Anya’s head hit the floor and it took her a moment to realize that the weight on top of her was Dan Brody. She checked on Mrs. Pascoe, who still remained upright, and then a second set of blasts went off. Her reflexes took over and she pulled the woman to the floor. Dan moved quickly to the judge, who lay crooked on the lounge, bleeding.
With the next series of volleys, Anya knew they were under gunfire. Lights still on, they were like giant targets in a gallery.
She commando crawled on her elbows to the light switch and slid her hand up the wall. With that, the overhead lights were off, but a lamp still gave off enough of a glow to highlight every movement and shadow.
“Dan,” she called, “the lamp.”
Brody dived for the cord and yanked it from the wall. In the process, the Art Deco antique crashed to the floor.
In the dark, she fumbled for the phone in the judge’s pocket and called emergency with the phone braced by her shoulder. She could feel warm moist fluid on her hands. The judge was bleeding from the top of his thigh, just above the amputation. She peeled off her cardigan and tied it as a tourniquet and felt the shard of glass protruding from the skin. In the dark, she was careful not to move or push it in further.
“We’re being shot at. I’m with Judge Philip Pascoe who’s been wounded. We need an ambulance. There are four of us trapped in his home.” She left the line open so the police could hear what happened next.
“Are you all right?” Dan whispered loudly from the side of the room where the window had been smashed.
“Pascoe’s been hit by glass and he’s bleeding. His wife’s in shock. I’m okay.”
“I can’t see anyone. Stay down until the police get here.”
“If it’s the Harbourns, it’s me they’re after.”
The seconds seemed like hours as Anya tried to decide what to do. Adrenalin pumped through her arteries as she crawled to Mrs. Pascoe. “I need you to put pressure on Philip’s leg, but not on the piece of glass. Don’t touch it. Do you think you can do that for me?”
There was just enough moonlight to see her nod.
“Where’s the back door?”
“There is one at the laundry at the side, through the kitchen, and another through the patio at the back.” She held Anya’s hand and pointed in the direction with it. “There’s a flashlight under the sink in the laundry.”
“Anya,” she heard Brody call but had already headed for the kitchen.
She moved quickly, staying low, sliding her hand up to turn off lights as she went. She assumed whoever was shooting was out front. Even so, she doubled back and headed out the laundry exit. In the darkness of trees, she silently lifted an outdoor chair and scaled the neighboring fence. Working her way through that backyard, she looked into the street from two doors up.
She couldn’t see anyone in the street. No signs of the police. The area had become deathly quiet. If the shooter had been in a car, he was long gone.
Pascoe needed medical care, and quickly. She headed back to the house, careful to stay away from the front doors, behind cover of trees and bushes, just in case the shooter was watching.
The front door was locked, but the inside light was on. No one was visible through the window.
She worked her way around to the back, and entered slowly through the laundry door. No other rooms, apart from the lounge room, had lights on.
The hairs on her arms and neck stood up. Something wasn’t right. There had been no more gunshots. As quietly as possible, she found the cupboard under the sink and put her hands on a flashlight. The heavy maglite kind, just in case.
Then she felt the barrel in the back of her head.
“Get up slowly and put down whatever you’re holding. And don’t think of trying to be heroic. I have nothing to lose.”
She implored for decency. “A man is bleeding, can I help him before you kill me?”
“No. Not this time.”
Anya’s mind raced. She’d heard the voice before. Who was it? Why did he say “not this time,” as though she’d helped someone he knew before?
And if he were going to execute her, why didn’t he do it near the sink from behind, quickly, without witnesses? The way he did with Natasha.
“The police will be here any second. You can still get away,” she tried.
“I’m in no hurry. Everything I need is here.”
He pushed her forward from behind, along a corridor, then down a spiral staircase. Her eyes darted sideways for a weapon or means to escape, but her captor made sure he had the advantage at all times.
What was here, and what did he need?
She still couldn’t recognize the voice, which sounded muffled. He had something covering his mouth. Most frightening was his complete control and calmness about what he was doing. This was calculated, but she still had to try to talk him out of hurting her.
They stopped at a wooden door with a temperature gauge on the front. It read ten degrees Celsius. Too warm for a fridge room, it had to be a cellar.
“Open it, please. We’re going to join the others.”
Anya’s heart drilled in her chest, but she dared not make a move with the gun still in the back of her head. Images of Natasha on the ground flashed through her mind, and she thought of Ben losing his mother. If there was a chance to survive, she had to take it. The only way out of here was the open spiral staircase, which made her too easy a target, even if she could overpower him. Now wasn’t the moment.
Inside, Dan was standing straight and alert. Mrs. Pascoe was sitting with her husband on the ground, but without making contact. He put pressure on his own wound.
“God, Anya, why did you come back?”
“I thought the judge needed help,” she said and moved forward. Behind her, the door closed. She turned around and saw her captor pull off a balaclava.
She gasped and knew she was about to die.