Free Sinema: The Northumberland Massacre by Rod Glenn

stopped. It wasn’t long before his instincts paid off.
    Mandy’s voice; shaky, fraught. “Dougie, it’s Mandy.”
    “How you doin’, babe?” Throaty Scottish accent, possibly Glaswegian. “You decided whether you wanna little trip across the border, eh?”
    “Yeah, I gotta see you.”
    “I wanna see you too, babe. What about your kin?”
    Emotion ripped great rents through her trembling tone. “I’m going to leave this Saturday – I can ring them when I get away from this place. I just gotta be with you.”
    There was a slight hesitation from the mystery Scot. Then, “Okay. Has something happened, babe?”
    The sound of a sleeve wiping across a snivelling nose, and then, “Everything’s fine, Dougie, honestly. I just need to get away from this place.” After a trembling sigh, she continued, “I’ve got a friend in Shillmoor, so I’ll walk down to hers after my shift and she’ll be able to take me as far as Jedburgh. I’ll get the train from there.”
    After an edgy goodbye, the sound file ran quiet. He clicked the pause icon and sat back in his chair with a slight creak from the tired old wooden joints. So, it would seem the test would not be on the druggie tosspot, but rather a knocked up runaway.
    Well, it wouldn’t take much to find out when her shift finished, so it would just be a case of tailing her into the woods. It’ll take a couple of days before the friend or lover raises concerns to the parents. A missing person’s would not be filed till then. Would they search the area in between Shillmoor and Haydon? Certainly, but doubtful before Tuesday or Wednesday.
    Well, that gave him plenty of time.
     
    Saturday morning arrived and he made a final check of the items that he would take with him; the more sensitive items were extracted from his combination locked case. Dark clothes, hunting knife, back pack containing: LED Lenser Police Tech Focus torch, Jack Daniel’s Old No.7 embossed Zippo , lighter fluid, hack saw, zip ties, gaffer tape, an army surplus trenching tool, camouflage netting, a second set of clothes including boots, bottled water and two twenty-four hour ration packs. A shiver of anticipation, mixed with a healthy vein of fear, skipped through his tensed muscles. This day would be the true start of his adventure; the dress rehearsal before the live finale. After today, there would be no going back.
    He had a key for the side entrance, so that he could come and go as he pleased without having to go through the bar, so slipping out wouldn’t be a problem. He had already politely informed Martha that he would be working undisturbed in his room all day, and had even recorded random typing, muttering and shuffling noises to play quietly on his laptop while he was away. There was a slight risk, even with the door locked, but he had also gotten Martha to make up some sandwiches to last him throughout the afternoon and insisted that he would be down for dinner for eight-thirty. That would have to be enough.
    There was one final item that he would be taking. The case remained open on the bed. He rummaged inside a concealed pouch until his fingers brushed over a cool, angular surface.
    The matt black 9mm Walther P99 felt good in his hand and instantly ramped up his excitement another notch. It was a compact, solid design and the favoured handgun of the more recent 007s, replacing the old PPK. Perfect.
    He pulled out two full magazine clips and inserted one into the grip with a satisfying click. In one swift movement, he cocked the pistol and aimed at the mirror by the door. Adopting the more classic Connery accent, he uttered, “The name’s Bond. James Bond.”
    His face took on a stern, I don’t take no shit, look. With set bearded jaw line and fierce eyes staring unblinking down the sight, his handsome face looked the consummate rugged hero. Chuckling to himself, he slipped it under his leather jacket and tucked it into his jeans in the small of his back.
     
    Absently flicking a few