“This looks good,” Justin said.
A fence had been erected around the construction site, metal bars slotted into concrete feet, but there was space enough between a pair of un-braced sections for the both of them to squeeze through. Past the fence they dashed across a short stretch of open ground and into the cover of the scaffolds, draped with heavy tarpaulins. The wind ran through the tarps, making them snap and ripple incessantly, a constant and uneven percussion in the cold air. Rain splashed her face, driven through the gaps in the sheeting by the sudden gusts of wind.
At first she thought they might climb one of the scaffolds to find a spot to sleep, but she was nervous of the way the platforms swayed, and it didn't seem as though there would very much protection from the rain. They kept looking, moving quickly, careful to stay away from any light as they explored the skeletal structure. Eventually Justin found a ladder that lead up to the second floor. The flooring itself was still only partially laid, but there were enough plank walkways thrown down for them to move around on. They found a stack of spare planks with a tarp tied over them. She undid a corner, cold fingers fumbling with the knot, and secured it to a nearby pillar to create a small covered space. The shape reminded her of the tents she used to make in her grandmother's garden, with bedsheets and string tied to an apple tree that never grew any fruit.
It was late and she was tired. Her hands felt clumsy, and her legs ached from running. They crawled into the space beneath the tarp and wrapped Justin's coat about themselves. He put an arm around her, and she slid easily into the crook of his shoulder.
Her thoughts drifted back over the last few days. After the attack behind the supermarket she had been mostly incoherent, too scared to really think. She'd followed him without thinking, not sure of what else she could do. That night she had slept in a church doorway whilst Justin kept watch. When dawn broke, she'd found him tucked against the edge of the church steps, dozing with his coat pulled up over his knees. The night after that, they'd sheltered beneath a disused railway bridge that did nothing to keep out the sharp autumn winds. When Justin had offered to bundle up together under his coat, she couldn't find any reason to refuse. Curled up together, comforted by the warmth of his body, she'd slept more soundly than she could remember in a long time.
The days had also passed more easily. Though Justin was a stranger to London, his keen eyes could easily follow her lines as they danced across the rooftops, and his light fingers were always ready to snatch up food, money, or anything else he could steal away with. At times she had actually begun to enjoy herself. It was only in the quiet moments that she found herself thinking of the men from the alleyway, or the way the blood had glistened as it ran down the blade of Justin's knife.
Rachael woke with a start. Eyelids flickered open as she remembered where she was. Justin was sitting bolt upright, his body forming a black silhouette against the light from the street. At first she couldn't tell what might have woken him. Then, through the faint sounds of the city, she heard something much closer to. It was the soft crescendo of a falling length of chain. He crept to the nearby window frame and she followed, leaning over his shoulder to get a look. She saw the clustered silhouettes of a group of men entering the site. One of them had a pair of bolt-cutters in his hand.
“It's those guys from before,” she whispered. “How'd they find us here?”
“I don't know. Wait,” Justin said.
Down below, one of the men at the back of the group addressed the others in a voice like pouring gravel. He spoke with the calm assurance of someone used to giving orders.
“Search in pairs. Signal and detain.”
The speaker was a short, broadly built man with a squat and ugly shape crouched at his heels, sniffing the air. Something about him seemed familiar. Then the light caught his face, and she recognised the ragged scar that ran across his bare scalp, and the shape of the mangy dog at his heels. To either side of him she could make out two figures in long coats of gleaming red and gold. They were dark skinned, with wavy black hair and sharp features. The older of them had a thick beard, but there was little else to tell them apart. The rest of the group were comprised of tough looking men in jackets and jeans.
At the scarred man's command, the four toughs broke away, moving slowly through the site, sweeping the light of their torches through the empty rooms. It wouldn't be long before they reached the upper floors, and only a little longer before their hiding place was discovered.
A snarling sound caught her attention. She stole another glance at the dog on the leash, and a chill ran through her. What she saw wasn't a dog at all. The leader of the strange group had an old man collared and leashed at his side, dressed in tattered rags. There was foam on his lips, and his hair was a mane of tangles.
Pulling back from the window frame, Rachael closed her eyes, and tried to shake off the image in her mind. It couldn't have been real. She was sure of that.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. Opening her eyes, she saw Justin's expression, calm and focused.
“We've gotta get outta here,” she whispered, though she hadn't the slightest idea how. The scarred man and the tall brothers in their long coats were still waiting at the gate. The only other way through the fence was at the back of the site, where they had slipped in. That meant going down the ladder, and through the men searching below.
“I'll jump the one nearest the ladder,” Justin whispered. “You run while he's distracted.”
She saw a coldness in his eyes, like the edge of a knife.
“Justin, wait...”
She grabbed his shoulder, as he began to move.
“What?” he hissed.
“I don't know, just... Wait, OK?”
She looked around again, hoping for any other way. Then her eyes settled on the back wall of the building, where a garbage chute had been hooked up to the scaffolds.
She nodded, and Justin followed her gaze.
“OK,” he mouthed.
The second floor was mostly a patchwork, pieces of finished flooring connected by planks that bridged the openings. One long plank was all that connected them to the back wall, where the garbage chute began.
Justin gestured for her to go first. While he sat back in the shadows, watching the torch-lights flicker below, she crept out onto the plank. She felt it rocking slightly under her weight. She crawled, inch by inch along the length of the beam, as the men on the floor below swept through the building. She could hear them talking, calling out areas cleared in hushed tones.
She was about halfway across when she saw the movement at the front of the building. The man with the voice like gravel, and the ragged mutt that shuffled at his heels. He strode into the building like he owned it, casting his gaze about imperiously. She forced herself to breathe and continued sliding along the wooden board, one inch at a time. She was almost there. She could have reached out and touched the lip of the half-finished concrete floor when she heard a howl, somewhere between the cry of an animal and a wail of deep anguish. The sound seemed to move through her body like an electric shock, and she very nearly slipped off the beam. It rattled beneath her, rocking perilously back and forth. As the movement subsided she glanced down, and once again she saw not a mangy hound but a ragged man with wild and frantic eyes, too much white showing as he stared into her with an awful hunger.
The man with the scar looked up and gestured, one hand pointing, almost lazily, as all eyes turned to her.
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