The Escape Attempt

Sarah’s voice was a ghost in my ear, a promise of a future I didn't want. *Bring the ledger to the airport.*

I dropped the phone into the mud and stomped on it, crushing the plastic casing until the screen shattered. I wasn't going to the airport. I wasn't going to be their mule.

"Mom," Maya whimpered, pointing at the road. "The police. They're here."

I looked up. The blue lights were closer now, weaving through the trees, reflecting off the wet pavement. But there was no siren. Just the aggressive, rhythmic flash of the strobes and the roar of engines pushed to their limit.

I squinted through the rain.

They were black SUVs. Not cruisers. And the lights weren't on a light bar. They were mounted in the grill.

"Those aren't police," I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow.

James hadn't called the cops. He had called the cleaners.

"Run," I told Maya, grabbing her hand. "Into the woods. Now."

We scrambled over the guardrail, sliding down the muddy embankment away from the road. The slope was steep, slick with oil and runoff. We crashed through the underbrush, brambles tearing at our clothes, the river roaring below us like a hungry beast.

Behind us, tires screeched to a halt on the bridge. Car doors slammed.

"Perimeter check!" a voice shouted. "Two targets. On foot."

They were professionals. Efficient. Deadly.

"Keep moving," I gasped, pulling Maya up as she slipped. "Don't stop."

We reached the tree line. The woods were dense here, a tangle of old oaks and thick ivy. It was dark, the only light coming from the sweeping beams of flashlights on the bridge above.

We ducked behind a fallen log, crouching in the muck. My heart was a jackhammer against my ribs. I checked the revolver again, a useless reflex. Still empty.

I patted my pockets. The keys to James’s car were gone, left in his neck. The ledger was in the waterproof bag strapped across my chest.

I looked at Maya. She was shaking, her teeth chattering so hard I could hear them clicking together.

"We need to get to the road," I whispered. "Past the bridge. There's a gas station two miles south."

"Mom," she said, her voice trembling. "There's someone there."

She pointed into the darkness ahead of us.

I froze.

A shadow detached itself from a tree trunk.

It wasn't one of the men from the bridge. It was James.

He was leaning against an oak, one hand pressed to the side of his neck with a bloody handkerchief. His face was pale, waxy, but his eyes were bright with a feverish intensity.

"You really are a nuisance, Helen," he rasped, his voice a wet gurgle.

He raised a gun. A heavy, black automatic.

"Run, Maya," I said, standing up. "Go left. Flank him."

"No!" she cried.

"Go!"

I charged him.

It was suicide. I knew it. But I had to draw his fire. I had to give her a chance.

James fired.

The bullet whizzed past my ear, thudding into the tree behind me.

I didn't stop. I screamed, a primal sound of rage, and threw the only weapon I had left.

The waterproof bag.

It hit him in the face, the heavy ledger inside acting like a brick.

James stumbled back, his aim ruined. He slipped in the mud, going down on one knee.

I was on him in a second. I kicked the gun from his hand. It skittered away into the darkness.

I grabbed him by the lapels of his coat, slamming him back against the tree. Fresh blood welled between his fingers at his neck.

"Call them off!" I screamed. "Call them off or I finish it!"

He wheezed, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. But he didn't look afraid. He looked amused.

He reached into his pocket. Not for a weapon. For a radio.

He clicked the button.

"Target acquired," he said into the mic. "Sector four."

"No!" I shouted, reaching for the radio.

He caught my wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong, fueled by adrenaline and desperation.

"You didn't win, Helen," he whispered, his breath hot and metallic. "You just bought a ticket to the show."

Floodlights erupted from the woods around us.

Blinding, white light.

I shielded my eyes, stumbling back.

We were surrounded.

Six men. Tactical gear. Rifles raised.

They emerged from the trees like ghosts, forming a tight circle around us. There was no gap. No way out.

Maya screamed as two of them grabbed her, pulling her away from me.

"Let her go!" I yelled, lunging for them.

A rifle butt slammed into my stomach. I folded, gasping, dropping to my knees in the mud.

James stood up slowly, using the tree for support. He wiped the blood from his mouth and picked up the waterproof bag.

He opened it. He checked the ledger. He nodded.

Then he looked down at me.

He laughed. A low, wet sound that sent shivers down my spine.

"We secured the perimeter, Helen," he said, tucking the ledger under his arm. "And you're right in the middle of it."