The steady hum of an engine.   Vibrating, shifting and sliding.  

 Excruciatingly hot.   Breathing painful, and becoming more so with every breath.   The world pressing in on itself.  

 The desire to run away is overwhelming, but it’s impossible to move.  

Just when the nightmare seems as though it will go on for ever, the engine’s note starts to change and the vibrations slow.  

There’s a series of bumps and judders then, mercifully, rest as the vibrations cease.  

The engine is still running buts its hum is much lower now.  

 The calm lasts but a couple of heartbeats, broken by the screech of a sliding steel door, the crunch of heavy footsteps on concrete, the clunk of a sturdy lock opening and the shrill yawn of a pair of rusting doors being pulled apart.

Glints and shafts of light begin to break through the blackness.   A man grunts and the shafts of lights start to shake and dance.  

There’s another longer louder grunt and the shafts of light begin to whirl violently around and the world presses in on itself ever more crushingly.  

A sudden blast of icy air and a split second later a bone shaking jolt.

Invisible blows reigning in from every direction. Everything is spinning madly.  

A second blast of freezing air immediately followed by somersaults, more stinging blows and one final bone-crunching thump.  

Pitch black, again.    

Chapter One  

A bulging black plastic bin-bag bounces and careers down a steep grassy bank towards a pond at the edge of a moon-lit field.  

Just before the bag is about to reach the bottom of the slope and roll into the pond, a small tear near the tightly bound top splits asunder and out cascade five dazed puppies.  

Relieved of its live cargo, the bag takes one final leap before landing with an almighty splash in the pond and quickly disappearing beneath the inky surface, weighed down by the two house bricks that it still contains.  

At the top of the incline, silhouetted against the near cloudless evening sky, stands the malign figure of a tall broad shouldered heavily built man, his arms akimbo and hands on his hips.

His laboured breath shimmering in the frosty night air as a cigarette butt glows red in the corner of his mouth.  

The man peers down the grassy bank towards the pond for a few moments. He curses under his breath, removes the cigarette from his mouth and flicks it in front of him.  

The glowing stub cartwheels away as he swivels sharply on his heels and strides over to a battered old transit van parked a few feet away with its engine still running.

He jumps in and heaves the sliding door shut with a clang, guns the engine and roars out on to the road, the van’s tyres squealing their smoky complaint and spitting gravel.  

As the van speeds away, across its grimy back doors the logo “Andrew Stevenson. Pedigree Border Collie Breeder” is briefly illuminated by the headlights of a following car.

To be continued……