His eyes fixed, utterly intent on Slater, Campbell’s hands began to move slowly, almost independent of his will and his rigid fear. His right dropped smoothly and silently to the seat belt clasp and began squeezing it ever so gently.
Slater leaned further out of the window.
Campbell didn’t even blink. His hand squeezed a little more, a little more.
Click!
He thought his heart would burst right in his chest but Slater didn’t flinch, fixed on the motionless traffic ahead of him.
Campbell’s left arm moved quickly to the door handle now and he curled his fingers inside the latch. He felt as if he might pull it open just by the shaking in his hand. It was too far to turn back. Too late to change his mind.
‘OOYYY!!!’ bellowed Slater but he was shouting at the cars ahead of him.
In one fluid movement Campbell yanked the door handle and straightening his legs up from the floor thrust himself against it, bursting out and through and rolling into the road. His battered ribs exploded in pain as he rolled across the Tarmac and he felt stiffness and tightness in his muscles the like of which he'd never known.
He heard Slater shout again as he realised what was happening but Campbell was up in an instant and sprinting away though the gaps in the cars. Without looking back to see how quickly Slater had disentangled himself from the car and started after him Campbell raced for a gap in the buildings which he had recognised as an entrance to Spitalfields Market. It would be quiet at this hour but there was activity nonetheless and most people stopped to look up as Campbell dashed across the open space for the other side. Past halfway he heard a shout behind him that filled him with terror and the adrenaline surged and boiled through his veins.
Campbell flew. He barely slowed pace as he went out through the exit at the far side and began running along the road beyond. Pain like fire roared through his chest and flared through his arms and legs as he ran. Either side of him were the tastefully restored and redeveloped brick buildings and warehouses and further ahead at the end of the road was the glass and steel of the City. It was a stark and swift transition between the old and the new, barely a few streets between the shiny office blocks of investment banks on one side and the urban rot of Whitechapel on the other but he knew it well enough. Round the next corner would be Liverpool Street Station. That was where he was heading.
His vision tunnelled and he could hardly see the people and buildings flashing past him. As his lungs worked harder he tried not to notice the pain in his ribs or any tiredness as his feet kept pounding the road beneath him.
Campbell, wearing training shoes and with more than a decade on Slater, began to put some distance between them and as he dashed round the corner and onto Bishopsgate he deftly side-stepped a woman coming the other way without breaking stride. He looked around him urgently as cars passed on either side of the road, none of them cabs, no buses nearby.
He risked a look back over his shoulder and saw Slater come barrelling round the corner and collide heavily with a group of suited young men.
Campbell turned right sharply, still running and looked each way along the road. It was busy but not fast moving and a little further along he saw people gathered at a crossing, the traffic light still red. Behind him he could hear raised voices as the suits protested with Slater, shouted and swore in surprise and pain.
Before the light changed he skipped into the road, judging the gap in traffic as sufficient. He could make it. And if he couldn’t then they could probably stop in time.
Up the steps and through a small flow of commuters coming the other way Campbell swept through the entrance, galloped down the escalator two at a time and out into the cavernous space of the station. His shoes squealed on the polished floor and he made his way toward the huge blue arrivals board, dodging in and out of the people with an agility he had not known since his younger sporting days. Even at this hour he was surprised at the number of people there were.
Looking back again he saw movement at the escalators which seemed now far behind him. Slater was barging his way angrily through the crowd, like a bowling ball through skittles. In moments Campbell was in the underground ticket hall, fumbling for the wallet that he still had stuffed in the pocket of his jeans. He ducked rudely in front of two women at the ticket barrier who protested noisily but he slapped his Oyster card to the reader and was through and away before they could make any more of a fuss and then he was dropping swiftly down the next escalator toward the platform below.
He slowed to a trot as he hit the platform but there was no train and the dot matrix sign was too far away for him too see when the next was due. He kept moving along the platform, looking back to the entrance to see if Slater would appear. But there was more than one tunnel to choose from after the ticket barriers as well as this one. Surely Slater had been too far behind to see which one he had chosen.
Walking now, his breath came hard and heavy. He noticed the roaring pain in his chest again, riding with every breath but never falling. He felt his legs jburn and his arms cramp and his head began to spin. He winced and pulled his arms around his chest.
Behind him came the clank and the rush of a train pulling through the tunnel and then the whole platform was filled with noise as it rolled along the platform to a stop and the doors hissed open. Still just halfway along the platform, Campbell strode a few paces the other way, wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and Slater as he could.
And then he appeared.
Stumbling onto the platform in his haste he almost ran straight into the side of the train and then he looked up and straight at Campbell, almost as if he knew where he would be. Campbell turned and ran again, keeping close to the train but his energy was gone. The long sprint from the car and through the streets having drained his final reserves.
He was running out of platform now and all he had was the exit on one side and the train on the other.
He chose the train.
Turning and stepping through the other door he finally stopped and looked back. He could see nothing from where he stood and he clung to the bar and willed the driver to shut the doors and go.
Nothing. Seconds passed. Campbell inched a little toward the door to see if Slater was still coming. Perhaps he had jumped on a carriage further down and would make his way through the doors between the cars toward Campbell as the train moved through the tunnel. He noticed that his was the front carriage of the train and there was nowhere for him to go. When the doors closed he would be trapped. If Slater was on here.
With a loud thud, Keith Slater planted both heavy feet down on the carriage floor, appearing in the space between the next set of doors along from where Campbell stood. The smattering of people seated in the carriage looked up at them both curious, Campbell’s bruised and swollen face, Slater’s look of wild rage.
Campbell froze, fixed in Slater’s hateful glare. They stood like that for only a moment and then the doors began to beep and Slater took two strides along the aisle towards him.
Motionless for another second Campbell waited until he heard the hiss and saw the first movement of the doors and then, in one step, leapt through the gap and sprawled across the platform, landing heavily on his elbow and damaged ribs.
The doors closed behind him and Slater, stranded halfway between the two sets of doors, stared open mouthed at Campbell lying on the floor looking back at him.
Scrambling to his feet and bolting for the exit from the platform Campbell did not see Slater slam his hand against the glass of the train door. Nor did he see the look on Slater’s face as he roared his fury at him but he heard it all the way back up the escalator, fading in the reassuring sound of the train pulling away.