Circle of Fire Read Free Page B

have to help him.’
    Stumbling up the bank she went closer, bending down she parted the leafy branches. He was wearing jeans, just ordinary denim jeans, but his shirt, a pale blue cotton shirt, was splashed with dark blood, and there was a bloody mess where the top of his head should have been. There was nothing anybody could do. His blood was flowing into the earth soaking the ground beneath the bright buttercups. It was Danny, a young agent who had played cheesy music, singing along to it as he’d driven her to school. His voice blared into her head; she remembered him telling her about his young son, she’d laughed at his bad jokes. Now he was dead,his blue eyes staring up at the sky.
    â€˜Bloody radio’s smashed . . . no signal on my mobile phone,’ the wounded agent rasped, slumping down onto the bank beside her. He winced as he tried to move his arm, pain scarred his face. ‘We saw the car . . . the Merc.’ His words tumbled out in jagged pieces. ‘Danny ran a check . . . if we hadn’t stopped to do that . . . we’d have been here in time. Christ! What a mess.’
    Maya looked at him with glazed eyes. She felt nothing. What had just happened was unbelievable – a nightmare, a horror film. An agent was dead and her mum gone – driven away to God knew where.

Chapter Three
    Maya’s brain was in shock, her thoughts slippery as worms. Precious seconds ticked away while the wounded agent dripped blood and yelled into his defunct radio. He was in a bad state, a bullet had fractured his arm and his leg was bleeding heavily. She had to get help.
    Lurching forward, she scanned the road, hoping desperately to see a vehicle she could flag down, but nothing appeared, no truck or car, not even a tractor.
    Think, Maya, think. Focus, focus.
    With a trembling hand she pinched her bloody nose, threw back her head. Blood trickled into her throat, sharp, metallic.
    Get help! Run, you idiot, run. Run, go for help, go, go!
    â€˜You stay here,’ she shouted to the wounded agent. ‘I’ll run to the cottage.’
    Her trembling legs were slow to respond, she stumbled up the lane and clumsily climbed the stile onto the footpath. Then adrenalin kicked in. Desperation banished pain from her limbs.
    Through the wood her feet grew wings, pounding the hard earth. Dark shadows haunted the bushes, twigs cracked like gunfire. Her breath was hot in her throat, leaves glinted like watching eyes. She ran faster than she’d ever run, racing home.
    The path crumbled, pitching her down to a stream, feet sliding, fingers clawing. She scrabbled to find a foothold, then leapt, flying over silver water. Safe on the other side, she clambered uphill.
    Run, Maya, run.
    The path opened out into a meadow. Sun dazzled her eyes, grass tickled her calves. She headed for a dark band of bushes, thick as a secret. Thrusting the branches aside she uncovered a hidden stile, then, with a last pulse of energy, she sprang upwards, bursting from the thicket onto the edge of the cottage lawn.
    She was shouting as she hurled herself through the back door into the kitchen. ‘Gran!’
    Helen’s eyes goggled at the sight of her crazed granddaughter; flowers fell from her hands, a vase tilted, spilling water.
    â€˜It’s Mum!’ Maya shrieked. She grabbed at the kitchen table, her hands bloody and torn. ‘They got Mum.’ Her arms gave way. Pain and desperation surged through her as she collapsed onto a chair.
    Gran’s arms were round her, squeezing Maya’s bruised shoulders. She was breathing hard. ‘Who? Who’s got her?’
    â€˜Men in a black jeep, five of them. They had guns. They didn’t take me, they took Mum.’
    â€˜Where? When?’
    â€˜In Vicar’s Lane, that bad bend, past the ford. We’ve got to get help. Danny was killed, the other security man’s injured.’
    Helen went white. ‘Oh, my God,’ she gasped. ‘What can