Survive Read online

  Survive

  Tom Bale

  Contents

  Also By Tom Bale

  Love crime, thriller and mystery books?

  I. Selection

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  II. Activation

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  III. Complication

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  IV. Retribution

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Praise for the author

  A note from the publisher

  Love crime, thriller and mystery books?

  You will also enjoy:

  Copyright © 2020 Tom Bale

  The right of Tom Bale to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in

  accordance to the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2020 by Bloodhound Books

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be

  reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in

  writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the

  terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living

  or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.bloodhoundbooks.com

  978-1-913419-57-8

  Also By Tom Bale

  The Stone Song

  One Dark Night

  Each Little Lie

  All Fall Down

  See How They Run

  The Catch

  Blood Falls

  Terror’s Reach

  Skin and Bones

  Sins of the Father

  For Niki

  Love crime, thriller and mystery books?

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  Part I

  Selection

  1

  The runway is in sight when the plane appears to stall. They all feel it, the descent interrupted, and the engines if they’re still working can’t be heard over the whirr of the air circulation and the whine and hiss of pressure in their ears.

  Jody Lamb, sitting between her children in the middle of three seats, gasps as the aircraft lunges to the right. She can see past her son to the dipped wing, pointing like an accusing finger at the scrubland and glinting blue sea of the bay.

  She smiles down at Dylan but he is absorbed in the view from the window: the solid earth so close, but probably not survivably so. The wing judders and flexes like a plastic ruler about to snap. Jody feels warmth against her skin; her eight-year-old daughter Grace has clutched her hand and Jody knows she must play the grown-up. Unlike her younger brother, Grace is scared.

  They tip sideways again, and a ripple of anxiety spreads through the plane.

  ‘What’s happening, Mummy?’ Grace has to shout the question, because their ears are blocked.

  Jody makes sure to exaggerate her lip movements when she says, ‘Nothing, honey. We’re just coming in to land.’

  A glance across the aisle at poor Sam, a first-time flyer, and she can read it in his face, the same prayer: Don’t let my children die.

  It’s their first foreign holiday as a family – the first time ever that Sam or their children have been on a plane. Only Jody has flown before, in her own childhood, and it was Jody who calmed their fears, promising them all that it was safer than crossing a road.

  Until now Sam has been making a decent job of keeping the plane in the air by willpower alone, but he’s starting to doubt whether that will be enough. By leaning slightly he can see one of the cabin crew, strapped into a seat that faces the passengers, and she looks... not calm so much as blank faced, like she’s put on a mask for their benefit. If she was about to die, wouldn’t she tear off the mask and scream the name of the person she loved most?

  Maybe not, he thinks, given that we’re English. But when he looks over his shoulder, he sees that in several rows there are people holding hands across the aisle. Families, like his, that have had to be seated in separate groups.

  It’s tempting, but he’s worried it will upset his daughter if he suggests it. Dads aren’t supposed to be afraid of anything, are they?

  He presses his palms together between his legs and bows his head, staring at the safety card. Before take-off he studied it for so long that the couple next to him began to snigger – and if Sam was his brother or in any way like his brother, he might have gone off on one.

  But he isn’t like Carl, thank God. So he doesn’t react when the bloke mutters something to his wife. They must think Sam’s praying – though maybe that isn’t so far from the truth.

  When the man taps on his window, his wife leans over to look, and Sam can’t help but turn. He catches a glimpse of something moving past, and despite the painful blockage in his ears he hears the man say, ‘Gulfstream G650. Magnificent!’

  ‘Is it meant to be that close to us?’ his wife shouts.

  ‘It’ll have priority to land. The VIP on board won’t want to wait behind a cheap package tour!’ Then a sniff, as if the man – in his own head – has far more in common with whoever’s on the other aircraft.

  Maybe he does. The couple are a lot older than Sam and they look sort of well-fed and pleased with themselves, like they’ve found a secret supply of cake in a world where everyone else lives on porridge.

  The aircraft shudders, there’s a loud clunking noise and a few people cry out. When they tip to the left, Sam can see the private jet is about to touch down. Lucky basta
rds.

  Someone taps him on the arm. It’s Grace, with a question. Even though he doesn’t hear it properly, Sam makes an effort to nod and smile. He gestures at her to make sure the belt is tight across her lap, then turns away, and now he is praying. Praying that, if it does happen, it’s over quickly.

  A sharp pain in Jody’s ears is followed by a pop, and her hearing is restored. She focuses on the sound of the engines – thank God they’re still functioning – but as she does, the pitch changes and she knows this is it.

  Other passengers are thinking the same, she can tell by the murmur of worried voices. The aircraft tilts sharply to the left and she looks out of her window, expecting to see that the wing has sheared off. But, no, it remains intact, shuddering against a backdrop of pure blue sky.

  On Sam’s side there is land in sight, but they seem to be alongside the runway rather than approaching it. A crawl of trees is proof they’re still moving, although it feels like little more than a walking pace: Dylan goes quicker than this on the way to school.

  The middle-aged man in Sam’s row is talking in a confident voice. The man becomes aware of Jody’s scrutiny and for a second his gaze switches to her, his eyes widening a fraction. Then Sam leans across and says, ‘He reckons we’re coming around, landing from the other end of the runway.’

  And so it proves. The plane banks and descends, and from the windows on each side they see rows of trees, a villa or two with terracotta tiles on the roof, a scattering of goats grazing in a field; all of it as close as if they were observing it from the upper floor of a building.

  Grace’s hand tightens on her mum’s in the final seconds. Dylan, meanwhile, is joyfully oblivious to their feelings. How wonderful, Jody thinks, to be five and fearless, savouring every moment of what she has come to regard as his second life.

  2

  Sam’s ears are still blocked. He’s opening and closing his mouth the way he was told to do, but stops when he realises the smug couple have noticed. He must look a right knob.

  For most of the flight they’ve been acting as if he didn’t exist, though he caught a few disapproving glances when he ate the food Jody passed to him – it was his idea to bring sandwiches from home rather than pay the rip-off prices at the airport. The Smugs, on the other hand, ordered the full in-flight breakfasts, a couple of brandies and even a small bottle of champagne.

  Now Sam can feel the plane coming down. He tenses, but the landing when it happens isn’t much more than the jolt you get from driving over a pothole. It’s only as he lets out a breath that there’s a sudden roar from the engines. The plane seems to lurch as if caught on something – Sam pictures a tripwire stretched across the runway, snagging on the wheels. He grabs the arms of his seat and for a second goes rigid with fear. Talk about bad luck, to crash now–

  ‘Don’t panic!’ says Mr Smug with a mocking snort. ‘It’s only the reverse thrust.’

  ‘To slow us down,’ his wife explains. ‘But I’m sure it would give you a shock, if you’re not used to it.’

  ‘It’s certainly done that.’ Clutching his seat, the man mimics a terror-stricken face.

  Sam offers a weak smile, then turns to Jody. She’s holding hands with the kids, the three of them pressed back in their seats like they’re on a rollercoaster. The deceleration is pushing against Sam’s chest, too, but he can feel it easing.

  They’re down. They’re safe. Oh thank Christ...

  ‘Textbook landing,’ says Smug. ‘Couldn’t have done it better myself.’

  ‘Oh, please, Trevor. You had one lesson, for your fiftieth, and that was in a light aircraft a fraction of the size.’

  Sam tunes them out and tries to relax. From now on, he tells himself, the holiday can only get better.

  The plane slowly turns, treating them to a distant flash of sea. All through the cabin there’s the rustle of movement. The buzz of conversation seems to rise – though maybe it’s just his hearing returning to normal – and the atmosphere seems a lot more cheerful. Sam guesses they’ll never know how close they came to disaster.

  Once they’re at a stop it’s suddenly manic. Overhead lockers pop open and people are jumping up, stretching and jostling for their luggage, and queuing for the exit before the doors have even opened. The cabin crew look on in amusement, like they’re overseeing a bunch of chimps at feeding time.

  Sam meets Jody’s eye and smiles with gratitude. He’s been trying so hard to feel good about this holiday, because he knows all too well how much it cost and what it means to her. And he is excited about it, of course he is. But this scare is another reminder of how the love he feels for his kids, which he always assumed would be a light and giddy sensation, so often takes second place to anxiety about them, which has the exact opposite effect – it makes him feel heavy, almost crushed by the knowledge that he can’t protect them from all the dangers in the world.

  Sometimes he finds it impossible to crawl out from under that weight and appreciate the good things while they’re happening, even though he knows he’ll almost certainly look back one day and regret what he missed.

  The first passengers are filing out, vanishing into the glare of the Adriatic afternoon, when Dylan abruptly bursts into tears.

  ‘Darling, what’s wrong?’

  ‘I don’t wanna go out there. It’ll eat me.’

  ‘What?’ Jody glances at the doorway again, and realises that from Dylan’s perspective it must appear that the passengers are stepping into a furnace.

  She caresses his cheek. ‘Oh, darling. It’s very hot outside, but it’s completely safe. I promise.’

  Sam squeezes in beside her to offer encouragement; as a result they lose their place in the queue. The older couple from his row push past without a backwards glance.

  ‘Come on, Dyl,’ Sam says. ‘We’re here now, mate.’

  ‘And we’re going to have a fantastic time!’ Jody takes her son by the hand and they head for the exit, where the cabin crew are doling out good wishes. One ruffles Dylan’s hair and says, ‘Cheer up, dude, you’re on holiday!’

  Then they’re out of the plane, dazzled by the brightness, and it’s like they’ve walked into a steam room.

  ‘Now, isn’t that lovely?’ Jody asks.

  ‘Oh my God, it’s amazing!’ Grace exclaims. ‘I am going to get such a good tan!’

  ‘Breathe the air, too. It’s so different from home. What does it taste like to you?’

  Dylan sniffs. ‘Petrol,’ he says, and there is laughter.

  Three buses are lined up, waiting to ferry them to the terminal building. On the nearest one, the couple from Sam’s row are staring triumphantly in their direction. But the doors shut before they reach the bottom of the steps, causing Dylan to sag. ‘Ohhh…’

  Jody quickly points to the next bus. ‘We’ll get that one, look.’

  ‘But I wanted this one…’

  ‘They’re all the same,’ Grace snaps, and Jody is determined not to get cross because she knows how weary they all are, dragged up at four in the morning so her dad could drive them to Gatwick for a five a.m. check-in. Beside her, Sam isn’t much help, casting fretful glances at the plane as though he’s already worrying about the journey home.

  Jody sighs. This is only the third time they’ve gone away as a family, and the last occasion – an ultra-cheap voucher holiday at a caravan park – was not an experience she wishes to repeat. Five days on the Suffolk coast with torrential rain and winds that could strip the flesh from your bones. Grace caught a vomiting bug, and because Sam vetoed paying for an upgrade they were stuck in a static home with all the comfort and appeal of an old sardine tin. Afterwards Jody vowed that the next break they took would be a proper holiday, even if that meant saving up for years.

  And here we are, she thinks. So could we all be a bit bloody happier?

  The second bus fills to bursting point, then trundles across the apron to the terminal building, pulling up beside a covered walkway leading to a set of wide glass doors. A line of passen
gers from the previous coach are still waiting to go inside. As they take their place in the queue, there’s a sudden yelp from Dylan.

  ‘What is it?’ Jody asks, but his hand has slipped from hers and he’s running.

  Neither of them has done anything to encourage it, but from somewhere their son, at the age of five, has developed a fascination with guns and weaponry. What he’s racing towards looks at first like a shop dummy; then Sam realises it’s a soldier in uniform, positioned beneath a small awning that protects him from the sun. He has an automatic rifle slung across his chest.