Page 53 of 59 Minutes

FRANKIE

Wisps of smoke curl slyly from the chimney. But the people who live here have still not opened the door. People are fundamentally selfish, she’s always said that, but the secret soft heart of her hoped it wasn’t true.

Frankie’s right hand hurts from slapping against the wood, her left aches as it curls around the gun. She bangs on the door again, hard.

She takes a breath and counts again from the beginning.

One.

Two.

Three.

Nothing. Fuck!

She looks at the gun with its mysterious metal levers and ice-cold barrel.

She knows it was loaded because it was fired earlier, but how many more bullets are in it?

How many times has it been used today? She has no idea how to check.

Maybe it’s empty. But if it is, the people inside sure as hell don’t know that.

She creeps around the side of the cottage, brushes her hand along the powdery stone to guide herself. God, her head hurts. The banging and shouting has only made it worse. The bones in her face hurt, her eyes.

Will they melt if I don’t get inside?

Eight minutes, Otis out there in the dark, that girl running for her life. And Ashley … has he woken up? Frankie has to get back to Otis, drag him to safety, whatever form that takes. She cannot do that without help, and if people won’t help willingly then they’ve only got themselves to blame.

The back window of the cottage is covered by something makeshift but she can see tiger stripes of light through it. She knocks on the window and tries to peer through but sees nothing.

‘Are you in there?’

She moves to the back door, a solid oak thing split across the middle. She bangs on it with her right fist, then taps it loudly with the nose of the gun gripped in her left hand, already becoming a part of her.

No answer.

‘Please help, I’m pregnant and I’m desperate.’ She pauses, tries to sound calmer, like she’s a safe person to let in. ‘It’s just me by myself. Please, I need help.’

Nothing.

‘Please! Please!’ She’s screaming now and still no one stirs. She could smash her way inside with the gun. Could push through that window, knock the shards free and climb in.

She turns the gun around so the fattest bit is facing forward, lifts it on to her shoulder and walks back to the window, her cold toes curling into the ground. She raises the gun, ready to smash the glass but then comes the sound of a bolt being slid open.