Chapter Four of Steve’s story
The previous chapter can be found here: Upside Down
Steve cowered in the darkness as the shots rang out. He had already heard the car doors open and had surmised that he was alone in his confinement. To turn from his fear that he could be accidentally hit, or even intentionally, his mind retreated into itself. ‘One, two, three, four, five….’ he counted the shots off in his head as they rang off the car’s bodywork. ‘… once I caught a fish alive,’ he murmured behind the tape over his mouth.He didn’t understand why in stressful times like this, not that he had had that many this stressful, his mind picked up on songs, nursery rhymes and even poems from his past. It wasn’t like he was a writer like John. He counted more shots, and wondered how on earth such a furore could go unnoticed in a busy city, before he considered the fact that he really had no idea where he was, in the city or well out in the countryside.
A bullet slammed into the boot above him, bringing him back from his reverie. He immediatelly hunkered down in the boot even more, but then noticed that there was a chink of light along the boots seal. For a few moments he pondered his next move. Should he push the boot open and see if he could get out. Before that, he realised with sharp clarity, he would have to loosen and remove the bindings round his feet. Wriggling onto his side he edged his aching arms down towards his extremities. With the boot fully closed he had not been able to do this, but he became more aware that as the boot catch had been popped he could see now and had room to manoeuvre.
His hands found the bindings. He was relieved that it appeared his legs had only been bound by the same tape that covered his mouth. He pulled at it ferociously without making much impact. Changing tack he put his hands to his face to remove the tape from his mouth. Breathing had became more difficult with the exertion, and he needed to ease it. Finding an edge of the tape he gingerly pulled at it. It had been well fixed and was pulling at the hairs of his moustache and stubble. Guessing that there was going to be no easy or painless way of removing the tape he gave it a sharp tug. Breathing in great gulps of air he looked at the tape and saw that a great deal of his facial hair was still attached to it. His face was sore. He knew it must look bad too, or at the very least a bright shade of red.
Steve resumed his attack on the tape that bound his feet with increased vigour. It wasn’t easy with cuffed wrists, but he was making the best of a bad job. He tugged away at the bindings when his hands slipped and hit the roof of the boot sending the door wide open. At almost the very same moment he heard an anguished cry. Someone was calling his name.
The next chapter of Steve’s story can be found here: Rescue