The Exodus Quest

II

Augustin lay dazed in the lane for a few moments before he looked up and around to find himself surrounded by Griffin and his security guards. They looked down anxiously at him, expecting him to be grievously hurt or even dead, but he surprised them by trying to get to his feet. No chance. They picked him up and heaved him unceremoniously onto the back of the pick-up. His head, chest and thigh all throbbed violently. He felt such an urge to vomit that he turned onto his side and braced himself. But the sensation passed. He fell onto his back again, looked up at the security guard standing above him. 'If you've damaged my bike, you little fuck…' he warned.

The man smiled and looked away.

They turned off the lane, jolted over the earthen bridge. Throbs became stabs. They pulled up outside a low brick building. Griffin got out, unlocked and opened the steel door. Augustin bellowed as he was dragged from the back of the pick-up into the building. Several of Peterson's young crew gathered nearby, glaring sourly, as though glad to see he'd got what had been coming to him; but an angular fair-headed woman was with them too, surely the same one he'd glimpsed driving away from the site with Griffin the previous afternoon. And she looked anxious, appalled.

He was thrown down onto the floor between a rack of empty shelves and a worktable. The door was slammed shut, the key turned, leaving him in almost complete darkness. He lay there a moment, almost weeping because it hurt so much. He slid a hand inside his shirt onto his tender ribcage. No fracture that he could detect, just bruising. A fond childhood memory, leaping recklessly off a waterfall only to find the pool beneath shallower than it had looked. His mother, once she'd overcome her shock, boasting about his tungsten bones. He stifled a cry as he pushed himself up onto his feet. It pleased him to feel this much pain, yet be able to master it. It made him feel more like a man than he had for weeks. He hobbled to the door. Steel, to judge by its coldness. Neither handle nor bolts on the inside.

It was several minutes before he heard footsteps outside, the key scraping in the lock. The door pushed open, late afternoon sunshine flooding in so brightly he could only see silhouettes for a moment, three of them. An internal light was turned on, a yellow bulb dangling from the ceiling. Two people came in. The third stayed outside, closing the door behind them.

Augustin blinked as his vision adjusted. Griffin and the fair-headed young woman, carrying a tray of medical supplies.

'Here he is, then,' muttered Griffin, folding his arms.

'I want my wallet,' said Augustin. 'My phone.' Even speaking softly, the words made his ribs throb.

'Sure,' snorted Griffin. He turned to the woman. 'Well? I thought you wanted to check him over.'

She set her tray down on the ground. Ungainly, all bones and joints, with slightly beaked features. Aware of it too, uncomfortable with being looked at. Pale freckled skin, fragrant and moist with generous slathers of suntan lotion. A plain silver cross dangling from a chain around her slender long throat. She stood back up, tilting her head slightly, so that wisps of her hair fell like a bead curtain over her face.

'Who the fuck are you?' demanded Augustin.

'I'm here to examine you,' she said. 'It'll only take a moment.'

'Examine me?'

'Make sure nothing's broken, nothing's ruptured.' She frowned, perhaps made a little uncertain by his French accent. 'You know what ruptured means?' she asked.

'Yes,' said Augustin sardonically. 'I know what ruptured means. And if something is ruptured?'

She threw a defiant glance at Griffin. 'Then I'm taking you to hospital.'

Well, well, well, thought Augustin. He put a hand against his side, winced and sucked in breath. 'I think something's ruptured for sure,' he said.

A laugh like a hiccup escaped the woman; she put her hand to her mouth as though she'd done something rude. Rather to Augustin's surprise, he found himself warming to her. 'So you're a doctor then, are you?' he asked.

She shook her head. 'Not exactly. No.'

'I've been in a serious accident,' he protested. 'I could be grievously injured. I need to see a-'

A knock on the door. A young man with short-cropped blond hair poked in his head.

'What now?' asked Griffin irritably.

'The airline people,' said the young man. 'They want to speak to you.'

'I'm busy.'

'The credit card's in your name. They want to speak to you.'

Griffin gave an exasperated sigh, a boss trapped by his own importance. 'Examine him and then leave,' he told the woman curtly. 'And don't let him get you talking.'

'No,' she agreed.

'Ramiz will be outside. Any trouble at all, give him a shout. He'll know what to do.'

'Yes.'

The door closed behind him. The key turned in the lock. Augustin smiled at the woman. 'Well,' he said, rubbing his hands. 'Let's get this examination started, shall we?'