Wild Fiction

Genevieve’s eyes blinked furiously as tears streamed down her cheeks. The harsh light glinted off the white of her startled eyes. Her legs trembled as she swayed in front of the beams.
‘I’m coming,’ Rebecca said and took a step forward. She clutched the envelope in front of her with both hands and screwed up her eyes against the glare of the lights. ‘Please don’t do anything to her. Please let the cord go and I’m all yours.’ One foot after the other she moved forward to where Genevieve was standing.
Conrad tapped James on the shoulder and held three fingers up in front of his face. At one-second intervals, he dropped a finger until he formed a fist. Together they leapt from their crouch next to the hedge and rushed the twenty yards that separated them from the kidnapper. Conrad got there first and ploughed his shoulder into the side of the man’s stomach. He slammed the man against the inside of the open car door. The man let out a cry and fell to his knees. Conrad brought his leg up hard and smashed the man’s nose against it while bringing his hands down together on the back of the man’s neck. He crumpled in a pile at Conrad’s feet.
James grabbed the wire from the man’s hands and lifted the loop over Genevieve’s head. Rebecca ran the last few steps to Genevieve. She ripped the duck tape off her mouth and kissed her before gripping her tightly. James undid her wrists and elbows from behind. As soon as she was free she hugged Rebecca and together they held each other and sobbed. Genevieve let one of her arms drop, slid it between them, and pressed it against her stomach.
‘Is the baby okay?’ Rebecca whispered into her matted hair.
‘I think so,’ Genevieve answered, her voice barely audible although her lips were touching Rebecca’s ear.
James and the author joined Conrad and they pulled the body of the groaning man in front of the headlights where the girls were standing. Genevieve’s sobs turned to whimpers and she stopped shaking. The girls let go of each other and stared down at the man. Blood pumped from both his nostrils and soaked into his black moustache. It ran over his lips and into his mouth, framing each of his teeth, and staining his tongue before plaiting his beard against his chin. Grass and dirt mixed with the blood soaked hair. He opened his eyes and blinked up at them.
‘That’s him,’ Rebecca said. ‘That’s the man I met in the pub that calls himself Retir W. Doog.’