4. Liliana
A s the morning light pours in through the trees, I rub my eyes and try to relive the stiffness in my bones.
I rode all night, or at least for as long as I could manage, and then, when I thought I might just fall off from exhaustion and crash, I hunkered down, made a makeshift shelter and slept on the hard ground like an animal.
Leaves stick to my face.
Bits of stone and twigs poke into my back.
I used my bag as pillow, but that seems to have resulted in jarring my neck.
With a groan, I get up, stretch as best I can then pick up my bag and toss it over my shoulder. In a few weeks I can maybe risk staying in a motel, but right now I need to get as far away from the city as possible. And to ensure that, I have to move about unseen, unnoticed, as a complete ghost.
I’ve got a woolly hat on, and as I readjust it, I say a silent thanks to my past self for thinking of grabbing it. The warmth it’s providing right now feels like a miracle.
With a deep sigh, I grab my stuff, forcing my legs to work. I have to keep moving. I have to get further away.
With every turn of the wheels, my legs protest. My back throbs as I curl up over the handlebars. But I know this will be nothing compared to what they do to me.
If I’m smart, if I’m careful I can do this, I can make for the countryside, for the hills, somewhere far from human inhabitants and I can live there, I can build a shelter, make traps, become a proper hermit. Yes, it’ll be tough, yes, I’ll probably struggle for a while, but I’ll be alive, and more importantly, I’ll be safe.
I just have to take this one step at a time.
Focus on getting far away first. Then I can consider next steps.
Bristol. It’s never been one of my favourite cities. No offense to the place, it’s just too hilly for my liking.
But then, London was hardly the dream, was it? I lived in a cramped, dingy space that took most of my salary to pay for and grew mould in the winter. Work was the only reason I stayed, work was what got me out of bed, what kept me awake, what drove me.
And now work is gone.
Everything I busted my arse for, all those years at university, all the subsequent years grafting away after, all of it counts for nothing now.
I have nothing to show for any of it. In a few years’ time no one will even remember there was a journalist called ‘Ana Edwards.’ My name will be forgotten. Everything I did, my entire legacy will fade to nothing .
I let out a low breath, burying the wave of emotion that hits me. It is what it is, isn’t it? These are the cards I’ve been dealt. I can’t dwell on them too deeply right now, I can’t allow myself to become despondent and depressed, because then I’ll become that mess of a person who can’t function, who can’t think, and then I’ll be caught.
Besides, I still have one card left to play.
One last fuck you before this all ends.
With my head down, I make my way to the bus station. It’s a risk being here, but I have to take it. I’ve crossed enough distance as I can by bike and by foot. I need to go further, I need to get to Wales, get to a place where I can disappear.
I clamber onto the bus, handing over the money with my head as concealed as I can make it. All I can feel is the surveillance cameras, the CCTV, as if every single one is focused directly right on me.
I take a seat near the back, but not too far. I need to be able to escape—but there’s only one door, if they do stop us, I don’t stand a chance. Gulping back the bile, I try not to think about that fact.
When it pulls away, the relief I feel is palpable. It feels like I’m one step closer to victory.
I lean my head against the cold glass, letting that relief sink in. The seat isn’t exactly plush, but it feels like luxury compared to the hard ground floor I’ve been sleeping on.
My bag is beside me, pressed against me, and I keep the strap wrapped around my arm.
Out the window, the streets start to whirl past, houses begin to blur. I could almost cry with relief as we start to pick up speed because it feels like I’ve made it. It feels like freedom is just around the corner. I just have to hold my nerve a little longer.
It’s evening when we arrive. I rub my eyes, more than aware that I drifted off and that my tiredness could well have put me in danger. As furtively as I can, I cast my eyes around, trying to gauge if anyone is here, if anyone on this bus is watching me.
But they all seem blissfully disinterested. Instead, they’re all jostling and shoving to be the first off.
I hold back, not wanting to be swept up in a crowd and then miss the sign of attack if it does come. When I make my way down the narrow aisle, my legs protest after so many hours of little movement.
Each step down sends a jolt of burning through my muscles. I wouldn’t say I was unfit before, but I was hardly a gymaholic, and days of non-stop cycling has been more than a shock to the system.
I take a step, then another, putting distance between me and the bus, and as I try to get my bearings, I let out a small low breath. By now, they must have gotten into my apartment. They must know I’m MIA, but surely, they wouldn’t realise that I’m here? There’s nothing to link me to this place, nothing to suggest this is where I would go.
And yet I can feel those hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I can feel my heartbeat picking up.
I hoist the bag on my shoulder and start walking. I don’t dare look back. I need to get on, to disappear and not stand around like a bloody idiot.
One street turns into another. I pick up pace, striding as fast as I can without attracting attention, but it’s not long before I realise my suspicions aren’t unfounded.
I’m not being paranoid.
I really am being followed.
I really am in trouble .
A fist slams into my stomach making me double over. This could of course be a coincidence, just some nasty shits that I unluckily ran into, only, I catch a glimpse of the gold ring as the arsehole removes his hand and that confirms what I already know.
They have found me.
Someone grabs my bag, tossing it away and out of my reach before I can stop them. Stupidly, I freeze, letting my eyes focus on where it lands and a blow to the head is the punishment I pay for it.
I swing my leg around, slamming my boot into one of their faces. Bet they didn’t see that coming, did they?
Without waiting to see the bastard crumple, I turn my focus on the other two. One aims a punch at my face, but it’s easy enough for me to dodge it and land my own. I take his legs out next, kick them right out from under him so he lands on his arse beside his mate, leaving me one final man to face off.
He’s bigger, both in fat and muscle, and clearly more up for this fight. There’s a scar that mars his right eyebrow like someone ran a razor through it, only just avoiding taking out his eye. Pity that.
I raise my fists, preparing for him to make his move.
“Stupid bitch,” he spits. “Really think you can outrun us?”
I narrow my eyes but avoid answering, besides, what would be the point? It’s a waste of my energy.
With his right hand, he pulls a knife, nothing too big but enough to do serious damage if he stabbed me in the right place.
He throws himself at me, slamming his body into mine and we land on the ground, him on top of me and his entire weight pushing all the air out of my lungs.
I jerk beneath him, trying to get my legs free. One of his hand gropes me as he lowers his face right into mine. “I’m gonna enjoy turning you into my whore,” he taunts .
But that’s all the time I need, the moment I need. I pull my head back before slamming it into his nose. I know I’ve hit my target when his blood splatters onto me.
Shouts echo behind us.
I can’t tell if it’s more of the Brethren coming to help or strangers inadvertently coming across the scene. Either way, I know this won’t help me in the slightest.
But the noise is enough of a distraction to my assailant to allow me to wrestle the knife from his hand and stab him in the stomach.
Oh, I know it’s not deep, I know it won’t kill, but it might just slow him down and that’s all I need. Just a few precious seconds, just some advantage here.
I scramble up, hating the fact that my bag is too far to get to, and with my heart slamming into my chest, I run for my life.