20 – SEEK

'Your dad killed your sister?' I ask in incredulity.

'Yes, and because we know, what do you think he's going to do with us now?' says Holly.

'Crap, come one. Let's get out of here. He's going to be here any minute.'

Light extinguished, we step outside the hut. A crunch of footsteps not far away makes us freeze.

'Jonathan? Is that you?' Holly calls out. Her voice wavers with nerves.

But instead comes the reedy voice of Mr Winslow. 'Holly? Holly?'

'Crap!' I clutch Holly's wrist and drag her down as a torch swings our way.

'We have to hide!' hisses Holly.

I look around the clearing – there's nowhere to hide except in the trees. Hunched over, we run to a thicket behind the hut and take cover. My heart is hammering like a thunder drum and by the looks of Holly's face, so is hers. It's all I can do to quiet my breathing. It sounds horribly loud in the quiet of the night.

'Time to come out now, Holly,' Mr Winslow calls.

He steps into the clearing, swinging his torch around. We duck again as the beam swings across us. Mr Winslow walks up to the hut, his footsteps cautious but confident. He shines the torch inside for a moment and finding it empty walks around the hut.

Holly's grip on my hand tightens as we watch through the mesh of twigs and leaves her father's legs move closer to our position. Ten feet away, he stops.

'No more games, Holly,' he says. 'All I want to do is talk, to explain. Let's straighten this whole thing out.' His voice is surprisingly gentle. It entices us to believe him, to trust him. 'Holly?' His voice is quieter, more chilling, and I hold my breath.

Has he spotted us?

'It's all been one big misunderstanding.' He's so close, it feels like he's talking directly to us, knows where we are. I try to quell my breathing, but Holly's is coming in short angry rasps.

'You killed Georgia, you – you scum! What's there to misunderstand?' Holly exclaims and I clamp my hand over her mouth.

But it's too late. Mr Winslow steps closer.

'Holly?'

The torch beam swings in our direction and Mr Winslow's footsteps quicken.

I stare at his approach in horror. We have to move. But to where? Apart from this thicket of trees, we are surrounded by open farmland and countryside, flat and exposed. Then I have an idea.

I grab Holly's hand. 'Quick!'

We break away from our cover, ignoring Mr Winslow's shout to stop, and sprint through the trees.

The ground is uneven, full of twisted tree roots and vines ready to trip us up. It isn't long before Holly loses her footing and tumbles to the ground. I drag her up and dare look behind.

Mr Winslow's torch beam jumps from side to side, flashing over the tree trunks around us. He crashes through the undergrowth like a charging elephant.

'Noa!' he shouts in a breathless gasp. 'I know you're there! You're with Holly! Believe me! This is a misunderstanding. A big misunderstanding. You know I only want my daughter back.'

We don't wait around to chat. We set off running again, running blind through the darkness, tripping and stumbling. A branch whips me across the face. My cheek stings like somebody's slapped me and my eyes water.

Suddenly we break free from the thicket. The moon is bright and bathes the surrounding field of what looks like carrot stalks. All neat, straight rows like miniature hedges. No place to take cover. I dart a look around to find the landmark I'm after, taking a moment to refill my lungs with the muggy air.

'You don't believe him, do you?' Holly gasps beside me, misconstruing my sudden halt.

I spot what I'm looking for on the horizon, gleaming in the moonlight. 'I always thought there was something iffy about your parents not wanting the police involved. Come on!' I pull Holly after me as I set off running again through the field.

Racing through the crop, hurdling the rows of carrots, my lungs and throat burn like a dragon's sore throat. Mr Winslow is still in pursuit, can see exactly where we are, but he's obviously not very fit. Having said that, neither is Holly by the looks of things and I doubt whether she can carry on much longer.

We reach the end of the field and almost fall into one of the Fens' hidden canals. The grassy banks are steep and it's difficult to tell how deep it is, but looking both ways there doesn't appear to be anywhere to cross.

'Come on,' I gasp. Grabbing Holly's hand, I slide down the bank, catching my arm on a sharp rock, tearing my jeans. We land with a splash into the dark sludgy water. It's only a couple of feet deep and is easy enough to cross, but by the time we've clambered to the other side we're both soaked.

Our wet clothing does nothing to help our cause. We turn up a dirt track that runs parallel to the canal. Our panting and squelching shoes fills the silence. Slowly, the dark shapes of Kiln Lane Farm's outbuildings grow bigger. The smell of cattle hangs in the clear night air.

There's a splash behind us as Mr Winslow navigates the canal and we fall against a sturdy wooden fence in exhaustion.

Holly and I stare at each other, gasping for breath. I feel like I'm going to have a heart attack. Holly's face shines with sweat in the moonlight and her red hair clings damp to her head.

'Help me,' she rasps and I realise she's totally spent. But those words bring back the desperation in Georgia's voice that night she visited. This is far from over.

I grab Holly's arm and we duck under the fence. It is muddy and full of small churned up craters. There is a squelchy stampede of hooves, and indignant mooing and I realise we're in the same enclosure as Farmer Ackerman's dairy herd.

I hesitate for a moment. It's not a particularly large field and I don't much like cows. I certainly don't fancy the idea of coming face to face with an angry bull. But neither do I fancy the idea of coming face to face with a murderous Mr Winslow.

I look behind. Mr Winslow's torch beam bounces a short way behind. We have no option but to risk going through the field of cattle.

We run on over the uneven muddy ground. Thankfully the large sinister shadows of the cattle move away, clustering in one corner of the pen. Suddenly Holly stumbles and cries out. I pull her to her feet, but she screams in pain.

'My ankle! I've twisted it.'

I throw another look over my shoulder. Our pursuant is gaining on us. In the opposite direction the dark shapes of Farmer Ackerman's outbuildings are temptingly close. 'But we can't stop.'

'I can't run!' Holly's voice is as indignant as it is panicked.

I pull her arm over my shoulders and sling mine around her waist. 'Hold on to me.'

Together we hop across towards the gate to the farm yard, Holly whimpering and sucking her teeth but being exceptionally brave considering the pain she's in. But our progress is slow and Mr Winslow's hoarse breathing grows ever closer. We're not going to make it.

I undrape Holly's arm and prop her up against a fence post. 'Wait here.'

'Wait!' She reaches out to stop me, but I'm already running. Summoning all my courage, I run along the edge of the field to where the cattle have gathered, dark foreboding shapes pushing and stamping, mooing for more room.

I wave my arms and yell at them. There is a moment of chaos as the herd takes fright. I know that, in their panic, they might charge straight at me, but I keep running forward, yelling as loud as my wrung out lungs will allow. The cows break free and stampede back across the field towards Mr Winslow.

I see the bobbing torch beam pause then hastily change direction.

I return to Holly and find her still clinging to the fence, gasping for breath.

'Come on,' I say, and help her under the fence. 'Recognise this place?'

Holly looks around. 'There's nowhere to hide here,' she says, her voice shrill. 'It'll all be locked.'

My heart drops as I rattle the large corrugated steel door of the closest barn. It is locked, just as she said it would be, with a huge industrial padlock.

'I can't go much further.' Holly is half-crying as she leans against me. 'My ankle.'

I reaffirm my grip on her waist and try to take more of her weight. My legs are beginning to give out from fatigue as well. 'Hang in there.'

The second outbuilding is also locked.

There is a piercing whine behind and I look back to see Mr Winslow letting himself through the cattle pen squeaky gate. I turn again to the chained lock on the barn door. It's cold, damp and heavy to the touch. I've never tried to pick an industrial-sized padlock before.

I glance at the shadowed and muddy ground for random bits of wire, and dig into my pockets, not particularly hopeful. My heart gives a silly little leap as my fingers curl around the paperclip I used to pick the filing cabinet lock in Dad's study.

I get to work on the lock. It is tougher than anything I've tried before. The paperclip isn't strong enough and my hands are trembling so much I can't find the hook on the lock mechanism inside.

'Holly!' Mr Winslow yells, his voice exhausted. 'Let's finish this charade now.'

I dart a look back. He's slowed to a walk, trudging up the muddy track from the cattle enclosure.

Suddenly the paperclip clicks and like the gates of heaven opening up, the padlock comes apart. I rattle the chain through the hole cut through the corrugated steel door and open it. Gone is the time for stealth.

Inside it's dark and cavernous and smells of mouldy hay and chickens. I glance over my shoulder to check Mr Winslow's progress.

'You hide in here,' I tell Holly. 'I'm going to create a diversion.'

'No, wait!' says Holly as I untangle myself from her grasp. 'Don't leave me!'

I shove her inside and slam the door shut. Fingers shaking and weak, I slam the bolts shut and padlock it again.

I step away from the barn, my heart slamming against my chest. 'Come on, this way!' I call out. 'Hurry, Holly!'

I set off at a run further into the farm yard, hoping Mr Winslow will follow me. I look back over my shoulder and stumble. I land heavily, roll; the rubble that has been compacted into a rough road digs into my shoulder, my back, my hip. I lie there for a moment, partly winded, and crawl onto my stomach. In the shadows I can just make out Mr Winslow stopping at the barn. He pushes the door, rattles the lock. I breathe a sigh of relief. He can't get in.

I force oxygen into my lungs. 'Come on, Holly!' I try to fool him one more time.

The rattling stops. I know he's looking my way.

'Come on… Holly!' I gasp again.

Another pause then a bright flash of light and an almighty bang that ricochets around the farmyard. I slam my face into the stony mud, my ears ringing. Mr Winslow has a gun!

Copyright © H.R. Aidan, 2016