Antonia winced as the shorter woman ploughed through her blonde opponent’s jab and landed three blows to unprotected ribs before catching her with an uppercut.  The blonde fell to one knee, blood streaming from her mouth. Even through the screen Antonia could sense the shorter woman’s fury and she imagined the same fists ripping into her ribcage as the footage froze.

Milo waved the remote at the screen. “See her lining up the uppercut? She dropped her left.”

“You’re not wrong, bro. A right hook and she’s history,” Darius said. “And she so telegraphed it.”

“You’ll take her easy, Ant. She’s only one seventy so you’ve got height and reach on her.” Light glinted off his shaved skull, a huge brown cannonball. “We got three weeks to sharpen you up.” He grinned and winked at her.

Her mouth dry, Antonia didn’t reply. It’s easy for them; most of their opponent’s gave up when they saw either of the monsters across the ring and spent the fight keeping out of their way. 

Milo killed the screen and Darius said, “Want a lift home?”

“I’ll walk.” She rose out of the shabby armchair in the small TV room at the side of the gym, picked up her backpack and headed for the door. “Thanks guys.”

The empty gym smelt of sweat and liniment. Darius had lowered the lights and the heavy bags cast long shadows across the wooden floor. She reflected on what she’d watched. Despite the Dekker brothers’ reassurances, Antonia wasn’t sure she’d prevail against her unbeaten opponent. Although she’d sparred hundreds of rounds, she’d never fought someone with so much anger. The memory of a coachload of them going to support one of the other fighters in his first bout still mortified her. Despite showing promise in training, he’d frozen at the first bell and had never since visited the gym. The fear she’d do the same haunted Antonia.

Outside, she hesitated. Normally high on the endorphins after a workout, tonight a sense of dread weighed on her. Only the brothers’ battered silver Land Cruiser remained in the gloomy car park and she paused beside it. She could say she’d changed her mind. Don’t be a wuss, Antonia.

She shouldered her backpack and set off for home. The familiar route seemed different tonight, the darkened industrial buildings lining it appearing sinister. She shivered and hurried between the pools of light surrounding the scattered lampposts. Icy air infiltrated layers of clothing and she promised herself a mug of hot chocolate when she got home. Cheered by the prospect, she walked faster. Instead of fading, the sense of unease grew stronger. The fight isn’t for three weeks, forget it and pull yourself together.

Angry voices called out ahead and she faltered. The sounds came from an opening on her left. She glanced up at the nearest camera, for the first time welcoming its intrusive surveillance. The opening led down a narrow potholed lane. In the shadows, thirty metres away, two jeering men bent over a bundle on the ground. One of them kicked it. An old man cried out in pain.

Antonia stepped towards them, shouting, “Leave him alone!”

The men spun round, seeming unsurprised to see her and she hesitated. Ignoring the old man, they advanced towards her. Chests thrust out and arms bent, they looked huge, and hostility flooded out of them. Oh hell, you’ve done it now. Ten metres from her the men halted. In their mid-twenties, both stood over one eighty and although not athletes, looked like they could take care of themselves.

The one at the front leered. “Or else?”

A gust of wind carried the odour of beer and curry from them. If she ran now, she’d get away, but she couldn’t abandon an old man. Although the same height as the one who spoke, she was half his bulk. A sudden movement from the other one made her heart jump until she realised he was pointing behind her.

“Cameras, Dean,” he said, frowning.

The man called Dean glared at the camera before stepping back, palms up in a gesture of appeasement. “Come on,” he said and edged past her towards the main road.

His small mean eyes appraised her, making her skin tingle. His principal emotion as he passed Antonia confused her. She expected anger, but she sensed satisfaction, as if he’d achieved something. His companion followed, a scar from his mouth to his ear giving him a macabre grin. They reached the corner and Dean stopped. Her stomach tensed.

“See you around,” he said, blowing her a kiss and scar-face laughed.

They left, and she exhaled. Their victim, an unkempt old man, crouched in the gutter retrieving his belongings and she went to help him.

“You okay?” she said, rescuing a grimy, fluorescent-pink sleeping bag from a puddle of filthy water.

A claw-like hand snatched it from her grasp. “Get your thieving black hands off!” She recoiled as the old man straightened, his toothless mouth twisted into a sneer. “Unless you want to give me a gobble,” he said, cackling and spraying spittle.

Cheeks burning, Antonia stepped away from him. The skin tight on her neck, she turned away then stopped. Dean stood between her and the main road. Beside him half a dozen others, the hostility emanating from them like a physical barrier. Her insides fluttered and she checked behind her, along the lane. She didn’t even know where it led. The old man, seeming unhurt by the kicking, scurried away and vanished into the darkness.

Dean and his companions hadn’t moved and she remembered scar-face’s words. If she stayed within range of the cameras, she should be safe. She set off down the lane. Don’t run and don’t look back, they’re just trying to scare you. The men’s heavy steps echoed off the buildings.

Determined to stay calm, she checked the nearest camera.  It hung broken, the letters ASL sprayed on the wall under it. Anti-Surveillance League. Although sympathetic to their cause, she cursed them. Keep calm, there’s another one ahead. She got closer and saw the black paint across the lens. Time slowed. Her pulse raced and the men’s steps grew louder. She ran.

She’d pushed herself in the gym and her legs felt leaden. Angry shouts followed her. Heavy footwear thudded onto the road. Images of what they’d do to her filled her with terror. Save your energy, concentrate on running. The freezing air scoured her throat. She groped for the mental exercises Milo made her rehearse to block out her fear. The straps of her backpack slapped her shoulders with each stride on the uneven roadway. The sounds of her pursuers grew fainter and she risked a glance behind her. Two men trailed in her wake but she didn’t see the others. In a few minutes they’d give up.

She saw the pothole too late and her foot caught the edge. Her ankle gave way and she stumbled, flailing her arms. A surge of adrenaline flooded through her. Her other foot smashed into the kerb and pain ripped through her knee. She staggered two steps, almost coming to a halt. Her pursuers let out a yell of triumph. Antonia gritted her teeth and ran.

The knee stiffened with every step but she forced her legs to move, hoping it would ease. The men sounded closer. She must think. If she stayed in the lane, they’d catch her but if she left it, they’d wait for the others. On her right lay an alleyway. She swerved into it, ignoring the pain as she changed direction, concentrating on keeping her footing.

A shout told her they’d seen her. A distant reply followed a few seconds later, then silence. Maybe her gamble had worked. The path split and she took the left branch. The alley opened out and in front of her lay a stretch of inky water, slick in the faint light. City Road Basin; she’d doubled back on herself. She hesitated, unsure which way to go.

A shout in the distance sounded forlorn. They’d lost her. She relaxed and listened. A yell in reply, much nearer, jolted her into action. She ran left, along a lane bounded by a wall and the water. Each step on the uneven ground jarred her knee. Voices echoed over the water, closer than she expected. They were gaining on her.

A few yards in front, a darker shadow in the wall led to an opening. She plunged through it before skidding to a halt. She found herself in an enclosed courtyard lined with large steel bins. Paralysed for a moment, she turned back, but the men were almost on her. She hobbled to the furthest container and threw herself into it. The stench of rotting garbage made her heave, but she eased the lid shut. Had they seen her? Her pulse pounded in her ears as she listened. When she didn’t hear anything for several minutes, she began to hope they’d passed her.

Then a roar of anger and a voice said, “Where the fuck’s she gone?”

She gulped, gagging at the stink of putrefaction.

“You sure she came down here?” Another voice panted.

“Where else would she go?”

“She’s probably carried on along the path,” the uncertain one said. “Come on, Galen, we’ll soon catch her.”

“What if she did come down here?”

“What if she didn’t?”

She held her breath, willing them to go. A bin lid clanged sending shockwaves through the soles of her trainers. Plastic rustled and bottles clinked. Blast!

“You going to fucking help, or what?” Galen said.

“Waste of time,” the other man mumbled, but another lid clanged.

Antonia swallowed. Should she wait until they discovered her or jump out now, surprise them. Would her knee let her?

“Come on, Galen, I’m going back.”

“Don’t you want the money?”

What does he mean?

“The others might have caught her.”

“Those fat fuckers. No way.” Galen’s voice came closer.

She sensed his anger and she prepared herself, tensing her muscles and inhaling. Bad knee or not, she would do serious damage to whoever found her. Another bin opened, the lid striking the side of hers. She bit back a cry.

“Come on, search under those bags.” Galen’s voice taunted.

“Shit, it’s all over my hands. What the fuck’s this stinking crap—”

“Don’t be a pussy.”

“Fuck off!” A lid banged shut.       

“Where the fuck you going?” Galen demanded

“We don’t even know she came down here.”

“Hang on…” Something smashed into the bin, making it reverberate. The sound faded and Galen muttered a frustrated, “Shit!”

Their voices grew faint but not daring to hope they’d left, Antonia waited. Her thighs trembled with the effort of keeping her out of the vile smelling sludge at the bottom of the bin and a chill leached into her weary body. After what seemed an age, she lifted a corner of the lid and drank down the freezing air. 

Silence greeted her, so she straightened, resting the cover against the wall. She flexed her legs, massaging them and grimacing as her circulation returned. Once sure they worked, she grabbed the side of the bin and clambered out. Something made her hesitate; a sensation of danger still close. A dog barked in the distance and a lorry laboured up an incline, its engine complaining. The everyday sounds calmed her and she retraced her steps.

Galen‘ s words raced round her mind as she tried to make sense of them. They must think she’s an illegal. She remembered the outcry when the new company running homeland security suggested offering a bounty for each illegal immigrant handed in. She hadn’t realised they’d gone ahead. The stretch of water lay in front of her and she stepped into the open.

A noise like a large animal scratching at the floor made her turn. A bulky figure charged towards her with a cry of, “Got you, bitch.” The sound of Galen’s voice made her freeze.

He clattered into her, hitting her mid-thigh and jarring her teeth. Caught off balance she flew backward, screaming until icy water engulfed her.

The shock of entering the freezing water paralysed Antonia. Galen seized her legs, dragging her under. Foul liquid entered her mouth and nose and she fought not to retch. The numbness faded and she kicked out, twisting her hips. The grip on her thighs loosened, so she kicked again and he released her legs. She struck for the surface but a fist smashed into her shoulder, spinning her. Hands closed around her neck, squeezing. She tore at the fingers digging into her flesh, but couldn’t dislodge them. She lashed out, aiming for his head. But the water dragged at her arms, slowing her punches and robbing them of power.

Energy drained from her with each blow she attempted. Her lungs caught fire but she clamped her mouth shut, resisting a desperate need to breathe. A roaring filled her ears and bright lights flashed in front of her. Then anger seized her. How dare this man end her life? After all she’d survived. She pushed her exhausted body into a final effort. Thrashing feet struck a solid surface and she pushed. Her trainers slipped before gripping on a rough patch and she propelled herself through the water. As she emerged from the icy liquid, she gulped for air.

Blinking to clear her vision she lashed out. A grunt when her hand hit flesh told her she’d hit her target and she struck again. Encouraged by Galen’s cry of pain, she pulled her fist back. Before she could throw the punch, he seized her in a powerful bear hug, pinning her arms to her sides. She fought to free them as he crushed her against his body. The grip intensified, squeezing air out of her lungs. Panic made her mind go blank. Then a small voice told her to stop struggling and let her body go limp.

Galen pushed her under the water. As it closed over her, she made herself stay calm. Her feet found the bottom and scrabbled for purchase on the slimy surface. After long seconds his hold relaxed. She drove with her thighs, shooting out of the water. He yelled in surprise and guided by the sound, she smashed her forehead into his face. Bone crunched, and he cried out.

Before he could react, she hit him in the throat. With a strangled cough, he fell back. She made for the bank, scrambled out and lay on the side, panting, muscles screaming for rest. Come on, don’t stop now. With an effort she pushed herself to get up and crawled away from what had almost been her grave.

A hand seized her ankle and Antonia’s heart somersaulted. With the last of her strength, she jerked her leg, attempting to free it but the grip tightened. Then it pulled her towards the water and an involuntary whimper escaped her lips.