amongst them. It seemed that although 50 Cent might be nominally in charge, there was no firmly established pecking order or agreement on how the spoils were to be distributed amongst them. It was just a free-for-all.
The noises from the kitchen died down after a few minutes . . . thirsts had been quenched.
That’s all our water gone.
Under any other circumstances that would have been a frightening realisation; to know the next drink they managed to find would probably come from the Thames, or the putrid, microbe-infested offerings of someone’s roof storage-tank, festering in the heat of the last few days.
But her thoughts were on right now, her focus was on remaining undiscovered for the next ten, twenty, thirty minutes. That would surely be more than enough time for the Bad Boys to find all of their carefully stored rations of food and water; enough time to completely clean them out and then collectively decide who was the next lucky household to be paid a night-time visit.
But that’s not everything they want, is it?
She shuddered at the thought, her arms and knees twitching violently.
‘What’s up?’ Jacob whispered.
‘Shhhh.’
It wasn’t just food and water they were after, was it? They’d be looking for a replacement Smurfette, a gang sex-slave. If she was unlucky, she’d end up like Mrs DiMarcio.
We should have run.
Leona realised they had made a big mistake staying here. They should have run during the afternoon. Those boys downstairs - no, boys was the wrong word - Leona realised she had stopped thinking of them as such, some time over the last couple of days. She saw them as feral creatures now; wild things, ogres, trolls, hobgoblins. They reminded her of a pack of baboons she had once seen on a family trip to the zoo many years ago, simple-minded creatures with a basic set of overpowering drives: thirst, hunger, anger . . . rape.
Oh God, we should have gone this afternoon.
She heard footsteps coming up the stairs, so many of them, a dozen or more coming upstairs to hunt her down. Because they knew she was somewhere inside still. They knew it, and they were coming for their cookies.
Leona realised if she’d been smarter, she would have left the back door open, suggesting that they had bolted out into the night. But of course, she hadn’t thought ahead, she hadn’t been smart, and now they knew she was still here, somewhere inside. This was going to be another playground game for them to have fun with; hide and seek . . . with the special prize going to the first of them to find her and drag her out kicking and screaming.
The door to the guest bedroom swung in and she heard four or five of them enter. They were giggling. Now that the pressing need to quench their thirst had been dealt with, it was fun and games time. The anticipation, the excitement, the thrill of the hunt and the promise of the fun they’d have as soon as they found her, and raped her, was making them giggle like little boys sharing a guilty secret, an in-joke.
She could feel Jacob’s little frog-like arms quivering against her in shuddering waves that ebbed and flowed. His breathing fluttered in and out. If those boys weren’t making so much noise, they’d hear that so easily.
‘Tch . . . tch . . . tch . . . Here pussy! Here pussy!’ one of them called as if trying to coax out a household pet. The others laughed.
Leona flinched as a narrow shard of light swept across her hand. A flashlight was being panned about the room, a sliver of it had found a narrow crack or a seam in the panelling.
That giggling again . . . Beavis and Butt-head giggling. She used to find that cartoon funny. She used to find the sniggering they used to do hilarious, for some unfathomable reason. Right now, that sound was as terrifying as the metallic rasp of a blade sliding from its sheath.
Her throat constricted with fear, the breath she’d held for far too long, now had to come out. Exhaling, she let out the slightest strangled whimper.
‘Hear that?’
‘She’s in here?’
‘Shit, yeah.’
She heard them spreading out, pulling open the wardrobe doors, opening a closet . . . then the sound of a hand brushing aside the tea-towel and fumbling at the brass handle for the hatch.
Oh God this is it.
Leona leant over and kissed the top of Jacob’s head, she knew this was going