“What do you think?” Mo snapped. “We found a guy in the phone book and made him come with us.”
“What did you think was going to happen, Pete?” Josh said, shaking his head. “We were all going to live happily ever after?”
Pete stared straight ahead, unable to believe what he was hearing. What had he expected? He didn’t know. Praise? A clap on the back? He swallowed, feeling bile rise in his throat. He was starting to regret all of this.
He looked up and found Mo watching him. “What? Why don’t you focus on driving?”
“You need to watch it, Freeman. You were always too soft, no matter how much you pretended.”
He scowled. “Fuck off, Mo. You think you’re so—”
“Will you listen?” The urgency in his voice made Pete shut up. “You can’t be half involved in this. Harry won’t stand for it. Zane’s already out for your blood as it is for going above his head. You need to be careful. You know what they do to people who upset them.”
Pete turned and stared out the window. His jaw was starting to cramp because he’d been clenching it so hard. What gave Mo the right to lecture him like this? They’d been in the same class at school. Pete was a few months older. Now it sounded like Mo wasn’t just more involved, but he’d actually been talking to Harry or Zane about Pete. When did that happen?
But underneath his anger, Mo’s words swirled around and around in his mind.
You know what Harry does to people who upset him.
He didn’t, but he’d heard the rumours. And he wasn’t prepared to find out if there was any truth in them.
24. Clive
Clive was glad to get on the road. The sun was still weak and low in the sky. It was early. He didn’t know about the others but he was exhausted, having stayed awake for most of the night keeping watch.
That in itself wouldn’t have been so bad. After years in the Met, his body was used to switching from early shifts one week to lates the next. Staying up for a night wouldn’t have fazed him if it hadn’t been for the build up of exhaustion and worry over the past few days.
The wind rushed through his hair as he tried to find a balance between speed and going at a pace he could maintain over a long distance. They hadn’t bothered with helmets. His ears still rang from the deafening blast of the gunshots in such a confined space. That wasn’t even the half of it. He’d never shot anyone before, much less killed three people in a matter of seconds.
Three people.
It didn’t matter that they’d have killed him in an instant—they would have, if their aim had been better or if his had been worse.
Working in the dark to clear the place hadn’t just been a kindness to Terry and Annie. Clive himself hadn’t been able to face seeing the men’s lifeless eyes and knowing he was responsible.
Was that cowardly? He didn’t know.
He gritted his teeth as he dodged stationary cars and buses and tried to keep up with the others while going slow enough to stop Olivia from falling behind.
Olivia.
He’d been terribly worried about her, and still was. But he was also proud. Her instincts had kicked in when Annie broke down and her intervention had calmed the girl. He certainly wouldn’t have been able to calm her down the way Olivia had. He frowned. If he hadn’t come back into the room when he did, he didn’t know what would have happened. He wondered if they even understood the seriousness of what they faced.
They came to a clear section of road and Clive slowed to ride alongside his wife. She seemed to be holding up well, but he knew it was a mistake to jump to conclusions. Hers was an unpredictable illness. He knew that better than anyone.
“How are you feeling, darling?”
He had long since given up trying to read her thoughts from the look in her eyes. There were too many variables, like her medication for one.
She didn’t reply, she just stared back at him vacantly. He probably shouldn’t have given her that second pill so soon after the first, but he’d seen no other choice. And anyway, hadn’t her old self peeped out earlier despite the drugs?
Nevertheless, he hated the thought of giving her things that messed with her mind, no matter how essential.
“You were good.” He lowered his voice. “With Annie.”
The edges of her mouth turned down. “Poor love. It’s not easy. For women who can’t…”
“I know.” They had struggled themselves. The pain had dulled in recent years, but it still lingered in the background. “It gets better, doesn’t it?”
She nodded absently. “I suppose. Yes.”
They cycled on in silence for a few moments. Had it really come to this? He barely knew how to talk to her anymore. No matter what he said, he always ended up feeling like it was the wrong thing.
After around two hours—they had no way of knowing, though Clive had been trying to track the sun’s progress through the sky—they were all exhausted. Even from the beginning, their pace hadn’t been close to what it needed to be to get the seventy miles a day Annie seemed to think they could manage. The weight on his shoulders was already bearing down on him and this was day one—they had days to go. A week, perhaps.
His bike was a road bike. Good quality, but it lacked a basket and he had nothing to secure his bag to the rear carrier. Back when they used to cycle regularly they’d had panniers, but he had no idea where those had gotten to. Stolen, maybe. More likely, he’d taken them off back at the Hampstead house and simply forgotten them when they were moving, given everything else that was going on back then.
Well, he’d just have to put up with it. He had no other choice. And it was his own fault for not being fitter—he’d really let himself go in the last couple of years. At least they had the bikes. They were far from being alone on the road. A steady trickle of people moved along the footpaths; the vast majority going in the same direction as they were. Others had decided to get out of the city too. He didn’t like that. They were obviously faster on bikes, but they weren’t moving at a pace where they could confidently outrun a motivated thief. And people were getting desperate—he could see it in the envious way they looked at the little procession of bikes weaving in and out between stranded cars.
Thank God we have weapons.
He’d thought about giving his police-issue Glock to Annie or Terry, but decided against it. He’d be better able to handle one of the guns they’d taken from the raiders, but there was a good chance Annie or Terry wouldn’t hit their target if the pressure was on and they were required to shoot. That was natural. He could still remember the heart-pounding adrenaline rush when he’d first fired live ammunition. No amount of coaching could prepare you for the roar of gunfire and the smell of burning metal.
So he’d kept his gun for himself and doled out the illegal Eastern European weapons to the other two, warning them again and again to pay heed to his instructions and only draw their weapons if their lives were in danger. He was also mindful that their brains would probably go blank if they did get in a situation where they had to draw their weapons. That was the risk they’d have to take.
He glanced up and every ounce of warmth left his body when he saw what was ahead. He’d grown used to cycling with his eyes tilted down towards the road so he could see any immediate obstacles while he listened out for any indication of threats further along.
Now he wished he hadn’t looked up.
“Oh dear lord, no.”
He realised his mistake soon enough. The others had obviously been paying as little attention to what was in the distance as he had been. Brakes squealed all around him. He heard his own horror reflected in the others’ reactions.