No time to be tactical. I wanted to be outside, in the dark and in cover.
I wrenched him off the floor and dragged him diagonally across the wet grass.
38
My Timberlands hit the hard standing and we got in amongst the growing sheds. My plan was simply to head for the gates and then out into the open to make them think I was going back to the Merc. They didn't have night- viewing aids, or they would have used them.
Lynn tripped and sprawled along the concrete. I turned and yanked the shirt, giving him a taste of Timberland toecap for good measure. The fucker was stalling.
At that moment, a body crashed into me from behind with the force of a moving car, tearing Lynn from my grip. I spun, landing on my back.
I tried to turn to face whoever had banged into me but the body was already on top of me, crushing the air from my lungs. I arched my back, kicking, bucking, struggling to get my hands up to his mouth, but he was ahead of me. Hands the size of shovels gripped my arms and then moved down until he had me in a bear hug.
The top of his head pushed hard against my chin. I twisted like a mad man. Sixteen, seventeen stone of him pressed down on me, keeping my arms against my sides.
I tried to kick and buck out of position, then to head butt him. He did exactly the same, growling at me through clenched teeth. He let go of my arms and decided to throttle me instead. Massive fingers closed around my throat and his saliva sprayed my face as he strained to push my Adam's apple out through the back of my neck. My head felt like it was going to explode.
I managed to grab a handful of hair at the back of his head and jabbed the box-cutter repeatedly into his face.
He screamed.
I slashed and slashed. Three, four, five times. Blood dribbled onto my face and then spurted. I must have hit the artery.
The boy jerked around. His blood poured into my mouth. I could taste the iron and feel the warmth. I kept jabbing, waiting for him to let go.
He finally screamed like a pig and his hands flew to his ravaged face. I pushed him off and rolled away, looking around wildly for Lynn. He was on the ground too and there was another body on top of him, raining punches.
I stabbed the box-cutter into the leather-jacketed back but couldn't go deep enough so I ran it into the back of his head and down into his neck. He shouted with pain but managed to roll away and jump to his feet. I lashed out again and felt his stubble against my hand as I tore the blade across his cheek.
Taking the pain, he drove his shoulder into my ribcage and the back of my head slammed against the breezeblocks of the growing shed.
Stars exploded behind my eyes. The box-cutter fell from my hand and I followed it onto the ground and he came down on top of me. Blood from his face splashed onto mine.
I knew I had to keep on twisting. I kept my arms above my head. I tried to kick, buck, head butt, anything to get out of the move. He knew exactly what he was doing. Like a skilled wrestler, his body moulded onto mine. The stubble on his cheek ground against mine. His breath stank of tobacco and greasy food.
His hands shot up and clutched at my throat. His saliva sprayed my face as he rammed his thumbs into my Adam's apple. He was on a mission to crush the life out of me.
I struggled to get my hands around his throat too, but he just tensed his neck muscles and breathed between his teeth.
My head swelled to bursting point.
I was going to black out.
He had me, elbows out wide as he tightened his grip. I couldn't move my arms. I writhed and kicked and flailed and knew it wasn't working. There was nothing else I could do.
I felt him suddenly go rigid. He moaned and his head jerked back. Air gushed out of him like a punctured balloon and I rolled clear.
The shaft of the garden fork that was sticking out of his back thudded against the concrete as he fell. He thrashed about on the ground like a game fish under a harpoon.
Lynn stood above us, ripping the shirt from his mouth, gagging for air. I could see his silhouette against the lights that now shone from the house. I could hear shouting and it definitely wasn't English.
I staggered to my feet and grabbed him. I dragged him by his pyjamas out onto the road and into the field. I pushed him down onto the frost-hardened mud, maintaining my grip on him as I fought to fill my lungs with oxygen.
My Adam's apple felt like it was still in a vice.
'Nick—'
'Shut the fuck up – not now!'
We needed transport, and theirs was the nearest.
More shouts came from the house. Screams of anguish filled the air from the growing sheds.
'Come on, keep up.'
