CHARLOTTE

We tramp through the darkness, Michael with the axe slung over his shoulder. At first, we pause every few hundred yards, listening for pursuit, but hear nothing. After the first mile or so, we simply walk at the best pace we can.

I start off, feeling well enough, but after a while, the adrenaline high that supported me during our escape, wears off, and in the intense cold, I feel dull and lethargic, my flesh chilling.

“You sure we’re going the right way?” I ask.

“Pretty sure. That phone of yours got GPS?”

How stupid can I be?

“Of course it has.”

I flick on the mapping app, then dim to night-mode as the screen dazzles me, knocking out my night vision. Michael peers over my shoulder, as the screen centres and displays our position. “Yup. Two or three miles that way.” he points. “Come on. We’re making good progress. If we walk quickly, we’ll stay warm.”

Walking quickly is easier said than done. The tracks are rough and uneven, knotted with tree roots that lie be-shadowed and waiting to trip the unwary. The last thing either of us needs is a sprained ankle.

We hear it before we see it, echoing through the pines; the wail of sirens. Then beyond the forest, through the trees, the flashing blue lights of many, many cars, an ambulance, and seemingly crowds of people; police, medics…. and finally, I see it, my Master’s car. He is there, standing, leaning against it, his breath blowing blue clouds into the night air, scanning the tree-line.

Michael’s eyes, glinting with amusement, meet mine as we survey the hubbub. “Well, he did say he was bringing help.” Then he yells, waving as we emerge from the trees. “James! Here…. James….”

My Master looks, trying to follow the sound, his gaze swinging before he sights us, then, his face lighting up, he runs towards us. Flinging his arms around me, he pulls me to him, holding me tightly, too tightly, until I have to pull away. “Master, I’m okay, really. Please, I need air…”

He breaks free, but holds me by the shoulders, looking into my face. “You’re alright? Really alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. It was awful, but Michael.…”

“Tell me later. Come and get warmed up.”

He turns, slapping Michael’s shoulder, who slaps him back. The two don’t say anything, but men don’t, do they?

Paramedics fuss around us with blankets and questions, apparently disappointed when we both insist that we are not hurt. Hot soup is thrust into my hand, steaming, savoury and fragrant in the night air. It is perfect, richly flavoured and herby, and just the right temperature for drinking. Warmth worms its way back down my frozen toes.

Michael and I return to the city in my Master’s car, but we are flanked, front and rear, by a travelling wall of blue flashing cars.

“Where are we going?” asks Michael.

“Haswell Building.” replies my Master. “We’re taking the Penthouse guest apartment.”

“That seems an odd place to go. You sent me away from there before.” I comment, through a semi-stifled yawn. “Why there?”

My Master’s face swings around to me. “It’s defensible.”

*****

There is a moment of bare consciousness as my shoulder is shaken. “Charlotte, wake up. We’re here.”

“Mmmm?”

“We’re here.” It is my Master. “Get out of the car. You can sleep as soon as we’re in.”

I stagger out of the car, walking in a semi-doze to the elevator….copy right hot novel pub