The Deadly Game(46)

Jake scooped up the gun and put it against the Boxer’s knee. He didn’t allow himself to think, he just pulled the trigger. The Boxer screamed as the bullet tore into his leg, shattering his knee.

Jake pointed the gun across the Boxer in the direction of Shorty. Shorty didn’t move, but Jake heard him groaning. He was still alive.

I can’t take the chance of him chasing me, thought Jake. If he gets out of this, he’ll kill me. His finger began to tighten on the trigger, but then he stopped. This will be murder, he thought. I can’t do it.

Instead, Jake thrust his hands into the Boxer’s jacket pocket and pulled out the man’s mobile phone. He was aware of cars pulling to a halt on the road, as other drivers stopped to offer assistance.

Jake ran, heading into the wooded area, pushing the gun and the phone into his pockets as he ran. He didn’t know how deep the wood was. All he knew was that it would give him cover.





Chapter 25




Jake ran through the woods, ducking under low-hanging branches, sharp brambles tearing at his clothes, until he reached a place where there was a rough track and the foliage and undergrowth was clearer. Running was made even more difficult with his hands tied together.

He dropped to the ground, dragging himself into the cover afforded by bushes growing around the base of a large old tree. His heart was beating so fast he thought it would burst. I’ve got to get these ropes off, he told himself. He set to work with his teeth, pulling at the knots, and finally he had separated the rope that tied him enough to wriggle his wrists free.

The gun felt heavy in his pocket. I have to get rid of it, he thought. It’s evidence against me. But if he dumped it here, it would certainly be found once the police started searching these woods. Because that was one thing for sure: the police would search this area once they realised one of the men in the crashed car had been shot. He couldn’t stay here for long.

He pushed himself up from the dry earth and stood, listening. He could hear voices coming from the direction he’d run from. Was it the police already? He broke into a sprint, putting as much distance between him and the scene of the crash as he could. How big was this wood? Where was it? He guessed they had left London from the north-west, and if that was the case that would mean they were somewhere in Essex. Was this Epping Forest? If so, it went on for miles and miles, and he could easily get lost, and be picked up by the police when they began searching.

He heard traffic noises ahead of him, and he stopped. Cautiously, he moved forward, scanning the area ahead of him through the trees. He could see the fronts of houses, and hear the sounds of a road. He kept moving, and saw that he was coming towards what seemed to be a housing estate: neat semi-detached houses and bungalows on the other side of a quiet road bordering the wood.

He crossed the road to the pavement on the other side, and then began walking blind, hoping that he was heading in the right direction and not into a dead-end. There didn’t seem to be any people around. Jake guessed this was commuter land, with most people out at work. He wondered whether to go up and knock on a door and ask where he was, but realised that such an action would only arouse suspicion; and whoever he asked would surely be on the phone to the police as soon as they shut the door on him.

He came to a road sign, telling him that he was walking along Elm Way; then another at a turning saying that this one was called Oak Avenue. The next street was Willow Path. Obviously part of the original woods had been bought up by a developer and turned into this housing estate.

Suddenly, as if it was a mirage, he saw a black London cab standing outside one of the houses. Someone was just paying off the driver. Jake saw the cab indicating to move off, and he ran out into the road, waving an arm to call the taxi to a halt. The cab driver looked at Jake and grinned.

‘Well, this must be my lucky day,’ he said. ‘There was I thinking I’d have to drive back empty from the middle of nowhere.’

‘Where are we?’ asked Jake.

The driver looked at Jake suspiciously.

‘You don’t know where you are?’ He peered closer at Jake, and the expression of suspicion on his face deepened as he took in the bruises on Jake’s face, and his crumpled and stained clothes.

‘I came here in my mate’s car,’ lied Jake. ‘He brought me here, and now he’s gone off, leaving me stranded.’

‘Why?’ asked the driver, still suspicious.

Jake sighed.

‘We had a row,’ he said. He gave a rueful smile. ‘Long story.’

The driver looked at Jake thoughtfully, then asked: ‘Is that why you look in such a state?’

Jake nodded.