Twenty-four

John opened his eyes and looked around the church.

He had no real idea how long he’d been sitting there.

He didn’t think he’d fallen asleep, but he couldn’t really tell.

He may have drifted off for a while. Or maybe the dull pain and numbness of his body had lulled him into some sort of meditation-like state.

But his eyes were open now and he was alert. His heart was racing and his body was tense.

Had he heard something?

Did a noise startle him awake?

He listened for anything unusual, any sound that was out of place.

Nothing.

He turned to look out the windows.

The painted glass made it hard to distinguish objects, but he could see the outside world through them and could make out different shapes. He was sure he’d be able to recognise the size and shape of a person if someone was outside. His eyes jumped from one window to the next as his ears pierced the silence, hoping for a sound.

But there was no movement. And no sound.

The sun was gone from the stained-glass now. No light shone directly through the windows and the shadow had completed its journey across the church.

John turned back to stare at the windows on the right wall of the church. No sign of sunlight there yet.

Noon.

It had to be.

Around midday? John thought. Was I out that long? I must’ve fallen asleep.

He sat upright in the chair and tried to move his limbs. He could hardly feel his hands any more as his arms moved lazily. His legs were cold and numb and he couldn’t feel the muscles any longer. But at least his eyes told him that his legs were moving back and forth.

He turned his head from side to side, trying to break the stiffness that felt like two metal rods on either side in his neck.

His lips were still flaky with dried skin and his tongue felt dry and swollen.

I need a drink, he thought again.

He tried to swallow in the hope of bringing up some saliva. After a few attempts he managed to coat the inside of his mouth. That would hold off the thirst for a little while longer.

Noon! he thought again. Where are they?

Suddenly, panic took hold.

John’s mind raced as he tried to picture the events that must’ve already played out, or were still playing out at the farmhouse in Redlingford.

Redlingford was only ten miles away. Zoe would’ve driven there in no time. She would’ve arrived within a few minutes of leaving the church.

He closed his eyes and pictured in his mind Zoe arriving at the farmhouse and stopping the Jeep in the driveway. Dust would be billowing around the Jeep, and she would wait for it to settle before stepping from the vehicle. She would make sure that she could see everything around her, and everyone, before making any move.

He could picture her climbing from the Jeep and standing in the drive, her hair in that tight bun, the sunlight shining on it. She would have a hand on each hip, and she would be standing there waiting for Fox to make the first move.

Her face would carry a look of determination, but he knew that emotions would flow over her as they always did. Fox would know exactly what she was thinking and feeling. She didn’t have a good poker face and she wouldn’t be able to hide her real feelings through it all.

John could see the gun sticking out the back of her jeans too, and that worried him. What chance did Zoe stand with one gun against Fox and any number of his thugs? She wouldn’t have time to grab it and use it, and she wouldn’t have the skill.

She would be outgunned, outsmarted and out-bluffed.

John knew then that it was all futile.

Everything.

He’d ruined any chance they all had of escape by yelling at Zoe last night.

By forcing her to knock him out.

By making her tie him up.

It was all his fault.

And, handcuffed to a metal chair in the church, there was nothing he could do about it.

He could picture Zoe’s face as she stood there in the driveway of the farmhouse in Redlingford. He could see the strength in her eyes as she fought to stare Fox down. He watched in his mind’s eye as the emotions flowed over her as Fox yelled something to her. And he stood by as her resolve broke and her face melted from strength to anger to helplessness. Her eyes closed and her head fell forward.

The wind played with her hair, sent strands of it floating above her and to the side. The tight bun holding her sun-golden hair together unravelled and sent her hair cascading down her back.

He watched as she fell forward on her knees in the dirt of the driveway, the gun falling from her hand.

She must’ve grabbed for it.

When?

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. She tried to smile, but couldn’t, a look of pain darted across her face.

“Sorry, Johnny,” she whispered as a tear spilt from her left eye; the eye with the small scar across the eyebrow.

She fell forward, face down in the dirt.

And John could see the quickly spreading blood, spilling from the bullet wounds spread across her back.

He knelt down by her.

He turned her over as he took her in his arms.

“No!” he whispered. “No…”

He wiped the tear from her dusty face and looked into the cold lifeless eyes staring up and through him. He closed her eyelids with one hand, gently touching the scar that ran across her left eyebrow.

He leaned forward and kissed her on her cold, lifeless lips.

“I’m sorry, Zoe,” he said to her. “So sorry.”

The blood flowed through his hands and trickled down his arms onto the dry dusty ground.

So much blood. So much blood…