Blighted Land: Book two of the Northumbrian Western Series (Northumbrian Westerns 2) by Ian Chapman

going to last much longer. I’d given him a break but he’d gone for days without sleep. Soon Nico would get details out of him. Details about my involvement.
    I had to do something.
    We’d have to break him free. Getting him out would be a miracle. Without thinking about it I’d got caught up in this.
    Last night I’d dreamt about Becky. Me and her in bed together. Partway through the sub had appeared again. Not like the dream I’d had in Sophie’s, more bizarre, with me floating in the water, alongside it. As it dived I was swept underwater with it, swirling and turning. Maybe it meant something.
    More likely it was from all the booze I’d had.  
    Several boys grabbed turnips off the cart, running away with them.  
    So Becky had arrived and wanted me to go with her on this mission of hers. We’d break Casper out and run off into the wilds.  
    Just like that.
    As the farmer spotted the lads he stopped the cart and jumped off, running after them. But they were too fast.
    I started to walk home. Maybe Becky had just been messing me around. Playing games to get me to help her. She was interesting and attractive. Good to spend time with. But not worth getting killed for. Not many women were, if any.  
    But I was ready to go. Ready to leave the town and happy to give Round Up a bloody nose on the way. If she had some kind of a serious plan, some ideas about getting the tank and going then it was worth hearing.
    If she didn’t, that was that. I’d take my chances on Casper not talking. Leave when I was ready.
    I turned round and headed across town. Towards High Town.
    When I got to the Bay Hotel I went straight in. I remembered her room number from when she’d mentioned it in the bar.  
    Room twelve was on the first floor at the far end, by a cracked window that looked out across the town. I thumped on the door, rattling it in the frame. It was patched with an uneven piece of wood at the bottom, the number written in neat paint. From other rooms I could hear voices, someone singing way off, a slow tune. Maybe Becky was still asleep: it was only midmorning. Or maybe wasn’t here, hadn't ever been. It might have all been a trick by Round Up, a test. One I’d failed.
    Maybe I should just turn and go.
    The door opened. Becky stood there with a towel wrapped around her, a crease of cleavage showing, her hair wet and eyelashes matted. She smelled of soap. ‘Trent?’ She glanced past me, up and down the passageway then waved her hand at me. ‘Come in.’  
    I followed through into the main room. There was a window that looked out to sea where a couple of ships made their way in towards the harbour. The bed was strewn with maps and plans of buildings. Old magazines. There were pieces of paper on the coffee table with motorcycle components on them. Two panniers and a rucksack were packed beside it. Black bra and knickers lay upon folded clothes on a pillow.  
    ‘You planning to leave?’ I said.
    ‘Just been waiting for you.'
    ‘I didn't even know I was coming.’
    She smiled. ‘I just need to finish washing…’ She adjusted the towel, tucking it into her cleavage. Then she went into the bathroom.  
    I rested back in the seat and closed my eyes. Around me were the sounds of the building, footsteps and chairs scraping. Shouts and slamming doors. If I was going to go along with this I needed a lot more information. Where, why and how. If she gave the wrong answers that would be it. I’d ride off alone.
    I jerked up when she came back in, still in the towel but now with her hair wrapped up as well.  
    ‘Should we thrash out the details?’ she said.
    ‘I have a few questions.’
    She sat down, unfolding a map and setting it out on the floor. ‘Go on.’
    ‘Say we get Casper out —’
    ‘Which we will.’
    ‘Where are we going?’
    She went across to the bed, picked up a magazine and handed it to me. It was a holiday brochure, decades old.  
    ‘Page forty-two,’ she said.
    I turned to the page she’d