Hostage by Clare Mackintosh

PROLOGUE

Don’t run, you’ll fall.

Past the park, up the hill. Wait for the green man, not yet, not yet…

Now!

Cat in the window. Like a statue. Just the tiniest tip of his tail moving. Twitch, twitch, twitch.

Another road to cross. No green man and no lollipop lady—she should be here…

Look both ways. Not yet, not yet…

Now!

Don’t run, you’ll fall.

Mailbox, then lamppost, then bus stop, then bench.

Big school—not my school, not yet.

Bookshop, then empty shop, then the ’state agent where they sell houses.

Now the butcher’s shop, birds hanging from their necks in the window. My eyes squeezed shut so I don’t have to see theirs staring back.

Dead. All dead.