into his arms, struggling with the weight. A fresh dribble of blood from the ties ran down his forearm, but he managed to step over the edge of the bath and carefully put her down in it. He almost tripped over her when another gunshot tore through the door, but it gave him the perfect opportunity. He grabbed the Glock and pointed it at the corner of the bars on the right side of the window, exhaled fully to steady his aim, and fired, punching through the metal and destroying the mechanism. This gunshot reverberated around the field behind, causing the sheep to run off in alarm. George followed it up with another, this time on the left, destroying that mechanism too. Hoping his gunshots would have bought him time, but aware he was under serious time pressure, he let the window fall back down, now acting like a cat flap.
He pushed his head out through the window, looking down the rear of the house and seeing a patch of flowers directly underneath. It wasn't perfect for landing on, but the bare earth would cushion things slightly, and better still, there was nobody waiting down there for him. Turning and looking at Vi, he pulled off his sticky shirt and did his best to wrap it around her head for cushioning, and then slid his arms under her and began to lift. The window was slightly above his torso and he basically needed to deadlift her, which made him regret those Sunday afternoons spent eating crisps and playing FIFA instead of hitting the gym, but he could lean her body on the wall, which helped, and inch her upwards, his upper arms straining. Vi screamed again, the noise muffled, but George managed to get her to the height he needed, where he started rolling her across the windowsill to the frame. There was a lip to overcome, and as he shoved her hard to get past it, he leant close to her head.
"Drop coming," he said, as quietly as he could, before moving her the last inch and pushing her hard through the window, which swung open. Her body rolled out of the window and he heard the thump of her hitting the ground a second later, praying that she wouldn't have been badly injured by landing in an odd position. Now in a hurry, George fired two shots through the door before climbing onto the sill and crouching there, holding the window open and aiming to leap through so that he'd avoid landing on Vi. He placed his trainer carefully, judging the distance, and gripped the upper part of the frame to launch himself.
Before he could, another shot came through the door, aimed as if the target was standing at an angle. It smacked the brick wall and rebounded, hitting George in the left half of his bare back as he crouched in the window. Crying out in pain, his muscles reacted instinctively and pushed him through the window, dropping the single storey and crumpling onto the flower bed side-on in what would have been a textbook landing if the force of impact hadn't caused him to twist his back and his heels to slam down onto Vi's chest.
George choked back a scream, looking down at his chest in a frenzy, looking for an exit wound. There was nothing, only his back feeling like someone had stabbed him with a spear. Trying to calm himself down, his initial concerns were a punctured lung or worse, but he although breathing hurt, he wasn't suffocating and he didn't seem to be dying. Moving his arms or spine sent spasms of pain all through his back, but his legs seemed fine and he hauled himself into a sitting position, desperate to move in case he was still in the line of fire. He got into a crouching position, ignoring the incredible pain in his back, and shuffled over to the wall, looking up at the window. It had swung shut as soon as he'd jumped out and nobody could aim through the frosted glass, so he decided to make a dash for it with Vi. He couldn't move his arms easily or take any weight, so he grabbed under her arm and began dragging her towards the perimeter fence, staying parallel to the wall. Something wet was soaking into his waistband and he was relatively sure it was blood. When he heard the window being pushed open, he fired a quick shot in the general direction, causing it to be hastily swung shut again.
It was only thirty yards at most between their landing spot and the fence, but each step was agony and George had to stop every yard for a rest. His brain was in overdrive and he realised that if the man had any sense, he'd double back through the house and come out of the front door, skirt round and surprise someone at the back, but George wasn't in the physical condition to run or turn quickly to counter this. His best bet was to head for the front, drag Vi towards the car, and get into contact with Letty or someone to help him. Struggling even more, the ringing in his ears seemed to be getting louder and his head was starting to feel fuzzy, like a badly-tuned TV. He made a big effort to keep moving, sticking his head around the corner of the building to check nobody was there. The ringing kept getting louder and louder until he realised it was actually the noise of an aircraft engine approaching low overhead. It was still a few hundred feet up as it cleared the house and George got a good look. It was a simple fixed-landing gear aircraft, slowly losing speed as it banked to make its final approach to the airfield. Squinting, George tried to pick out any details, but his first priority was to keep himself safe.
Looking around the corner again, this time he locked eyes with a startled man wearing a black turtleneck jumper and dark jeans, his hair cropped close, jogging towards him from a few metres away. George jumped back in shock as the man raised his gun, but the shot ricocheted harmlessly off the brick wall. George grabbed the stock of his pistol, prepared for a fight, his heartbeat thudding in his ears, but before he could do anything, a woman's voice shouted "Drop the gun!" It came from the front of the house, but George didn't want to risk moving. More voices added to the woman's, and a single gunshot rang out, this one a different pitch to the handguns. George waited, pistol in hand, for something to happen, but the voices began to sound less urgent and he realised the fuzziness was taking over. Leaning on the wall, he took some deep breaths, but by the time the police officer had rounded the corner, rifle raised, he'd passed out, blood seeping out of the wound in his back.
After George had departed, Letty skirted around the other side of the house, hiding behind a low hedge for most of the way. She figured that if they tried to escape on foot, she'd see them leaving, but didn't want to rule out the possibility of them jumping back into the van and wanted to keep that in her sight too. The best position she could find was a patch of shrubbery to the side of the house, where she had to lie flat on her stomach to fit underneath. She was just starting to worry about George and consider calling him when he came up the driveway, looking pale.
Still with the campus operator on the line, she'd relayed their positions and was settling in for a wait, the dry earth scratching her chest, but the phone call was interrupted by her phone screen flashing up George's text. Shocked, she opened her mouth to pass it on, but they'd already received the text on campus and were asking for an emergency response team to attend as soon as possible. It sounded like chaos in the response room on campus, with people yelling in the background and phones ringing. She tapped out a quick text in response: Get out of there, but got no immediate response. Waiting silently for any kind of movement, she wanted to go over to the van and immobilise it somehow, but didn't want to be seen and blow George's possible cover. The waiting was killing her though, so she decided to risk it and approach from the road, where she might be able to sneak up to the van without being seen.
Brushing dried bits of mud off her shirt, she slid back through the hedge and set off at a jog. She'd placed her first foot on the tarmac when she heard the first gunshot, sending a rush of adrenaline and fear through her. Desperately telling herself it wasn't necessarily anything bad happening to George, she grabbed her phone.
"Just heard a gunshot," she said, trying not to sound as panicked as she felt. "How far away are the police?"
"Five minutes," the operator said. "Letty, get a safe distance away."
Reluctant to just leave George in the lurch, but recognising that there was nothing she could do for him, she concentrated on the van, blinking back tears. A second gunshot sounded, followed by another a few seconds later.
"More shots," she told the phone, not waiting for a reply before jogging further up the drive, keeping her eyes on the house but staying out of sight of the windows. She realised with delight that when she tried the handle of the door, it opened, and she climbed into the cab, staying low. Without any heavy tools on her person, she couldn't slash the tyres, but she looked anxiously around the interior until she spotted the bonnet release catch and tugged it, hearing a click. She rolled back out and bit her tongue painfully when another pair of shots rang out. Working quickly, she lifted the bonnet and looked around, trying to remember what they'd done in training about vehicles. With wire cutters, there were plenty of weak spots, but she only had her bare hands and couldn't remember the difference between the ignition circuit and the battery. Finally she spotted a black plastic container which she guessed contained fuses and prised it open, giving it a hard tug to shatter the plastic. Rather than try and work out which fuse was which, she just ripped them out wholesale, dropping the little pieces into the engine bay until she'd got all of them, ignoring further gunshots coming from the house.
"Police incoming, two minutes," campus said as she retreated from the van, trying to close the bonnet as quietly as possible. She felt sick with worry about George as she went back onto the road, sweating in the heat. She planned to wait on the road to direct the police as they arrived, as every second counted, but as she got into a position so she could see both ways, the low drone of an approaching aircraft became audible and when she squinted towards the horizon, she could see a black dot heading in her direction. The plane got lower and nearer and was obviously coming in to land, so she made a snap decision. The police would be coming to the house, but there was no guarantee that the terrorists wouldn't still be able to escape. She shoved her phone deep into her pocket and set off at a sprint, jumping over the fence and heading towards the airfield as the plane got nearer. There was a field with some crops in it, which she was able to skirt around, and then a patch of trees with a neglected path. The ground was hard and made her jolt with each step, but she could hear the plane passing overhead as she reached the trees, trying to pick out the path in the gloom at top speed.
There were more muffled shots from behind her as she ran, clearing the woods and coming out at the extreme edge of the runway, where the plane was already touching down. Fearing that the pilot could also be armed, she slowed to a jog and passed along the perimeter fence, getting into a position where she had a clear view and then pulling out her phone to take photos of the aircraft, zooming in on the registration number. As the plane slowed to a stop, she wanted to do something heroic, like run across the airfield and take out the pilot, but it was a few hundred metres away and the propellor was still turning. There was no sign of anyone else around, and Letty realised as the plane swung around that the terrorists had at least been delayed enough for them to miss the pickup. It gained speed on the runway and took off again, passing fifty feet over Letty's head before banking and heading south, the way it had come. Letty grabbed her phone to forward the photos and pass on what she'd seen, but was confronted with the operator asking for her over and over.
"Letty, please respond. Police should be at your position, can you confirm?" the woman asked, speaking loudly over her colleague who was also on the phone.
"Letty speaking. Cannot confirm, but I have some photos of an airplane which just landed and took off again," she said, waiting the plane disappearing over the trees. "I'll send them through on the secure line."
"Do not approach the house, we have reports of the police engaging a suspect," the woman said again.
"What about George?" Letty asked, selecting the photos to send. Some were out of focus, but she decided to send them all just to be safe.
"I don't know any more than you, love, but everyone here is hoping like hell he's okay."