Free To Die Alone by John Dean Page A

assailants staggering backwards, the wing mirror clipping the shaven-headed man’s elbow as the vehicle shot out of the field entrance. Soames glanced in his rear-view mirror to see the man give an enraged bellow and, clutching his arm, start running back to his car followed by his accomplice.
    ‘Are they after us?’ asked Harry anxiously, rubbing the side of his head and glancing down at his hand to see flecks of blood.
    ‘I told you this were a daft idea,’ said Soames, ramming his foot on to the accelerator, sending the vehicle careering down the road.
    ‘Won’t this thing go any faster?’ shouted Harry as the vehicle rocked and swayed on reaching 45 m.p.h. He glanced through the side mirror and saw the other car’s headlights flashing repeatedly as the vehicle set off in pursuit. ‘They’re after us.’
    ‘I’m doing my best,’ exclaimed Soames, hurling the vehicle round a corner, the wheels screeching as they slipped on the damp Tarmac.
    Turning round, Harry Galbraith saw the black car appear round the bend, closing rapidly as it gathered speed.
    ‘Come on, come on!’ he exclaimed, fear in his voice as the headlights dazzled the farmers when the car drew close.
    ‘What were that?’ cried Soames in alarm as they heard a loud metallic sound when something struck the back of the vehicle.
    ‘Jesus! He’s firing at us! He’s got a gun!’
    Soames threw the pick-up round a sharp left-hand bend, battling frantically with the steering wheel as the vehicle bounced off the grass verge. Glancing in the mirror again, he saw the black car fail to take the corner properly and skid, one of its headlights being extinguished amid a shower of glass as the front of the vehicle delivered a glancing blow to a drystone wall. The black car juddered to a halt and stood motionless for a few seconds. Seizing his opportunity, Soames rammed his foot even harder on to the pick-up’s accelerator and sent the vehicle rocking and rolling into the night.
    ‘It’s never gone this fast!’ he cried, as the speedometer climbed above 65 m.p.h. and he battled to control the shaking vehicle.
    Harry suddenly pointed to his left, to a gap in the wall just before the road crossed a small humpbacked bridge.
    ‘Theer!’ he shouted. ‘Put the lights out and go theer!’
    Plunged into darkness, the pick-up shot through an opening in a wall and on to a bumpy side track. For a few moments, Soames wrestled with the steering wheel as the pick-up entered a small sparsely wooded copse and he tried to steer it between the trees, struggling to see in the darkness. The vehicle lurched violently as it cannoned off one of the trees, a rending sound indicating that the bumper had been torn off. Galbraith looked across his friend and saw, back on the road running parallel, the single headlight of the black car pass by and continue along the main road. Soames gritted his teeth and kept the pick-up careering through the woodland, grimacing as it clipped another tree, the impact threatening to wrench the steering wheel from his shaking hands. With a sudden glistening of water, a stream appeared in front of them and Dennis Soames hit the brakes.
    ‘No, go o’er it!’ cried Harry Galbraith. ‘Go o’er! They’ll not be able to follow us!’
    Soames nodded and gunned the engine again. For a second or two, it seemed as if the juddering vehicle would stall in the stream then it somehow found grip, its tyres spinning on the wet rocks before the vehicle emerged on the far side. Soames hit the brakes and the pick-up slewed to a halt, its wheel sinking into muddy grass. For a few moments, neither man spoke then Harry Galbraith clapped his friend on the shoulder.
    ‘Well done, lad!’ he said. ‘You should be one of them theer Grand Prix drivers.’
    ‘I reckon I should be more than that, Harry,’ beamed Soames. ‘See, I remembered his registration number!’
    ‘Bye, Jack Harris will be pleased with you, Dennis lad.’
    And together they sat and listened