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There’s no answer.
Jennie hears footsteps running along the pavement. Sprinting to the gate, Jennie yanks it open and hurries out onto the street. A lone figure is running away along the road to her left. The streetlights are spaced far apart, their illumination sporadic. She can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman, only that they’re dressed in dark trousers and a hoodie.
They can’t get away.
Racing after them, Jennie keeps her eyes on the trespasser. She follows to the top of the road and around the turn into Wildflower Meadows, straining to keep up. The street is empty of cars and people and the figure takes advantage of this, avoiding the uneven pavement by running up the middle of the road.
Jennie’s lungs are burning. Her fluffy UGG slippers are hampering her usual speed. The fugitive moves quickly, extending the distance between them. Frustrated, Jennie kicks off the slippers and continues barefoot. The tarmac is rough against her feet but she’s faster now. Gaining on them.
Up ahead, the figure reaches the end of Wildflower Meadows and cuts left into Longdown Close.
It’s a dead end. They can’t know that, surely?
This is my chance.
Jennie pumps her arms, forcing herself faster. Her quarry does the same. They’re starting to pull away again.
Shit. I can’t lose them.
On the other side of the road the fugitive runs past a thirtysomething man out walking an elderly Jack Russell. The man doesn’t look up from scrolling on his phone as they pass. The dog continues sniffing around the base of a lamp post.
‘Stop them,’ Jennie yells at the dog walker.
The guy looks up, confused, but does nothing.
Swearing under her breath Jennie powers on. They’re almost at the end of the cul-de-sac now. There’s nowhere to go. Up ahead, she sees them slow their pace. They must realise they’ve made an error.
Got you.
Suddenly the figure veers right and leaps up and over a wooden garden fence.
Shit.
Jennie shoves the pepper spray canister into her trouser pocket and jumps for the top of the fence. It must be six foot high, and as she grabs the top and scrambles over, splinters pierce the soles of her feet. She ignores the pain.
Can’t stop now.
Landing in the back of someone’s garden, she races across the lawn, looping around a large trampoline and a children’s rusty swing set. The fugitive is scaling a brick wall on the opposite side.
‘Stop,’ shouts Jennie. ‘Police.’
Her quarry doesn’t stop or turn to look at her.
Jennie reaches the wall as they disappear down the other side. Cursing, she clambers up and over, landing in a heap on the tarmac the other side. Scrambling to her feet, she looks around, searching.
There’s no one there. The narrow alley is empty, silent. It looks like an accessway along the back of the gardens.
Where are they?
Jennie stands still, listening. The only thing she hears is her own breathing.
Dammit.
How the hell did they disappear?
She doesn’t know this part of town. All the houses seem to be in darkness and there are no street lights in the alley. Taking the pepper spray out of her pocket, Jennie keeps her finger on the trigger as she searches the alleyway again in both directions. She checks for signs of someone hiding behind the wheelie bins parked outside the back gates, behind an overgrown elder bush, and behind a couple of wooden pallets propped up against a fence. But there’s no movement, no sound. No one.
They can’t have just disappeared. They must still be here somewhere.
