March // John Shelby x Reader - Peaky Blinders

Chapter 60

If only John had given me a fucking pistol, I lament as we run down the street, yanking on the handle of every parked car. I could have held a teacher at gunpoint and demanded the keys to an automobile.

Time is passing by too quickly, too frustratingly. Hysteria rises through me until I'm overwhelmed to the point I could just sink to the pavement and cry for days, weeks, until the cold or dehydration kill me.

But I cannot.

Katie needs me. The twins need me.

"Down here!" George yelps, beckoning us to an alleyway. "It leads to a car park!"

We sprint through, but before we even reach the car park, we all come to a skidding halt.

An open side door to a terraced house. Voices inside, growing louder, indicating the end of a very, very brief visit.

And parked right outside, a Harley Davidson. Engine still running.

"That's expensive," William whispers, voicing what we're all thinking.

I swallow. "And when he reports it to the police, they'll tell him he's an idiot for leaving it lying around in Small Heath. Come on."

We all clamber on, the twins on the extended seat in front of me. I've ridden a motorbike before, as much to my own amazement in this moment as anybody's. A War effort parade, almost three years ago. Donations for a motorbike ride. I don't understand all the workings, but I remember to twist the right handle for go, and nudge the gearstick by my knee.

The owner thunders out of the house, yelling at us, and I see a pistol in his hand.

"Go!" William shouts.

I pull with all my might and we take off so fast the front wheel raises. Instinct takes over as I pull the clutch and move up the gears, gunshots roaring past us. I duck down low, covering the boys with my body until we round the corner and hit the road.

The wind is a sheet of ice blasting us as we hurtle through the city. The boys alternate between clutching their caps firmly to their heads, and holding on with both hands. My eyes water and stream in the wind, and my fingers are numb, locked around the handlebars in a vice grip with no need for adjustments as the grey blur of city buildings slowly fades, interspersed with patches of green.

My lips press together as I see the single road ahead of us, curving down and round to the west. The bike is faster than a car, but there's still no guarantee we'll catch up to the Vauxhall.

I eye the moors beside us.

"Hold on," I shout to the twins, then yank the handlebars to the right.

George shouts in delight as we hit the green, leaving tire tracks in the mud. I glance back, feeling guilty at the grazing and growing ground we're tearing up, as cows and sheep lift their heads to watch in interest. But thankfully no farmer arrives to shout at us, or shoot us for that matter, and we continue unhindered, heading for the tall, looming hospital in the distance.

What if we're too late? The question reverberates through my mind. What if we're too late? What if we're too late?

William quells my fear. "There!" He exclaims, braving lifting his arm to point at the road in the distance. "A car!"

I blink away the water in my eyes and squint at the road in the distance, half-concealed by trees and waiting for a bare patch — my stomach leaps into my throat. It's the Vauxhall with blacked out windows.

We're already going full speed but I urge the bike to move faster as we cut sideways, aiming straight for the car snaking along the road.

"What are we going to do?" George shouts.

My breathing accelerates as I turn his words over in my mind. I run through different possibilities, and each of them are fruitless. If I crash into the car, I risk hurting both Katie and the twins. If I try to manoeuvre the car in a direction, they could hit back and again, endanger the twins. It's all the same. I begin to feel absolutely hopeless. If I try to cut it off, if I approach from behind, if I try to block it in front...

If I try to block it in front.

"What are you doing?" William cries as I turn us once again, cutting across the moors in what appears to be completely the wrong direction.

"Getting there first," I say, leaning forward with a new determination.

We race across the greens, coming to a stop just before the lane where the driveway to the asylum begins. I unpeel myself forcefully from the bike, feeling altogether stiff and sore — but we don't have time.

By the time the boys have hopped down, I'm already wading through the thicket beside the road, smashing the brush out of my way until I find what I'm looking for.

A fallen tree.

Down a slight decline.

Far too big to carry.

I shouldn't be physically able to brace myself against it, and push with all my might, nudging it inch by inch up the incline towards the road. But it does. All the muscles in my arms burn, feeling as though they're ripping in two. My legs are tense and screaming against the resistance, the muscles of my abdomen threatening to tear apart under the weight. Sweat beads across my forehead and I can feel every striation and every ligament in my body, and yet the adrenaline pulsing through me, the determination to save Katie, is like a force of its own, ordering the thick trunk to submit.

With a mangled yell I shove it over the lip of the bank and onto the road, where it rolls a few feet before coming to a stop. I gasp, but there's no time to waste, and so I'm on it again, pushing it with all my might until it rolls, inch by inch, to the centre of the road.

William and George join my efforts to turn it around the blind corner, both of them still in their school shorts and pushing with their small arms, until it's completely barricading the road. No car could pass through.

My whole body shakes, fatigued from the exertion. I feel so weak I might collapse at any moment. My chest burns with every breath.

But we're not finished yet.

"Quickly," I tell the boys, getting back on the motorbike once more.

We drive it only a short way then stop and park, leaving the bike on the road and bending down to hide behind a brick wall. The car will be forced to stop. Will be unable to turn. Unable to escape us.

Horrible thoughts begin to run through my mind,  thoughts that maybe they're going to a different asylum, or using a different entrance. Or they've broken down somewhere.

"Here it is!" George whispers, as the motor sound reaches our ears.

My breathing is slowly returning to normal, my whole body still burning. "You two stay here, alright?"

"No way," William says solemnly. "We're helping our sister."

I kiss him on the head. "You need to stay safe. Promise me you'll both stay here."

"Take my hat," George says, pressing it into my hands.

"You keep it, stay warm," I begin, but William speaks.

"We sewed razor blades into them," he says guiltily.

I stare at him in amazement.

"Don't tell dad," George mumbles.

"When we're done here, I'm buying you both everything from the sweets shop," I vow, scrambling to my feet with the cap in my hands.

The car brakes squeal to a stop.

I approach with menace.