The busy street loomed ahead. Hannah Mickery reached it first and launched herself across it. The beret had by now blown off and her long auburn hair trailed behind her. She reached the other side and without hesitation dived into the welcoming entrance of Marlands Shopping Centre. Charlie was seconds behind.
A sea of schoolchildren, bored and flirty. A security man picking his teeth. A couple of gawky lads in Saints shirts. But no sign of Mickery.
Then a flash of auburn. On the far escalator. Charlie set off in pursuit once more, hurdling potted plants and toddlers as she cranked up her speed. Up, up, up she sprinted – her lungs burning with the exertion. Barging a middle-aged dawdler out the way, Charlie burst on to the mezzanine level.
The red coat. Vanishing into Topshop. No way out from there. Charlie sprinted inside, warrant card already on display as the security guards started to rouse themselves. Finally Charlie would be able to look Helen in the eye – a juicy prize to deliver to her.
Except. This was the wrong red coat. Right shade, wrong wearer. A singleton shopping for a date and somewhat surprised to find herself being manhandled by a sweating female DC.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘Shit!’ Charlie was already moving away from her startled victim. She collared the nearest security guard.
‘Did you see a woman in a red coat run past here? Did ANYONE see a woman in a red coat?’
Charlie looked at the sea of blank faces, knowing already that it was hopeless.
Mickery had got away.
They hadn’t moved for days now. They were beaten, crushed with despair. Starvation would be their release – it was plain that there would be no escape.
Caroline had been waif-like to begin with. Now she looked like a famine victim, her ribs threatening to break through her skin at any point. Martina was the more muscular of the two and somehow despite day after day of starvation, she struggled to her feet now.
‘Let’s try again.’
Martina tried to inject energy and hope into her voice, but Caroline just groaned.
‘Please, Caroline, we have to try again.’
Now Caroline raised her head to see if Martina was serious. It was hopeless, so why torture themselves? The door hadn’t yielded an inch despite their pounding. Their shoulders were bruised, their nails broken. There was nothing more they could do.
‘Someone might hear us.’
‘There’s nobody out there.’
‘We have to try. Please, Caroline, I’m not ready to die yet.’
A long pause, then slowly, reluctantly Caroline dragged her weary body off the ground. Despair was easier than hope. Hope was cruel – it promised Caroline things she feared she’d never experience again: love, warmth, comfort, happiness. None of these things were possible – they were dreams – whilst she was buried alive in this tomb. All Caroline wanted now was to be left alone to her despair and if charging the door for a few pointless minutes would shut Martina up then so be it.