Free Every Second Counts by Sophie McKenzie

against the wall for balance, I slid off my jacket and rolled it over my hand. With a swift jab, I punched through the window. Glass smashed to the
floor beneath. The sound filled the air. I held my breath. Had anyone heard?
    But no one came rushing. Still holding my jacket over my hand, I picked out the largest piece of glass and let it slide to the roof below me. Another two quick punches and there was enough
space. I eased myself into the room. Once I’d untied the rope around Jas’s wrists and helped her through, I could easily haul myself back out again.
    I landed lightly on the floor with a sudden and powerful sense of déjà vu. I shivered, remembering how I’d nearly died here just a few weeks ago.
    ‘Oh, Nat . . .’ Jas flung herself at me, sobbing.
    ‘No time,’ I said, disentangling myself from her arms. I sliced through the rope around her wrists. ‘Come on, I’ll give you a leg up.’
    I bent down, making my hands into a stirrup for her.
    And then the door swung open.
    Roman Riley stood in the doorway, an amused smile on his face. ‘Ah, Nat,’ he said, ‘I’ve been expecting you.’
    I gasped as he raised his arm. I just had time to register he was holding a gun and that the gun was pointing at me. Then a shot fired, pain filled me, and the room spun and turned to black.

Charlie
    Martina didn’t say much during the long journey to Cornwall. I spent most of the time in the car staring out of the window at the countryside flashing past and wondering
about my dad. As time passed, my fears that I was simply being taken out of the house to be killed started to fade. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed that Riley
would go to all the trouble of faking a DNA test and sending me off with his girlfriend on a six-hour drive as part of a hoax. He had said my dad was like an inspiration to him – perhaps that
was true. I had certainly got the strong sense Riley felt obliged to do what my dad asked.
    All of which meant that maybe I really was about to meet John Stockwell. And that maybe he really did want to meet
me
. But what would he be like? I had a few vague memories of a tall man
with strong arms and a big smile, tossing me into the air above his head, me squealing with delight, but it was hard to know whether those were real memories or simply planted in my head from the
videos Mum had played when I was younger – and which I had replayed for myself many times since.
    I only really knew my dad from those videos and photos. Back then, when I was a baby, he’d been very good-looking, with golden-brown hair, grey-blue eyes just like Uncle Brian’s, and
a strong, square jaw. How much would he have changed since that time? He had been twenty-two, like Mum, when I was born – so he’d be in his late thirties now.
    Apart from the pictures, all I knew about my dad was that he’d been a soldier, a squaddie. My experience of soldiers through the EFA had led me to think of them as disciplined, serious
people. Yet I’d got the impression from Mum and Uncle Brian that my dad had been a carefree, even irresponsible guy. Well maybe the combination of those qualities tied in with what Riley said
about my dad being a philosopher. Perhaps being a soldier had given him life experience, but by nature he was a dreamer. I felt even more hopeful that he didn’t really understand the full
nature of Riley’s crimes and that I would be able to open his eyes.
    Having exhausted the little I knew about my dad, my thoughts flickered to Nat. The more I dwelled on it, the weirder it seemed that Riley hadn’t tried to get me to talk about Nat or where
he was . . . and not understanding made me feel uneasy.
    I missed Nat more than I would have thought possible. There hadn’t been another chance to find a phone or a computer earlier. Of course trying to get evidence against Riley was my
priority, but I would have liked to be able to send Nat a message too. I hoped he wasn’t too angry