Free Bolt-hole by A.J. Oates Page A

by the occupants, whoever they are, I contemplate turning and retracing my steps.  But whispering to myself, stay calm Julian, stay calm , I continue, knowing that if I’m going to make it to the Kinder Scout bolt-hole I’ll have to take risks, and in any case I need to know what’s out there and waiting for me.  Now within fifty metres of the car, I can see figures in the front seats, both of them wearing dark uniforms.  My heart is pounding and beads of cold sweat are running down my chest as my sympathetic nervous system – the flight and fight response – goes into overdrive.  I will myself to relax and take slow, deep, calming breaths as I walk towards the car.  Now just twenty metres away, my nervousness partially eases as the lettering becomes apparent – "Park Patrol" – and in smaller print underneath it: "Sheffield City Council Works Department”.  I suspect the “parkies”, as we called them as kids, are more interested in renegade dog-owners not clearing up after their canine buddies than fugitives wanted for murder.  With my head up, I confidently stride past the car.  To my relief the parkies never look up as they drink steaming coffee from a thermos flask.  I puff out my cheeks and let out a slow deep breath as I exit the park and then cross Meadowhead Road. 
     
    Having left Graves Park, and with a little over a mile covered, I feel my journey has started in earnest as I begin walking through the neighbouring residential area.  In my planning I’d always thought that the next few miles would be the most risky, since I follow a busy A-road passing through the built-up areas of Norton and then Lowedges.  If I can only reach Holmsfield, a semi-rural village on the outskirts of town, I’m sure there’s less chance of being recognised, and with walking clothes and rucksack on my back I’ll fit in with the ramblers heading for the picturesque footpaths that criss-cross the area. 
     
    I maintain a steady pace, knowing that I’ve a long day of walking ahead.  In my original contingency planning I’d considered catching a bus or even using a car, possibly a rental, stashed at a convenient point for me to pick up if required.  But all these alternatives had greater risks and the potential for leaving some sort of paper trail or forensic evidence leading back to me.  It was imperative that I kept my contingency plan as simple as possible, and walking via the numerous remote footpaths, although slower, seemed on balance to present less risk of capture. 
     
    Apart from my neck injury I’m generally in good physical shape, and I’m confident that if it’s down to fitness alone I won’t have a problem.  But I know that luck and perhaps a chance encounter will play a big part in whether I’m spotted.  With the rush hour approaching, the traffic is getting heavier – but perhaps surprisingly, despite my underlying apprehension and the pain in my neck, I’m actually beginning to enjoy the walk and have the sense of satisfaction that I’m taking matters into my own hands.  Periodically I think of my boys, and then picture Musgrove’s sly face, and I know I have to make it to Kinder Scout.  I simply can’t let my sons down. 
     
    An hour after leaving the bolt-hole I’ve covered a little over three miles.  I’m satisfied with my progress and, so far at least, I’ve received nothing more than cursory glances from the occasional passing motorist.  There are few other pedestrians, and thankfully they appear concentrated on their day ahead rather than on me.  Rounding a bend in the busy main road, I see a small shopping precinct with a Chinese takeaway, off licence, fruit shop and newsagent’s.  As I approach the newsagent’s, a man in his twenties, dangling a cigarette from the corner of his mouth, is hauling a stack of magazines from the pavement and into the shop.  A few seconds later he returns to the street carrying an advertising board for the local morning paper.  He