A Chance Encounter by Rae Shaw (best ereader for academics .TXT) 📕

and darkness. The room reeked of urine. As she moved closer, instead of showing relief, both women stiffened. Julianna remembered in Dublin a woman had been used to help abduct Ellen. Their trust was so badly eroded she wasn’t seen as their saviour.

She crouched and held out two palms. ‘It’s alright. I’m here to help,’ she whispered. She showed them the marks left by her shackles, then produced the key. With a gasp, the older of the women released her companion, and offered Julianna her trembling wrists. She nearly said something, but Julianna quickly pressed a finger to her own lips and pointed up above them.

The younger girl was injured. There was dried blood on her lips and an ugly black eye. Julianna wondered if she had seen her photograph in a report. She might be one of the missing girls desperately sought by her parents. Julianna couldn't remember specific names.

‘You need to be brave and try to walk,’ she whispered.

The older woman spoke with a dry croak. ‘She doesn’t speak. I don’t know where she comes from. I tried to protect her.’ She held the other girl’s hand. ‘I'm Rita.’ An Irish accent.

More footsteps. A loud shot echoed directly above their heads and the three of them bumped into each other. Somebody crash-landed on the boards above. Dust spewed out of the cracks and rained down on them.

‘Come. Try to help her.’ Julianna dragged the frozen girl up with the help of Rita. They steered her toward the door.

The cellar remained eerily quiet, untouched by the war raging elsewhere in the house. Huddled together, the trio inched their way along to the stairs. Rita and Julianna propelled the injured girl up the stairs. Reaching the top, Julianna propped her on a step and pushed the door open a fraction.

She held her breath, fearing the slightest exhale would signal their location.

A man lay on the kitchen floor in a stream of rippled morning light. Crimson rivulets poured out of a gaping hole in his head. Nearby was a handgun and the familiar baseball cap. He was twisted about his waist; arms one way, legs another, as if in the moment of his violent end he had pivoted and fired his revolver.

Nobody else, at least not in eyeline. She plucked up the courage to go further into the room, knowing that there really was no choice but to keep moving.

‘Stay here.’ Julianna crawled along the floor, avoiding the bloody puddle, and picked up the gun. There might be bullets left, but not many.

A floorboard groaned. Julianna leapt to her feet and spun on her heel, balancing herself. The man facing her was a stranger. He had tattoos spiralling his neck and exposed arm, and a pistol pointed at her. He stared, confused, his eyebrows knitted together. The hesitation threw her. Was this the undercover police officer? From the direction of the cellar door, the poor girl’s terrified mewl escaped. His face hardened and he levelled the muzzle with Julianna's face. Her gun was tucked behind her back. There was no time for second guesses; she had to act fast.

She raised her weapon, aimed and squeezed the trigger hard in one fluid movement. The bullet smashed into his leg, just above the kneecap and splintered the bone. His startled eyes widened into plates, and with an agonised yell, he collapsed onto his back. While he writhed on the floor, she kicked the gun out of his hand, picked it up and pointed both weapons at his stricken face.

‘Fuck you, bitch!’

Given his surprised expression, whatever was happening in the farmhouse it wasn’t anything to do with her or the other two women. But hanging around to find out the real reason wasn’t an option. There was a car key on the table. Stuffing one of the guns in the waistband of her trousers, she scooped up the key and signalled to the women to follow her closely. The younger retched as she hurried past the dead body. The sight of death bathed in sunshine gave all their legs a boost of energy. Freedom beckoned tantalisingly close.

The blue kitchen door was ajar. Behind them, the injured man fretted over his wound. Julianna kept the gun poised and ready to fire. Peeping around the door, she saw the black BMW, which had been used to entice her into a trap, parked on a stretch of concrete on the other side of the yard. There was another vehicle nearby – a large pickup truck. Both appeared to be unoccupied. The key in her hand was for the BMW. The distance wasn't huge, but she had to urge the frightened Rita and the girl to ready themselves for what might seem like a marathon dash.

‘Run!’

The other two hadn't the ability to sprint like Julianna. Their legs staggered in slow motion as if tied down by invisible weights. Rita hauled the girl across the last few metres until they careered into the back of the car. Julianna activated the central locking and opened the rear passenger door. She bundled the two women inside and they sprawled across the seat.

‘Get down!’

She climbed into the driver’s seat. With her finger poised to hit the start button, another large car arrived on the scene. She ducked her head onto the passenger seat, where she had laid the guns. Panting, and unable to control her painful breathing, she prayed in silence to the God she had stopped believing in.

The other car’s engine cut out. A door slammed and a man shouted something.

She lifted her head, just level with the dashboard and peered through the windscreen. By the open door of the farmhouse was a bald man surveying the dead body of the baseball cap man. She recognised his clothes – it was the man who had visited her in the dark, promising her a terrible retribution: Zustaller. From his jacket