Page 49 of Anton
Anton brought the quad bike to a stop behind the first house at the village’s edge, tucking it out of sight beneath a cluster of olive trees. My legs wobbled as I dismounted, the relentless ride taking its toll, but I ignored the weakness. We were here, and help felt tantalisingly close.
“Hinojares,” Anton muttered, reading the weathered signpost just a few steps away. His voice, though soft, carried a note of recognition. “Sierra de Cazorla—I thought this was where we were, but I couldn’t remember the name of the area. I came on holiday here once, years ago, with a few guys from the forces. Beautiful place.” He paused, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Well, it is when you’re not being hunted for sport.”
I looked at the sign again. Hinojares, Andalusia. The name sparked something within me—an odd sense of comfort, as though being able to place ourselves in a known location brought some measure of control back into our chaotic situation. Here, life carried on for the villagers, untouched by the horrors chasing us.
Anton’s eyes scanned the small settlement, his gaze sharp. “We need to scope it out,” he said, his tone measured but firm. “If there are hunters here, we can’t risk walking straight in.”
I nodded, my heart hammering with a mix of hope and trepidation. We crept toward the edge of the village, using the shadows of low stone walls and the occasional patch of trees for cover. From our vantage point, we could see the small square—a quaint collection of buildings with terracotta rooftops and whitewashed walls and a church.
Relief flooded me at the sight. Civilization. Safety. I gripped Anton’s hand tighter, resisting the overwhelming urge to rushheadlong into the village, begging for help. But the fleeting relief soured when I caught sight of two rugged men standing near to the largest café. Rifles slung over their shoulders, they exuded the same air of predatory menace as the hunters we’d encountered before.
Dressed in black, I recognised them right away. These were the men who worked for Elizabeth Traynor—more professional, more dangerous. They were speaking to an elderly man in an apron, the café owner perhaps, who seemed agitated. His gestures were wide, and his posture tense, but we were too far away to make out any of his words. The hunters, however, were scanning the street and surrounding buildings, their sharp, calculating eyes combing every corner.
“Over there, at the cafe,” I whispered, the words barely audible over the pounding of my pulse.
Anton’s jaw tightened, his gaze unwavering. “I see them.” His tone was low, controlled, but his body remained tense, ready to react at a moment’s notice. The hunters finished their exchange with the old man, and with one last glance around, they headed to a sleek black jeep parked at the curb. After sliding inside, they drove off slowly, disappearing around the corner.
“Thank God,” I whispered, exhaling a shaky breath. “What should we do?”
Anton sighed heavily. “There’s nothing for it, we need to approach the village, but let’s give it a minute to be sure they don’t come back and that there aren’t any other hunters around.”
“Police,” I pointed excitedly towards the police car, trundling down the street from the opposite direction. A woman walking along the road waved at the officers who nodded at her, making it obvious the officers were well known in the area. “We need to flag them down,” I said, tugging on Anton’s hand.
“Wait, we don’t know if we can trust them,” he said, pulling me back.
“They’re stopping at the café too,” I said, gesturing to where they’d just pulled up in front of it and were getting out.
“Let’s just watch them for a minute,” Anton said.
But then he heard another soft rumble from my stomach, and sighed, nodding slowly. “Okay, come on. But remain alert and if I say run, do it,” he told me firmly.
Nodding, I squeezed his hand. “Whatever you say, sir!” I smiled. “You’re the boss.”
He harrumphed and bit back a smile. “I’m serious, honey. These guys might be okay, but they could also be corrupt. The MP and his psycho bitch couldn’t have run these hunts so regularly and kept them under wraps without the help of the local authorities.”
“I understand. I won’t do anything foolish,” I replied.
“Keep your knife and I’ll keep mine, plus this handgun, but we’ll need to leave the rifle behind with the quad bike,” he said.
As we made our way slowly through the narrow streets toward the main square and the café, Anton squared his shoulders, his hand brushing against the concealed weapon at his side.
It was obvious that he wasn’t happy about approaching the police, but was willing to take the risk for me. My heart warmed at the thought of how much he cared.
“The minute something seems off, I’m getting us away from them, so don’t let your guard down. And whatever happens, don’t let them separate us,” he warned.
“Understood,” I said, my throat tight with fear. If we were lucky, the police would be the safety their job promised. If we weren’t… we could be walking straight into a trap. And despite my initial elation at the sight of the officers, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that we might not be as lucky as I hoped.
CHAPTER 20
ANTON
DAY 3 – MORNING – A TRAP
Approaching these officers went against every instinct I had, but Marcie needed food, rest, and above all, safety, and these men might provide all of that. Despite my doubts about the complicity of the authorities in Elizabeth Traynor’s illegal activities, not all the police would be corrupt. Hopefully, we had come across two who weren’t.
The officers glanced up as we approached, their expressions curious but not hostile. I stepped forward, keeping my movements steady and purposeful, my posture open but cautious. I lightly touched Marcie’s hand, a silent reminder to stay close, her warmth grounding me as I prepared to speak.
“Excuse me,” I said, my voice calm but firm. “Do you speak English?”