Ash

I keep low, moving from tree to tree. My eyes and ears are on stalks, looking and listening for any movement or sound. I don’t want to walk into a trap. The guys from the BMW are bound to be here somewhere, looking for us. And if they are, I have to see them before they see me.

But as I make my stop-start way through the woods, it’s almost completely silent. The only movement is the breeze through the trees, making the branches rustle.

Even though I’m stopping behind trees with every three or four steps, taking time to listen, I manage to get through the woods quite quickly. And before too long, I know for sure where I am. Up ahead there’s a track. And over on the other side, hidden a little way back, is the Old House. The gun is near too, buried in the soil. I stop behind a tree for a second and think. But it doesn’t take me long to make up my mind. I want the gun. Just in case. I’d be stupid not to get it.

I creep through the trees and the undergrowth as carefully as I can. Across the track. On the other side of the track, I take a couple of seconds to get my bearings and then start walking in the direction of where the gun is hidden. I scan the ground, looking out for where we buried it. And then I see the tree, the one with my tag on it. And a few metres away, a patch of soil that looks different from the rest. This is it. This is where the gun is. I drop to my hands and knees and start digging.

A couple of minutes later, with the gun in my pocket, I creep through the trees and the undergrowth, my eyes fixed on the Old House up ahead. When I’m no more than ten metres away, I stop still. I watch and listen for about thirty seconds, making sure no one’s here already, my hand on the gun as a precaution. I look over at the door, at the bit of boarding. There’s no sign of anyone about. Though I guess they’d hardly be making it that obvious if they were here, would they?

I creep through the undergrowth, bent double. I wonder whether I should call something out before I try and go in, but I decide not to. I carefully pull the boarding away from the doorway. I don’t go inside right away, though. I look at the dingy interior of the Old House till my eyes adjust and I’m sure that no one else is here. When I’m sure it’s safe, I slip inside and carefully close the boarded-up door behind me.

I walk through to the room on the left, straight over to the chair, and sit down, take my fags out of my pocket. I light one and take a drag. It’s only now, now that I’m sitting down, that I realise how nervous and jumpy I am. I take drag after drag after drag from my cigarette. And as soon as I’ve taken my last drag and stubbed the fag out, I think about lighting another. But I don’t. Instead, I get up from the chair and go over to the boarded-up window. I peek through a small crack in it. There’s no sign of anyone else. It’s nearly dark out there now.

As I look out at the darkening forest, I sigh and think about what we’re gonna do next. Cos whatever we do is wrong. Call the police and we’ll be in massive trouble for what we’ve done. Don’t call them and we’ve got two psychos who’ve already killed someone looking for us. Two psychos who know who we are. I look down at my phone. I write a text to Joe and Rabbit. Where r u?

As I send the message, I hear a noise and look out of the cracks in the window. It’s Rabbit. He pulls the board away from the doorway and then a few seconds later he comes through.

‘What the fuck!’ he says as he sits down on a wooden box. ‘What the fuck is happening?’

I shrug and shake my head.

‘Those guys had a gun!’ he says. ‘They were shooting. I thought I was gonna die.’

Neither of us says anything for a bit. Rabbit takes out his phone, probably checking the message I just sent him.

‘You know where Joe is?’ Rabbit says.

I shake my head. ‘No. He said they shot at him, but he’s safe. Haven’t heard from him since.’

Rabbit doesn’t say anything for a while. He sighs, rubs his eyes, gets up and goes over to the window and then sits back down again. He’s twitchy. Like I feel. He rubs his chin, thinking. ‘What d’you think we should do?’

I shrug. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I think we should call the police,’ Rabbit says. He stands up again.

‘No,’ I say. ‘We call the police and we’re in trouble. We took the bag. We kept it. We spent the money. Sold the drugs. We handled the gun – a murder weapon. And we tried to hide it. I’ve got it in my pocket right now. They’re not exactly just going to slap us on the wrists and let us go, are they? We could go to prison.’

‘You dug up the gun?’ Rabbit gets up. He kicks at the chair he’s been sitting on. ‘Argghh!’ he shouts, frustrated. ‘How the fuck did I end up in this situation?’

‘Shh,’ I say.

Rabbit leans in really close to my face. His face is full of fear and anger. ‘You know what’ll happen if we don’t call the cops?’ he whispers. ‘We’ll get killed. Those guys know where I live, for fuck’s sake!’

I put my head in my hands. He’s right.