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Back The Dead Line Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. By the Same Author
  3. Dedication Page
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. Acknowledgements
  86. Also Available by Holly Watt
  87. The Hunt and the Kill

The gun centred on Casey’s forehead. Casey moved her arms, legs, somehow nothing was broken. Wearily, she dragged herself to her knees, then foot by foot, she stood.

‘Come on.’ Clio jerked the chain, sending a spasm of pain down Casey’s arms.

Slowly, they started walking towards the plane.

76

76

Just as they reached the little plane, there came a roar from the farm buildings behind them. Clio’s head whipped round.

Exhausted, Casey peered over her shoulder.

In the far distance, a huge tractor was rolling out of one of the farm buildings.

‘What . . .’ Clio’s voice died away.

‘Miranda,’ Casey whispered. Relief flooded through her. Miranda, still here. Fighting for their survival.

‘Who?’ Clio spun round to Casey.

The tractor was dragging a huge steel trailer behind it, almost thirty feet long and twenty feet high. As Casey watched, the tractor ground its way down the side of the airstrip, crunching through gears.

‘Hurry.’ Clio yanked Casey towards the plane.

The plane was a little Cirrus, Casey registered, almost unconsciously. Able to fly five people hundreds of miles without refuelling. There was no way of knowing where Clio might go in this plane.

The morning mist was burning off now, the sun breaking through in patches. Behind her, Casey heard the blare of the huge engine. Halfway down the strip of grass, the tractor was turning, labouring across the runway. As Casey glanced back, it came to a juddering halt, bisecting the airstrip.

‘Fuck it.’ Clio’s eyes were wide. ‘What is he doing?’

‘She,’ said Casey flatly. ‘And she’s stopping you from getting away.’

Panic flickered in Clio’s eyes. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Miranda will have sabotaged every other way of escaping,’ said Casey, almost singsong, as if she were reciting a poem. ‘I wondered where she was, all this time. But she’ll have made sure that there is no escape for you, Clio.’

Clio was vibrating with alarm, eyes stretched wide. ‘Fucking bitch,’ she exploded. She spun round and pointed the gun at Casey. ‘Get on that fucking plane,’ she spat.

‘You’ll never make it, Clio,’ Casey pulled back against the chain. ‘You’ve only got half a runway to take off. Maybe a thousand feet. Less. It’s impossible. Even if you try, every pound will matter if you’re going to get over that trailer. Take me, and you’ll definitely crash.’

Clio stared up the runway. She was shaking, Casey saw.

A tiny figure jumped out of the tractor, and stood gazing in their direction.

Clio made a gesture of wild frustration, almost clawing at the air.

‘Give up, Clio.’ There was no emotion in Casey’s voice. Her shoulders sagged, the blood trickling down her wrists.

‘I can still shoot you before I go.’ Clio swung round. ‘You fucking . . . journalist.’

She turned on Casey like a lioness. The adrenalin flooded back, the pain in Casey’s arms disappearing.