A Long Way Back (Unfinished Business #2) - Barbara Elsborg Page 0,78
one off and gave it to him. “What are you doing?”
“Get inside,” Ink said, then stepped back onto the street, ignoring Tay’s call.
Only yards away, a young woman in a pretty flowered dress lay at the feet of a guy who looked no older than Ink. He was wearing black trousers and a black jacket and in his hand was a long knife, the blade covered in blood. A guy lay on the pavement further back with blood pooling around him. When the man with the knife turned to look at Ink, Ink didn’t hesitate. He ran straight at him, holding out the crutch like a spear and slammed it into his chest. When the guy staggered back, Ink brought the crutch down onto the hand holding the weapon.
The man yelled something in a foreign language and tried to grab the crutch, but Ink was too fast. He struck out as hard as he could, anywhere he could, not just at the hand with the knife. When the weapon fell to the ground, it was kicked away by a middle-aged man, and Ink sighed with relief, only for the attacker to pull another knife from inside his jacket. Shit.
Everyone was screaming and yelling, and while the guy was waving the knife around, it was too dangerous to get close. A man snuck up behind the attacker and tried to knock him down, only to get slashed in the arm. He was yanked back to safety by another couple of men.
The police would come soon. There were always policemen patrolling Covent Garden. All Ink needed to do was prevent the guy hurting anyone else—particularly Tay who couldn’t run—until help arrived. He wanted to glance back and check that Tay had gone into the shop, because he suspected he hadn’t, but he kept his eyes on the attacker.
As the man advanced, dark eyes fixed on Ink’s, Ink jabbed the end of the crutch into the man’s stomach, then hit his chest, his face, his head, his arm, his arm. Except the guy kept coming and Ink had to move back. The fucker looked calm and focused, as if the blows with the crutch were little more than irritating insect bites. The crutch wasn’t heavy, but Ink had hoped it would be enough. Was this a terrorist attack or someone delusional with mental health issues?
He heard Tay call out his name, but Ink didn’t take his eyes off the knifeman. He had no choice now but to keep hitting him, and not let him get anywhere near Tay because Tay couldn’t dodge out of the way. When Ink tripped and stumbled backwards, the man bared his teeth and lunged. If Ink hadn’t been so fast to roll and get to his feet, the guy would have stabbed him.
Where were the fucking police? The guy was lashing out, but heading toward the shop where Tay stood at the door. But someone yanked Tay inside and the door closed. The knifeman turned back to Ink. Ink brandished the crutch and went for him again.
A man shouted, “Look out!” Then someone punched Ink in the back really hard and he lurched forward. What the fuck? Ink swung the crutch round as hard as he could, which didn’t seem to be that hard somehow, but it caught whoever was behind him in the mouth and he went down.
Everything turned chaotic. More screaming. Police sirens. Ink jerked as he was punched in the back again and the crutch fell from his fingers. It was only when he saw the blood running down his hand that he realised he’d been stabbed, and only when he realised he’d been stabbed that it started to hurt. A lot. Shit. Oh God. He tried to stay on his feet, but his legs gave way and it was hard to breathe.
Was Tay all right? Why didn’t I just go with him and find us a place to hide? Ink tried to push himself up, but his body felt too heavy. Have. To. Get. Up. But all he could do was lie there. The police had restrained one guy only yards away from where Ink lay. The attacker was face down on the ground with policemen holding his arms. Ink tried to crawl away, get to Tay, but there was another guy on the ground on his back with more policemen around him. One policeman was pointing a gun. Shit! Someone tugged at Ink’s arm and he cried out in pain.