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Friday Flash – The Female of The Species Is More Deadly … Part 6 of 6 – Heart of Darkness – Friday Flash Fiction

Friday Flash – The Female of The Species Is More Deadly … Part 6 of 6 – Heart of Darkness – Friday Flash Fiction

I’m wearing a black sweatshirt, khaki combats and blue plimsolls, which afford me plenty of movement. I start to stretch and feel movement beginning to return to my limbs, now I can wiggle my toes and flex my fingers. A few more minutes is all it will take to be completely mobile. Apart from the tape over my mouth and the tightness of the smelly nylon body bag in which I’m secured, I’m not too restricted. He was clearly in a hurry and hadn’t had the time or opportunity to secure my wrists or ankles. Amateur night out.

This will prove to be that fucker’s mistake and undoing and the harbinger of considerable pain and discomfort.

I can clearly make out the sound of voices. Two people arguing, one male, one female. It sounds as if they are several yards away, possibly in a different room. Distraction and surprise.

My best form of attack.

How many of them are there? Probably no more than two as there are no further voices. A couple, how intriguing. What are they planning to do with me? I play various strategies through my mind and don’t like any of them. I’ll have to to be doubly cautious and brutally effective. My resolve and determination intensify.

Slowly so as not to make a noise or draw attention to herself, I move my right hand into the pocket of my combat pants and retrieve the Swiss army knife.

I’m not going down as easily as they expect.

As my mind gets sharper, I can make out more of what they are talking about. They’re about ten feet away from me. I can make out snatches of conversation and don’t like their dialogue as it’s about what they intend to do to me and what a buzz this gives them. So this isn’t the first time they’ve abducted someone. Has anyone ever got away before?

Christ, how long have I got?

I hear the popping of a cork and it’s clear they’re having a drink. Something to relax them as they finalise their plans. Charming, think I. But this is good, it buys me a little time and gives me the element of surprise. What do I have on me that I can use as a weapon?

The party was informal. I have keys, a money clip and my lucky Swiss army knife. So he didn’t frisk me before depositing me in this bag. Maybe nursing his pride and wounded knee, OK, oh, now she’s mocking him a bit. She sounds a complete bitch. He’s moaning and pouring another glass of wine.

What else do I remember? My back hurts a bit and it feels like I may have been dragged across something. The car must be nearby as I he obviously took me from the boot to bring me here. So where is this, are there other people around and would screaming get me anywhere?

Probably not. I could be in a soundproof flat or miles from anywhere and who would put themselves out to come to my aid anyway? People don’t look out for each other anymore as they’re scared of their own shadows, let alone a pair of serial killers.

April, my girl, this is one scene you are going to have to play yourself and play it well. The bag is tight but I’m skinny and muscular, my body honed by running, rowing, athletics and martial arts, so I manage to get my left arm down to the back pocket of my jeans and wiggle the knife into my right hand. I can hear them laughing and suddenly, another cork is pulled. Are they always this sloppy or do they usually choose their victims with better care?

I so want to damage them.

I can detect a chink of light piercing through the top of the body bag, where the zipper doesn’t quite fit and wonder how cheap these people actually are. Very gently and quietly, I make an incision into the plastic material, just enough so I can breathe better and also get an idea of where the hell I am.

The first thing I see is a large window with no curtains. It’s dark, though I don’t know what time of night this is. From the furniture and oak beams it looks as if I am in the countryside. I’m a city girl so all this is new to me, but then so is being prepared as entertainment for a couple of killers.

OK, April. Focus and concentrate.

What am I going to do? My little knife is hardly going to take both of them out and the odds seem stacked against me. I remember some advice from school about accentuating the positive and eliminating the negative and suddenly a smile plays across my face.

I need to get the keys to the car and make my escape. But how do I do this without attracting the attention of death’s young dream out there?

They start to argue. He wants to start carving me but she disagrees. My turn, she says and ladies first. I make a slightly larger incision while they are distracted and move around very cautiously. If they see me now, the game is up but they are too busy in their discord. What I see hardly calms me as my eyes alight on duct tape, plastic wrapping and an open tool box.

They’re going to make a killing room just for me.

Aren’t I honoured?

The argument starts to get more heated. They’ve had two bottles of wine that I‘m aware of and the alcohol brings out their worst characteristics. Booze usually makes me go to sleep but with these two it seems to drag out every hidden resentment, like a fishing net might trawl something nasty from the depths of the oceans.

Oh my god. How embarrassing. He’s now trying to make up and appease her. I bought you these he says, and I think he’s giving her some roses to appease her. How much of a sap is this guy? Have some dignity man, can’t you see how she’s working you? She seems a bit more pacified and there’s the gross sound of them kissing.

Now’s my best chance.

I take the knife and rapidly cut down the plastic membrane that surrounds me. I breathe deeply and crawl out. I’m still a little stiff, but there’s nothing like the sensation of freedom and relief to wake you up. As silently as I can, I peel the duct tape from my mouth. It hurts like hell and I want payback.

The knife is in my right hand and I slowly raise myself from the floor. They are enraptured with each other and my eyes quickly scan the room. I need something, anything that makes a better weapon, but most of all, I need to locate the keys to the car.

Where the hell are those fucking keys? Quickly, my eyes dart around the room. There’s no sign of them. Are the in the pocket of his jacket that he’s draped across the back of that damned awful pine chair about three foot from them?

If that’s where they are, that’s where I’ve got to be.

How long will they be kissing for, and will I be lucky and they decide to take their passions to a more civilised place. Like an upstairs bedroom maybe?

Fuck. She opens her eyes and sees me. She moves her head back and pushes him away. He turns round and a look of surprise, then annoyance, then hatred flashes across his eyes. I have my knife but unless I get a clean cut I can’t afford him to get too close.

Then of course there is madam to address.

He starts to come towards me, I hold the knife out in my right hand ready to do what I have to. I move backwards slightly and something ignites my memory. I’d registered the golf club caddy a couple of minutes ago.

Could this be my salvation?

He’s unarmed and I manage to slash his right hand as he rushes towards me. He’s shocked and the drunkenness doesn’t help his balance. Temporarily taken aback, his hesitation yields my opportunity. The now bloodied knife still in my right hand, I reach back and grab the nearest club.

I thank the fates that I was born ambidextrous.

He sees what I mean to do but is too slow as I raise the eight iron and smash it across his face. Blood rushes from his broken nose and he seems to go into a state of shock. The woman just stands there so I strike him again on the left temple. I don’t know if I fracture his skull but he falls to the ground and blood starts to gush from his damaged head.

I look towards the woman wondering if I can take her out as well. She’s just standing there impassively. Still holding the club I move towards the chair, slip my hands into the jacket pocket and retrieve the car keys.

I move towards the door and look at his body lying in a pool of blood.

He’s still alive.

His eyes follow me as she offers me a glass of wine.

“Why don’t you stay? I could use someone as enterprising as you,” she says, nodding her head at his twitching body.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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