The Chase: an ebook short story. Paul Finch
road swung left; she flung the Corsa around it, the rubbery reek again assailing her. Then it veered right, sharply, terrifyingly. Alex ducked as branches and twigs rattled along her bodywork, as the passenger side window imploded against a particularly heavy bough. The car hit a manhole and leapt like a bronco, throwing her hard against her seatbelt. She gripped the wheel for dear life, gagging with pain – only to land upright again and continue headlong, trees and bushes flickering past like speeded-up movie footage.
And then she spotted something: a break in the hedgerow coming up on the right.
It looked like the entrance to a drive because it was framed by stone pillars.
A farmhouse maybe? A pub or restaurant?
She wrenched her wheel around, the Corsa jackknifing through the narrow gap, rending and crumpling its offside flank in the process; her lovely Corsa with its handsome, metallic-green finish – it was already virtually wrecked.
She jolted along a rugged, unmade road, hemmed in on either side by tall barbed wire fences. In the bouncing glow of her headlights, she saw a dirt surface. fringed down the centre with tussocky grass; so much for this being the entrance to an inn or restaurant. She glanced at her rear-view mirror. The gateway receded behind her, but though her pursuer’s headlamps were visible there, they were stationary, falling behind, vanishing into the dark. Did that mean the bastard knew this was somewhere she’d find help? Or was he unsure and weighing up his options? Either way it was a chance Alex couldn’t miss. She got her foot down, speeding on along the rough, narrow trail – for an entire fifty yards or so before it ended abruptly. She hit her brakes hard, the Corsa skidding forward, its tyres scarcely able to grip the broken surface.
A closed farm gate blocked her way, chained and padlocked. Her headlamps cast stripes of light through its timber bars, showing nothing beyond but a field. A pillared gateway like that, like the entrance to some country estate – and it led to this? She craned her neck around. The track behind still lay in darkness. Sweat stood on her brow as she released her seatbelt, kicked the driver door open and clambered out. The internal light came on, but it hardly mattered – she still couldn’t see her mobile. She lugged the back door open and frantically searched the footwells, groping with both hands under the seats. It had to be here somewhere, but all she encountered were paperclips, dusty pens and scrunched toffee wrappers.
Light fell over her.
She jumped up, ramrod straight. The sweat chilled on her cheeks as she watched a far-off glow coalesce into two distinct but fast-approaching headlights.
What do you expect?–For all he knows, you saw his registration number!
She scrambled out and flattened herself against the car for shelter, even though she knew that wouldn’t save her any more than it would if she hit the deck and slid underneath. He would check down there too; he couldn’t risk not checking. Good God, she was going to die here … she was really going to die. A desperate thought came to mind: could she get away on foot? She glanced at the fences to either side. They were six feet high at least, and Alex was only five-five, plus they were made from barbed wire.
What about the farm gate?
It was padlocked, as she’d seen, and as high as the surrounding fences, but its bars were simple timber struts and there was no wire. The headlights grew larger at her rear. There was no option. Alex hiked her skirt to her waist and climbed. Breathless, she landed on the other side and started across the field, which was evidently a pasture because it was rutted and comprised thick tufts of grass, making her trip and stumble. She blundered ahead, gasping as exertion took hold of her. After about fifty yards, the pasture sloped downward, which helped a little. But glancing back, she now saw that the Audi had parked up behind her own. Was he wondering which way she’d gone? She prayed that he was. Perhaps this was the end of the pursuit? She might have run off in any direction. But when she looked again she saw something that iced her blood. A powerful cone of light, extending for dozens of yards, penetrated outward from the farm gate, sweeping across the field like a searchlight. It would swing in her direction imminently, and with her blonde hair and white blouse she’d be a sitting target.
It blazed past, catching her briefly. She hurled herself full-length to the ground, tasting dirt and damp grass. The light passed on, only to flirt backward, catching her again. Alex attempted to roll away. There were two loud booms, and a couple of smoking divots were torn up where she’d just been lying. Whimpering, she scrambled to her feet and ran on, attempting to zigzag. A third boom sounded as the light briefly lost her; something whined past her ear like a wasp. Unintentionally, she went to ground again; the field had dipped steeply, and she found herself rolling down a gradient, winded and bruised, but realising in the same instant that she was suddenly out of his eye line. She came to rest on her back, and saw the searchlight beam slashing back and forth overhead.
Panting, she threw herself on to all fours and crawled to her left. The hillside steepened steadily. He’d have to jump over the fence and follow her; that was his only solution, and he’d have to do it soon. The angle of the field now blotted out the searchlight completely; the ridge behind her was a dark shoulder smudged against the stars. She got to her feet and hurried forward, still trying to keep low but risking further backward glances.
The cone of light reappeared, but far to her left. It was narrowing, which meant that he’d come over the fence and was advancing. She stumbled on, lungs burning, heart knocking against her ribs. Ahead, the terrain flattened out and then rose towards a second ridge. She was sure she could get over it; she was running on pure adrenaline – until she got close and saw that it was actually a dyke; a steep, man-made embankment. Its apex was maybe fifteen feet above her, and crowned by another tall fence.
Alex’s whimpers became subdued wails as she gazed breathlessly up. She could probably climb it at a push, but how close was he? She looked round again – and was shocked to see that demonic orb of light jolting its way towards her. He was some distance away, but clearly he’d picked up her trail because he was running.
How the fuck had he located her so quickly?
She followed the dyke rather than attempting to scale over it, and almost immediately a tunnel came into sight, leading through to the other side. Scarcely able to believe her good fortune, Alex skidded to a halt. It was a black passage, cylindrical, rimmed with brick. She could just about distinguish a circular blot of grey at the far end. She went through at speed, stumbling on stones, sliding in what presumably was cattle-dung, turning her right ankle but battling through the pain. Emerging at the far end, her eyes adjusted more quickly to the starlight, and she saw that she was in a second field, though this was smaller – more of a paddock. About fifty yards away there was another fence, and beyond that a belt of trees. Even better, a gap in the trees revealed what looked like a track winding uphill towards the straight-edged outline of a building.
With new strength, Alex ran forward. All the time she glanced back, focusing on the black mouth of the tunnel but seeing no light pour out of it. Had he given up? If he knew there was an occupied building near here he might well have done.
She reached the track. This too was muddy, stony and deeply rutted – probably by the passage of tractors and other farm machinery. All to the good. She hurried on, trees enclosing her from either side, but with the building firmly in her sights.
“HELP!” she screamed. “HELP ME, PLEASE! PLEASE HELP!”
It was a risk – if he’d lost her trail, she’d now draw him right to her, but letting the occupants of the house know in advance that she was coming would give them more chance to call the police.
Except that it wasn’t a house.
It was a barn.
She realised this just as she reached it, the rough wooden boards with which it had been constructed emerging like phantoms through the gloom. Her first reaction was to hammer furiously on its nearest wall, crying out in despair. But then it occurred to her that it might only be one of a clutch of farm buildings. She stumbled along the side of the barn, her legs like jelly now that the adrenaline rush was flagging. The palm of