“Well, being here with you ... I kind of like it.”
“Oh,” she returns.
He senses her tension. Seemed like she was going off him, he’d have to work his charm to get her to co-operate.
“It’s a beautiful evening. Why don’t we take a walk along the lane? I’m sure I saw a kestrel when we were driving here.”
She looks at him with a quizzical eye then nods.
“Sure. That sounds lovely. I’ll just grab my jacket.”
She disappears and Andy listens as she calls to Viktoria and lets her know they’re going out.
Andy catches at Clarissa’s hand as they walk along the lane, she lets him hold it loosely. Yes, she was definitely going off him. Slighted, he lets it drop and she walks beside him without mention.
“There’s a quarry further on—it’s overgrown now and quite beautiful—shall we go that way.”
“Sure,” he says with a forced smile and continues.
They turn off the road and up a narrow track thick with cow parsley left to grow tall, its nodding heads are white and flowering.
“Watch out! Dog mess,” Clarissa says from the front pointing to the ground.
He looks down at the offending turd. Why did people do that? Let their dogs shit where people liked to walk? It didn’t make sense. They’d bring their dogs out here for a nice walk and let them soil it. He hopes that the next dog walker who lets his dog foul the footpath treads in it. “Thanks,” he replies.
“This area was dug out for clay to make tiles years ago. That’s why there are such large ponds and when the water rises this place is flooded. We’ve just come down Far Ings—Ings is an old Norse word.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, it means marsh or water meadows. Sometimes ...”
Her voice fades out as he follows behind and looks across the fields with their barbed wire fences and sheep chewing at the cud. Their wool is dark.
“You know, I’ve never seen a brown sheep before.”
“Heritage breed. They’re Hebridean—brought here to help with the breeding programme.”
“You know a lot about this place, Clarissa. I didn’t think you came here that often.”
“Only once or twice a year, but before my husband died we’d come more often. It’s where he was born.”
“Oh,” he says with complete lack of interest.
“Up here’s the quarry. When he was a teenager he would come dirt biking, he used to bring Jessie here when she was younger—he’s the one who taught her how to ride.”
“She must have been very young.”
“Yes, she was. I always had my heart in my mouth, but he believed in giving the girls every experience he could. I used to laugh and say we should have had boys and he’d frown at me and say that girls had to be tough too.”
“Sure.”
They walk a little further and Andy lets her prattle on although he’s no longer listening. Ahead he can see a glimmer of white through the hawthorn. As they get closer the chalk that makes up the side of the quarry walls becomes visible. As they reach a narrow opening and look over the side he’s surprised at the quarry’s depth. The sides are steep, a vertical drop for at least one hundred feet. Below is a tangle of trees and the white quarry floor strewn with large rocks—perfect for a body to crash into and break beyond repair.
Being this close to the edge makes him giddy and he takes a step back.
Clarissa looks out across the quarry. “If we wait the sun will drop low enough and the entire quarry will be pink. It’s breath-taking”
The moment is perfect.
Do it now!
“Isn’t it beautiful!”
Now!
She takes a step back.
“Is that a fox—on the other side—near that tree?”
Clarissa steps to the edge and leans forward.
Arms outstretched, palms flat, Andy lunges forward, pressing his hands against her back.
She screams and topples forward.
Shut up!
Her hand grasps a sapling, her jacket snags on a snapped branch. Thorns scratch over her skin.
Fall!
She swings out over the quarry, dangles one hundred feet above the hard ground below.
Bloody woman!
She swings to the quarry’s side and grabs at a sapling. Her eyes lock to Andy’s, terror mixes with disbelief. For a moment he almost feels sorry for her but the fear and accusation in her eyes pushes him on.
He grunts his dissatisfaction and lunges towards her, pulling at her hand, digging his nails into the soft flesh around her thumb and prizes it away from the branch. Blood trickles from the soft tissue at the base of her palm. She’s stronger than he anticipated.
She swings her legs to and fro, her grip tight around the sapling, increasing her momentum by pushing against the quarry wall and kicks at him. Her foot lands on his groin. The pain shoots through his belly.
“Bitch!” he rasps as he doubles over.
He won’t give up. She will fall to her death. He will be rid of her.
He straightens as she scrabbles for purchase on the grass, her hands gripping tight to the sapling. He takes a step back then kicks. His boot lands in her face, her lips slip beneath the sole. She hangs with blood and grit smeared across her chin and nose. He kicks at her again, his boot slamming into her forehead. She yells in pain but still doesn’t fall. The branch she clings to bends as she swings from the kicks. He stamps on the branch and it splits, the crack ricocheting across the quarry. He stamps again.
Snap!
White wood breaks and she’s held by a thin strip of bark. It rips free and Clarissa disappears.
She screams. He listens. The note of terror in her voice makes his stomach churn and his flesh creep. What had he done?
Thud!
Silence.
Nausea overwhelms him and he retches. Vomit sprays the grass and spatters against the brown leather of his shoe.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The pain is overwhelming as Clarissa opens her eyes. A pink haze seems to fill the sky. Where is she? She tries to move to see. Below her is the quarry floor. Something hard is pressing against her side. Consciousness brings awareness and she realises that the leaves just above her are the top of the young tree that her side is wedged against. She leans back and feels the sharp edges of the quarry’s wall sticking into her shoulder blades. Pain rips through her right side as she breathes. Breathing is hard—as though she can’t get enough air. Broken ribs? A punctured lung? She lays perfectly still and looks out across the quarry. Its walls shine pink as the sun sets—the most beautiful time of day to be here. She takes another breath—another suck of air that doesn’t fulfil. She’s sure now that her lung is punctured—the pain on breathing in is overwhelming. She sips the air to keep her rib cage from expanding. A heady lightness follows. She closes her eyes and scans her body for injuries. Pain radiates out from her ribs throughout her body but she can wiggle her toes and tighten her fists. Not paralysed. As she closes her eyes to a grimace she remembers.
Andy!
Andy had pushed her. Why? Had he seen her kiss Bill?
She shouldn’t have done it—shouldn’t have kissed Bill, but from the first hours they’d been together she’d been drawn to him. There was something deep and satisfying about being with him—a feeling she hadn’t experienced since she’d met Reece, and she’d married him. She felt safe around him and when he’d appeared out of the bathroom clean and tidy, she’d seen the man she suspected lurked beneath the shaggy beard. Her heart had leapt and she’d been unable to resist the temptation. Her need to feel him close had been overwhelming. She’d certainly never felt anything like that with Andy. Sure they’d had a good time on occasion. She groans. She really should have told Andy how she felt—let him down gently but everything was so chaotic and emotional and ... she never expected him to try to kill her over it—it wasn’t as if he’d declared his undying love or anything—they weren’t even an item as such—just
more friends with benefits—he’d certainly led her to believe that was the case. She looks again out across the quarry and movement catches her eye. She peers at the shape as she takes another shallow breath. A rabbit. Yes, she can see its white tail bobbing. And there was another. The place came alive at sunset.
She looks up to the top of the quarry’s side where she’d last stood. The drop was at least seventy feet—she was lucky to have only broken a few ribs—and the punctured lung, Clarissa, don’t forget that. The quarry floor was about twenty feet below. Down. There was no option but to try and climb down. She couldn’t stay here—the temperature was already dropping. She wasn’t an expert in survival but she knew enough to know that her chances of surviving would dramatically reduce if she stayed out overnight.
The vertical wall of the quarry becomes more of a curve and there are a few trees and jutting rocks that she can use as hand and foot holds. The last time she went rock climbing was more than twelve years ago when she’d gone with Reece for a weekend on Mount Snowdon. Her mother had looked after the girls for the weekend and they’d had a wonderful time in the cottage. It had been a few days away just for them both and they’d revelled in it, pushing themselves physically during the day climbing the mountain, enjoying great food and wine at the local pub then making love into the small hours. Sadness waves over her for a moment as the memories stir old emotions that she tries so hard to keep locked away and she takes a minute to let them fade. Reece’s smiling face as he’d looked down to her twenty feet below is as clear as it was on that day. ‘You can do it, Clari,’ he’d said as she’d made her way back up the rockface. ‘I know you can.’ She’d nodded and felt buoyed by his belief in her.
“I can,” she says to the quarry face. “I can do this.”
She grasps the narrow branch of the young tree and pushes herself away from the trunk. Her scream fills the air as the pain hits. She pants, allowing the shock to ebb. This was going to be one tough climb down. ‘You can do it, Clari’ his voice sounds again in her memory. “Come on!” she hisses through gritted teeth and pushes herself once more. As she shifts her hips over the trunk she turns and lowers down to a large and angular piece of chalk sticking out from what now looks like a cliff face. She yelps and clings to the branch, tightening her hands around the wood. Slowly, she lowers herself inch by inch, finding a foothold, then another, then a new handhold. Small rocks tumble down below her and clatter to the quarry floor. Above her a kestrel wheels in the sky. Sweat beads on her brow.
How could he do that? How could he push her over the edge? Stop it Clarissa! Just think about getting down. Focus! He wanted to kill me! She stops and stares at the rockface dread washing over her. He thinks I’m dead! Her mind reels and she clings to the rocks, frozen as she turns the thoughts over in her mind. How can a man turn from being kind and attentive to murderous? A wave of cold runs through her body as realisation hits. He planned it! He was the one who wanted to come for the walk. He must have planned it earlier in the day? It didn’t make sense. Would he really kill her just for kissing another man? Men do though. Women too. The high-pitched call of the kestrel sounds overhead pulling Clarissa from her thoughts. She looks downwards. There can’t be more than ten more feet to go, but they’re ten agonising feet. ‘Survive or die trying!’ She was going to try. But what if he’s back at the cottage. What if he’s still up there waiting to finish the job. She freezes once more and looks up to the gap in the hawthorns where she’d stood to look out over the quarry and the river. The only movement is the wind blowing through the leaves. She waits and scans the trees. Nothing moves—at least nothing human. Satisfied, she takes another tiny breath. ‘You can do this, Clari.’ Yes! Yes, I can. Opening her eyes, she begins the final, painful descent to the quarry floor.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
As the entrance to the cottage’s driveway comes into view Andy quickens his pace. The sun is lowering in the sky. Soon it will be dark and there’ll be no way of them finding Clarissa. If she isn’t dead already, she will be by morning. He quickens to a jog, his breath coming fast then sprints. His legs ache. He’s not used to the physical exertion—hates running, but it’ll put on a good show. Pushing open the gate his chest heaves as he drags air into his lungs. Striding to the cottage door, he throws it open and flinches as it slams against the plastered wall.
“Clarissa!!” he calls to the empty hallway. “Clarissa!”
“Andy?” Viktoria replies.
Sounds like she’s in the living room. He pushes the door open to see Viktoria sat with her daughter on her lap. The child is fast asleep against her chest.
“Have you seen her?” he says breathing hard and leaning heavily against the door. He can feel sweat forming at his hairline—he hopes she can see.
“Who?”
“Clarissa.”
“Clarissa? No. I thought she was with you!”
“She was, but then we got separated. I’ve been searching for her for the last hour. I thought she’d taken the hump or something and come back here.”
“You argued?”
“No. No!” he says quickly. The last thing he wants is for people to think there had been any kind of altercation. “I needed to rest for a while,” he says between breaths. “So I sat down whilst she went further up the pathway. She said she wanted to see the sun lowering over the hills and watch the quarry turn pink.”
“And she did not come back?”
“No! I followed her, eventually, but couldn’t find her. I thought we must have missed each other, but if she’s not here ...”
“No, she is not here,” Viktoria responds with concern.
“Are you sure?”
“I have not heard her come in, but ... she could have. I fell asleep for a little time,” she says motioning to Anna laid against her. “The past days have been so ... difficult. I think it caught up with me.”
He gives her a small nod and a smile. He couldn’t care less whether the silly woman was tired—he was tired—tired of them all and desperate now to get away, but without transportation he was stuck and there was this whole rigmarole to go through before he could make his escape. “You look tired and poor Anna ... she’s been through so much these last days.” Viktoria nods with an appreciative smile on her face. He always could charm the ladies. “Well, Clarissa must be around here somewhere so I’ll have a look. She’s bound to turn up.”
“She will,” Viktoria replies, leans back and closes her eyes.
Andy turns and pulls the door to.
“Andy!”
“Yes?”
“If you do not find her please let me know. She has been good to us ... you think she could be in trouble?”
He stops and pulls his best worried frown. “I hope not, Viktoria, but if I don’t find her in the next ten minutes I’ll have to go back out and look!”
“But is getting dark now,” Viktoria says with concern looking to the window.
“I know, but I have to find her. Don’t worry—I’m sure she’ll turn up.”
“OK,” Viktoria replies and closes her eyes once more.
Andy closes the door and clicks the latch then heads for the kitchen where he takes two of the bread rolls Clarissa had baked that morning along with a bag of dried fruit. He hesitates for a moment then grabs a pack of biscuits and a chocolate bar. Sod it! Why should he starve to help ration out the food? As soon as they were back with that car he’d be gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Salman leans forward in his seat and adjusts his back, pulling his shoulder away from the seat. In his excitement he’d forgotten the burn and it smarts. Ahead the sign post reads ‘10 miles’. Nearly there. The car is filled with music and the chatter of Khalid and Masood on the back seats. This is their first time out and they’re excited. Khalid laughs and the pitch makes Salman’s ears ring.
“Shut it!” Salman says to the boy.
“All right, Salman. Keep your hair on.”
“This is serious. They killed our brothers. We
have to avenge their deaths,” he says with determination as he catches the boy’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. The last of the daylight is leaving the roads and the boy looks almost dark-skinned in this light even though they make fun of his light skin. It was always pot-luck when they came out, these mixed-race kids—half-breeds Bin Sayeed called them. They weren’t true blood, not like him and Masood but they were willing to serve so Bin Sayeed tolerated them.
“White Boy!” Salman shouts back to Khalid. “You still think you got what it takes to burn the town down?”
“Of course I do,” Khalid returns with a snarl. Salman smirks. Khalid hates it—being called White Boy, but it was his job to rile him.
“Don’t call me that! My father was Turkish. It’s only my mother who’s a kafir.” He spits the words. They’d done a good job on him over the past months. Turning him from a boy without any self-respect into one of their own, well, one of the dummies who were prepared to blow themselves up anyway. Young and stupid, without a father’s guidance, the produce of his whore-mother’s holiday romance, fodder for the cause. It was easy really—radicalisation they called it—bringing them to the truth is what he and Bin Sayeed knew it was. And what was the truth? That all the kafirs must die or become slaves to make way for the Islamic State. They wouldn’t rest until the world was theirs to control—the way it should be, the way God wants it to be. They, the unbelievers, were vermin to be stripped from the world and he, Salman was part of the glorious work. Sure, when he’d first seen the beheadings and burnings he’d balked at the scenes, but as he came to realise it was the only way, as he’d learned that it was God’s will that deviants and enemies were eradicated, he’d relished each atrocity. Now, he would be carrying them out himself. As he slows the car to take the slip road, the heavy barrels in the boot of the car roll and bang. He smiles. There was enough petrol in there to set fire to half the town and that’s just what they were going to do tonight. The people wouldn’t know what hit them—or what burned them. He chuckles to himself as he shoots over the junction—no point checking for traffic—theirs was the only car on the road. Bin Sayeed had been smart like that—made sure they were still able to get around when all the kafirs would be squirming around like worms.
Blackout & Burn: A Complete EMP Thriller Series Page 34