As the lights of a nearby town twinkled amongst the darkness of the countryside, Brad slowed the car he’d been driving full pelt for the last few hours and eventually steered into the parking lot of a small set of shops. He killed the engine, slid out from behind the wheel, and abandoned his getaway car, lobbing the keys into a large industrial bin on his way toward the centre of town.

The town was barely more than a couple of streets lined with identical houses, ancient-looking street lights, and perfectly manicured country gardens. Thankfully, like all English towns, there was a pub open and it was humming with the sound of its patrons only a few metres away. Brad loitered up to the door as an older, rural type staggered out of the pub to a nearby lamppost and proceeded to empty his bladder on its rusty iron base. Ignoring this rather unsavoury act and forgetting he was dressed as the merriest of the merry men, Brad pushed open the pub door and stepped inside. The raucous excited voices stopped almost immediately and all eyes focused on the tree-green intruder in tights.

“Wot you want?” asked a rather burly man with a pint of something or rather.

“I’m looking for somewhere to spend the night,” Brad replied with his best Hollywood smile.

“‘Ere, are you one of them yanks?” asked an equally burly man in a tartan cap.

“What gave it away?” Brad laughed and then realised no one else was laughing and he coughed nervously as a woman appearing to be the manager of the establishment appeared.

“Oh, leave him alone, Arthur,” she groused. “Hello, welcome to the Duck & Puddle. I’m Maisy Walters, the owner of this ‘ere pub.”

“Very nice to meet you,” Brad smiled and shook her hand. “Brad Sherwood, no relation to ‘Robin Of,’ we just have the same tailor.”

Maisy snorted with laughter and looked Brad up and down. “I didn’t want to ask but I will. Why are you dressed like that?”

“Theatre production,” Brad lied as his eyes flittered around the pub, stopping on a poster that listed the Premier League soccer teams. “We’re in Norwich at the moment doing half price matinees.”

“Wot you doing all the way over ‘ere then?” Maisy asked as the man who had relieved himself in the street returned, a wet patch evident down one leg.

“Weekend off,” Brad said quickly. “So, do you have a room that I could use for the night?”

Maisy looked at him curiously for a moment and then smiled, her huge bosom puffing out somewhat proudly. Her chubby hands grasped Brad’s arms with delight. “Of course I do, pet. You go and get yer things and I’ll get everything organised.”

“Thank you,” Brad gushed and hurried back outside into the street. There he remembered he didn’t actually have any belongings and realised how odd it would look if he spent the entire time dressed in tights as Mr Hood.

“So how did you manage to get out of work?” Gina asked as Danny puffed heavily, his warm breath turning the air closest white.

“Told them my Grandmother died,” Danny replied. “We were very close, surrogate mother, almost.”

“Nice to see the journalism skills have paid off,” Gina teased. “You lie as only a professional can.”

“To tell the truth, I’m glad to get away,” Danny declared. “I mean, what with Freya and her ‘do you think this says light snow falls to you’ and that horrendous new woman they got in.”

“I think she does very well for someone with no eyebrows and a lime coloured silk blouse,” Gina mused.

“She’s got nothing on you,” he groused. “It’s just not any fun without you there.”

“Aww,” she cooed, hugging him that little bit tighter.

“I mean how am I supposed to get through the day without your cruel barbs and fantastic cleavage.”

“Dan!”

“What? I miss you, Gina,” he declared, stopping in the centre of the snow-covered road. “I hadn’t realised how much until you, with total reason, stopped talking to me.”

Gina felt a lump form in her throat as she paused, listening to Danny panting and feeling his chest rising and falling. They’d been friends for a long time now, and never had Danny ever expressed so openly how he felt. She couldn’t help but feel a little touched, a tad intrigued and just an iota naughty. However, it was very hard to see how genuine he was when she was hanging on his back like a tired five-year-old. With rather surprising expertise, she swung herself around so her legs were wrapped around his waist, her arms still around his neck and their eyes now looking into each others.

“I missed you too,” she said, a small smile creeping onto her lips. “And we’ve all tried to kill Paul at sometime or other.”

Danny kept looking at her a moment and then looked away as snow started gently falling again. He looked back with a tender smile. “He’ll be okay, you know.”

“Who?”

He cocked his head to the side. “The man you were cooing down the phone to.” He paused and readjusted Gina, one of his hands precariously close to her bottom. “Who indeed…”

“I don’t think I could ever go on if something happened to him,” she sighed, the realisation that they weren’t in a Bruce Willis movie and were in fact in mortal danger reluctantly sinking in.

“You’ll always have me,” he breathed and dropped a kiss on her forehead. She was mildly amused but not surprised as he often kissed her when he got drunk, front page, an interview with an attractive woman, or wanted her to buy him lunch because his last three pay packets had been spent on expensive alterations to his sports car.

“And the mongoose,” she laughed as they gave each other a long hug before Danny gasped loudly and nearly dropped her. “What?”

“Civilisation!” he enthused and pointed to lights that were visible through the snow. Gina twisted to see and for some reason felt a sense of unease in the pit of her stomach. “Finally, we’ll get out of the bloody snow.”

“Yeah, hey,” she mumbled and slid from his arms until her feet felt the snow crunch underneath. “I might walk for a bit, give you a break,” she added and started limping slowly in the direction of the lights.

“It’ll be quicker if I carry you,” he insisted and he wiped snow from his eyes.

“A few more minutes won’t kill you,” she chided and then fell silent. The task of trying to walk was excruciating, but she wanted to give them some time while she mulled over plans, just in case.

Fenny was awoken by the loud hissing of brakes and her head thudding against the window as Molly’s truck pulled roughly to a stop. Cursing loudly, Fenny opened her eyes and was greeted by the added pain of her glasses digging into the side of her head.

“Well, here we are,” Molly announced. “McDermott. It ain’t the prettiest of towns, y’know.”

“Trust me, if I had been planning a vacation, it certainly would not be here,” Fenny replied, unclipping the seatbelt that had kept her (a) imprisoned with Molly for the rather tedious road journey and (b) stopped from jumping from the cab during one of Molly’s rambling speeches. Most of them were about other trucker women that Fenny didn’t know and didn’t want to know, along with the in depth details of her latest tattoo, which was apparently a pink rabbit on her left buttock. With this vision moved firmly to the back of her mind, Fenny opened the cab door and looked at Molly, trying to figure out the correct etiquette for thanking a hulking great lesbian truck driver for driving you across the state. In the end, Fenny thanked her in an over the top fashion that involved mentioning the fabulous conversation and praying for the well being of her first born.

Once Molly and her truck had disappeared into the dark Ohio night, Fenny looked around blindly at her surroundings. McDermott was not quite as much of a hick town as she had imagined. There were billboards that showed glamorous pictures of the golf course, a well-lit McDonald’s restaurant, and the citizens seemed to be wearing trendy jeans and not overalls. Happy to see the gene pool wasn’t restricted and feeling slightly less anxious about having to deal with the locals, Fenny looked around for a sign, something to tell her which hotel Paul was being protected by wok-wielding Asians in. She started to walk, taking in her surroundings as best she could in the dark, praying that maybe Troy might appear on a mailbox waving a placard or something. Twenty-three minutes later she was no wiser and was seriously contemplating calling Molly and going home when a rather dilapidated hotel sign caught her attention. Fenny wasn’t entirely sure what it was actually meant to be, what with it being dark and her terrible eyesight, but the only parts of the neon sign that showed were the words “Mad Ho.” She glanced across the road and noticed the ‘McDermott’s Finest Fillies’ sign and knew that she was in the right place. The only thing Fenny had to do now was find Paul without ending up losing her kneecaps.

Brad walked around the soiled lamppost several times before darting across the empty street to a selection of identical houses, each separated by a small arched corridor. He made his way quietly up the path of the first house and ducked his head as he entered the corridor. The British were a tiny race of people, he had discovered in recent years, and if he wasn’t careful, he was likely to lose his scalp in a nasty ‘low shop door’ incident. Once into the tiny back garden, he was disappointed to find it empty of everything but a selection of gardening tools and a nasty looking black cat that hissed as he walked past.

Gina had once regaled him with a tale about her grandparents in Scotland and a rather embarrassing singing out loud incident in the garden. Apart from the hysterical image of grumpy Gina in a tam-o-shanter being applauded by the neighbours for singing in a Scottish accent, she’d mentioned that the gardens seemed devoid of separation other than a low brick wall. Brad was pleased to see that the English had followed this trend, and he could easily make his way through the still back gardens. He was onto his fourth garden when he hit gold: a washing line full of clothes. He grabbed the peg bag and emptied its contents into a plant pot, smothering the well-maintained bloom it contained, and then pulled several items off the line and stuffed them into the bag. Pleased he now had something resembling luggage, he headed over the low brick wall to the next garden where he manage to find a pair of old steel-capped boots that looked as if they’d fit. He hurried down the sloping garden, its mossy steps, and through the joining corridor and back into the street.

Brad took a couple of proud, ego-inflating breaths and then marched back into the pub. It had cleared considerably, and only Arthur, his friend in the tartan cap, and the man Brad had seen relieve himself outside were left. Arthur opened his mouth to say something but Maisy reappeared before he has the chance.

“Got yer things?” she asked and Brad held up his bag proudly along with the boots in his other hand. “Who’s Pegs?”

Brad looked at Maisy strangely for a moment and then at the bag which had emblazoned in black on the creamy calico, ‘pegs’. He thanked God he was an improviser. “My Mom, Peggy, calls herself Pegs for short.”

“Aw, aren’t ye lovely,” Maisy grinned. “Follow me,” she added and led Brad behind the bar and up a rather narrow, steep, and slightly damp set of stairs. They reached the landing and Maisy continued on to the end of the hall where a soft glow emanated from one of the rooms. “It’s all yours. You call me if you want anything, you hear?”

“With both ears,” Brad nodded and quickly hurried into the room. He closed the door and turned back to take in its entirety. The glow was coming from a gas lantern on the bedside table, along with a couple of half-burnt candles. The bed was old and wooden and covered in the most grotesque floral patchwork quilt. Above the bed were several tapestries of quaint country scenes. The curtains were a dark, mottled green with a few moth holes, which went atrociously with the pink and white striped wallpaper and carpet that looked as though it’d been taken straight from the bedroom floor of the late Queen Mother. Still, Brad couldn’t complain, it was quiet and devoid of people that wanted to slit his throat.

He dropped the peg bag and boots onto the floor, and fell frontwards onto the bed. It gave a loud creak as if crying in pain, and Brad found himself apologising to the chipped mahogany base before he closed his eyes and tried to relax.

“Thank fuck for – ” before Danny could finish his sentence, Gina clamped her hand over his mouth.

“Shh,” she ordered, holding a gloved finger to her lips.

They were standing at the ‘Welcome To’ sign of a chalet-come-hotel, and while Danny was as happy as someone in a post-orgasmic glow, Gina had already noticed two large, black four-wheel-drives which seemed to be the colour of choice for people who were intent on killing them. Removing her hand from his mouth and grasping his arm firmly, she motioned to the vehicles.

“Don’t you think that’s just a tad obvious,” Danny breathed, not at all convinced such fine specimens of the Australian automotive industry could be used by nasty, gun-wielding maniacs.

“Oh yes, and how many times have you been kidnapped, Mr Know-It-All?” Gina groused as she leaned against him in an attempt to avoid putting weight on her ankle.

“Okay, so I’ve avoided large black cars, but I’ve bled for the cause,” he huffed, considering pushing her away and watching her scream in pain for his own sadistic pleasure.

“Yeah, my hero,” she muttered and led the way with a limp/crouch toward the side of the building, discovering quickly that it was very hard to creep in snow as it crunched beneath your feet and your breathing quickly became ragged, not to mention the obscenities she was mumbling. They moved along until they found a window with light pouring from it. She turned to hush Danny even though he wasn’t making any noise, and then gently lifted herself up to glance in the window. She shot back down, crunching her ankle, and Danny slapped a hand over her mouth to avoid the scream that so wanted to come.

“What did you see?” he asked in a barely audible whisper.

“Amy,” Gina replied, rubbing her throbbing ankle. “In the bath.”

“What? Really?” he gasped and went to have a look. She pulled him down quickly and glared as he tried to give a ‘I was only trying to help’ look.

“This is perfect, she’s distracted,” Gina whispered. “Now all we’ve gotta do is find Speccy.”

“Speccy?”

“Greg.”

“Oh, I know who you’re talking about,” Danny mused. “But Speccy?”

Gina sneered at him and used his shoulder to hoist herself back into a crouch. They moved silently to the next window, which was dark and the curtains drawn. She found a gap in the curtains and squinted to get the best look she could. She could make out a body on the bed but that was about it.

“I can’t see properly,” she breathed as Danny looked over her shoulder into the room.

“So what do we do?” he aske,d praying she didn’t say something like ‘you create a diversion…’

“Well, experience tells me the kidnapper always keep the kidnapee in the room next to them as it means they’re less likely to escape,” she replied anxiously. “And my instinct tells me that’s Greg.”

Danny studied her for a moment. Most people would give up or wait until morning, but he knew that Gina’s instinct was rarely wrong. Unless it was picking a winner for the Melbourne Cup, as she was terrible and her horse would usually break a leg and get shot midway through the race. “So, how do we get in there and rescue him?”

“Well, usually I would suggest ripping open the window, but since I can’t run, kick, or generally do very much unless we amputate my foot, there’s only one thing we can do,” she sighed as they crouched back down, her back against the wall to stop her toppling over.

“What?” he asked, waiting for some McGyver style plan that involved string, a ski pole, and woollen socks.

“You create a diversion,” she perked, and before he could argue, she added. “Set the sprinkler system off, people will rush out thinking it’s a fire, and we can get in there and save Greg.”

“And what’s the chance of us getting killed or dying of hypothermia?” Danny sighed.

“Well, it’s about three/nil so far. So I think the odds are with us,” Gina nodded and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Trust me, Brannigan.”

“Trust you?” he gasped, getting to his feet. “You just used betting jargon when you know you’re the worst better in the history of the betting system.”

“Go be diversional,” Gina ordered. “Go!”

Danny let out a huff and stomped off to find a way to trigger the sprinkler system.

Beven pushed the luggage trolley through Heathrow as he and Ritza tried to look inconspicuous. They strolled past brightly coloured tie shops, Harrods merchandise, and overzealous airport security.

“Mind if I pop to the loo?” Ritza asked as they passed the amenities sign.

“Keep walking,” Beven ordered, and she looked at him curiously. She carefully glanced at a reflective shop window and noticed two large men not far behind them.

“How long have they…”

“Since we got off the plane,” he said, cutting her off as they passed families preparing for holidays in Spain and couples on their way to Paris.

“How could they have known?” she groused. “We didn’t know we’d be coming.”

“There’s been a bounty out on me since Don was killed,” he said somewhat bitterly.

“I think you might find it was instilled when you were discovered a traitor,” she announced helpfully.

“Yes, well, if you want to get technical, darlin’,” he chided while in one swift movement he abandoned the trolley and swooped up their backpacks. “Besides, aren’t you guilty of the same thing?”

Ritza pondered a moment as she slipped on her backpack. “Funny how we both sympathised with Brad. Well, I was fucking him, not entirely sure what your excuse was.”

“We had a forbidden love,” Beven replied with mock seriousness. “Him a hero and me a heavy, it would never have worked.”

“Oh I don’t know,” she laughed as they walked out of the airport, past the taxi rank and in the direction of a secluded area. “You’d make quite a cute couple.”

“You think Fenny would be jealous?” he asked as they stopped in an area where they were enclosed by large shipping style containers and warehouse buildings.

“I doubt it, they broke up,” she shrugged as they both threw their bags aside.

“Really? But they were so happy,” he pouted as they turned around and came face to face with their followers. “What went wrong?”

“She got caught fucking Danny,” Ritza mused. “Again.”

“Women, you’re all the fucking same,” Beven groused and then noticed their new friends had pulled out guns. “Evening fellas.”

“Prepare to die, Duggan,” snarled one of the men.

“Duggan? Is that your last name?” Ritza piped up.

“Shut it bitch,” snapped the other man.

“What did you just call her?” Beven snarled and stepped toward the gun-waving men.

“No, it’s fine Beven,” Ritza huffed. “I’ll deal with this,” she added and marched without a hint of fear toward the man that had insulted her.

“Get back or I’ll fucking shoot ya!”

“Not if your wrist is broken you won’t,” Ritza declared nonchalantly before she grabbed the gun that was in his hand and with one swift movement shattered the quiet night with the sound of cracking bone. The man yelped and fell to his knees, and without even building up a sweat, she pistol-whipped him twice for being rude. While Ritza was looking amused at the passed out man on the ground with a misshapen wrist, his friend had levelled his gun at her. Beven, who had been trying to ignore the fact Ritza’s ability to cause grievous bodily harm was turning him on, darted forward and rugby tackled the man, shocking his attacker, who fired the gun into the air. Beven hit him around the head until he too fell into a coma.

“Fuckers,” Beven muttered, stealing the gun and rifling through the man’s pockets. There was nothing of interest. “You okay?” he asked, looking at Ritza.

“Peachy,” she nodded. “You?”

“Peachy,” he agreed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. They quickly grabbed their backpacks, stashed the guns in them and headed back to the taxi rank.

Fenny reached for the rusty-looking door handle and twisted it. It surprised her that it was unlocked. She’d gone through several plans in her head, including going home and hiding under the covers until it was all over, leaving Gina a message to say she couldn’t find Paul, and immigrating to Uzbekistan. But she knew Gina would kill her if no one else did for not saving her husband, and so Fenny had resorted to the tried and true method of creeping around the back and sneaking in through the door. So, there she stood, in deepest darkest McDermott, trying to quietly open the door. It creaked loudly and she was tempted to kick it. She stepped into the dark room and attempted to navigate her way through, but ended up falling over a pile of abandoned stainless steel cookware that clanged loud enough to wake up the entire neighbourhood. She found herself sprawled on the linoleum as the lights flashed on and she was forced to shield her eyes. She looked up to see two men in singlets, one with a rolling pin, the other with a large butcher knife, along with a small Asian man with a wok and —

“Paul,” Fenny managed to whimper as her shin ached.

“Fen,” Paul announced in a tone that said he was mortified she was there rather than thrilled she was about to save his life.

“You know her?” asked the older singlet-clad man.

“Unfortunately,” Paul breathed and placed the frypan he was holding back on its hook.

“Yeah, so you can all stop brandishing cookware now,” Fenny half-smiled as Paul held out his had to her to take. She gladly took it but he let go of her again and she fell back onto the lino, cracking her head on a large soup pot. “Ouch, you bastard,” she hissed and angrily took a swipe at him with a set of salad tongs.

“Gee Fen, thanks for saving me,” Paul spat. “If the heavettes aren’t rushing here ready to eviscerate us as we speak I’ll be bloody fucking surprised.”

“Oh well sorry, I’ve only passed on being paid this week, left my poor cat with my parents which means he might be dead when I get home, had my car stolen, nearly been run over, and avoided being molested by Molly the freakin’ mad lesbian truck driver to save your scrawny ass!” Fenny hissed, wanting nothing more than to do nasty things to his oesophagus with a set of chopsticks.

“I don’t remember asking for you to fucking come and save me,” Paul snarled as the younger singlet-clad man piped up.

“What the hell is wrong with you people?”

“John Boy, listen mate, this is nothing to do with you, okay,” Paul scorned. “So just fucking keep out of it.”

“Well if you don’t need me, why are you still here?” Fenny snorted. “Shouldn’t you be off rushing to your wife’s aid since you’ve obviously managed to get free?”

Paul went to reply with some witty retort but paused a moment. She had a point. Why the hell was he still there? “I was waiting until the heavettes had left,” he managed lamely.

“Oh, well then I’ll just go and call my new friend Molly and head back to LA then,” Fenny sneered and attempted a dramatic exit but tripped over a yet uncollected cheese grater and smacked into the small Asian man who was still holding his wok.

“You crazy girl,” he declared and stalked away.

“For fuck’s sake,” Paul sighed, having run out of steam for any further argument. He marched across the room and grabbed Troy who was sitting in an empty punch bowl before he walked back to where the cookware was still scattered. He looked at the three men. “Thank you very much for your hospitality, fellas. Should you ever get kidnapped by psychos, drop me a line,” he paused and walked over to where Fenny was rubbing all the bits of her that now hurt and grabbed her wrist. “I’ll take Fenella here away before she destroys anything else,” he added, and before she could even argue that they didn’t actually have anywhere to go, they were back in the barren McDermott street, surrounded by darkness and not a Lonely Planet guide between them.

Danny had been surprised to find that one of the doors of the chalet/hotel wasn’t locked, and made a mental note that he would do a report on the lack of security in the Snowy Mountains, when he spied a sprinkler on the ceiling. The problem was he wasn’t au fait with setting off a hotel sprinkler system, let alone how to turn on a backyard sprinkler. The only thing he could think of was bushfires, but he wasn’t about to go light one as it might look slightly suspicious that he was the first reporter on the scene. He tiptoed down the hall and noticed what looked like a lounge room area. An open fire was burning orange, but it was only embers. Feeling suddenly more confident, Danny hurried over to the dying fire and grabbed a half-burnt piece of wood and looked for the nearest sprinkler. There were two, and he could easily reach one if he stood on the coffee table. Amusing himself with the idea that he should stand on coasters, he lifted the smoking end of the wood as close to the sprinkler as he could. It had little effect and he was tempted to search out the water mains when there was a loud crack from the fire, Danny yelped and dropped the wood, which fell onto the expensive looking couch, instantly setting it alight. Thirty seconds later the sprinkler kicked in and there were yells and the stamping of feet. “Success!” Danny grinned and jumped from the table, abandoning the smouldering couch.

Greg felt a stabbing pain in his head, and rain, which was slightly odd as he was in a hotel room and it rarely rains in a hotel room unless they’re reconstructing the roof. Gingerly sitting up, he realised it wasn’t rain at all but a malfunctioning sprinkler that was soaking everything. He reached out to put the light on then decided that was probably a pretty bad move with all the water, and sat there quite perplexed until the door crashed open.

“This has nothing to do with me,” he announced quickly and wiped the water from his glasses.

“I know,” Gina breathed as she limped over to the bed.

“Gina, oh my god what happened to you?” Greg gasped as she clambered onto the bed beside him.

“I hurt my ankle, Greg,” she said matter-of-factly. “What happened to you?” she added, noticing the blood on the side of his head in the dim light.

“Amy and I had a disagreement,” he said, wincing as Gina gently ran her fingers over the side of his head.

“I’ll have a bloody disagreement with her in a moment,” she huffed and he took her hand in his. “That wench has got Paul and Brad too.”

“What, here?” he asked, not sure why he was so shocked.

“Nope, Paul’s in Ohio,” she sighed, squeezing his hand.

“Oh the poor thing,” Greg mumbled. “You have my sympathies.”

“And Brad’s in England.”

“Why the fuck for?”

“Not entirely sure, but Paul’s in McDermott, Brad’s in Sherwood Forest and…”

“I’m in Greg?”

“Greg.”

“What?”

“Greg Greg,” she mused. “That’s where we are.”

“Of course we are, and Anna Nicole Smith is sexy and George Bush is the world’s most powerful man.”

“But he is.”

“I know, but I’m trying to deny it, hoping that if I think hard enough it’ll go away and the most powerful man in the world will actually an intelligent individual from nowhere near Texas .”

“I’m glad to see Amy hasn’t damaged your sarcastic streak,” she smiled and wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up in his arms and comforted. With Paul being a long way away and her ankle painful enough to make her cry, had they not been soaked it would have been a rather nice option.

“Hello, we’re trying to do a daring escape here!” Danny announced, racing into the room, just as wet as Greg and Gina.

“You brought the puppy,” Greg mused as voices were heard in the hallway. “So you’re responsible for the inside rain then?”

“No shit,” Danny said exasperated and grabbed Gina from the bed where she was still holding hands with Greg. He threw her over his shoulder fireman style. “Now come on,” he demanded as Greg got to his feet and they hurried from the room.

The second they made it outside, the freezing air caught their wet clothes and skin and all three started shivering.

“So now what?” Gina asked somewhere near the middle of Danny’s back.

“Stick your hand into my pocket,” Danny ordered.

“My, first you get dominant and now you want groped,” Gina mused, slipping her hand into his pocket and instantly hitting cold metal. “What the?”

“Black four wheel drive number two is all ours,” Danny declared triumphantly.

“How’d you?” Gina said only managing to say words and not sentences.

“OVER THERE!” someone yelled and Gina chucked the keys to Greg who pressed the button on the keychain to unlock the doors.

“Stole them,” Danny declared as he fell into the backseat with Gina. Greg turned the key, revved the engine and sped out of the chalet/hotel parking lot, leaving the screams of Amy and her heavies in the snow choked distance.