Trespassers

by Claire McFall

  Blank. Expressionless.

  It was the only emotion she could manage, because if she let herself feel anything, she might scream.

  Finally, Tristan curled in beside her. He didn’t even have time to get comfortable before Dylan rounded on him, her words thick with accusation. “You’re leaving me.”

  “What?” Tristan snaked his arms around her, squeezing her closer. “I’m right here.”

  “You’re going to leave me,” she repeated. “This plan of yours, going to the wasteland. You know… you know if you leave you won’t come back.”

  Silence. Dylan stayed subdued for the first five seconds of it then tried to wriggle out of Tristan’s arms. He wouldn’t let her.

  “Stop,” he pleaded. “Listen.”

  “Listen to what? You justify yourself? You did this before when you made me go through to the other side alone!” Dylan choked her words off, unable to control her volume. “Please, Tristan. You can’t just wander back and forth.”

  “I’m not leaving, Dylan,” he promised, “I’ve got an idea.” She waited. “If I tether myself to the real world, I should be able to go through and find my way back before the bomb explodes.”

  “Tether yourself?”

  “Like a safety line. The sort of thing climbers use.”

  “So you’re going to tie a rope around your waist and hope that you can pull yourself back, that’s your plan?” Her tone dripped with derision.

  “We have three days,” Tristan reminded her. “Two now. Do you have a better plan?”

  No. But going back to the tunnel, letting Tristan disappear into the darkness, leaving her all alone there…

  “I’ll go with you,” she blurted. “We’ll set the explosion together.”

  Tristan’s grip became steel bars around her. She felt the sudden tension in every line of his body. “No.”

  “Tristan!”

  “No.” A hard squeeze to emphasise his point.

  Dylan scowled in the darkness. So it was all right for him to go and not her? Did he not think she could manage? She’d survived on her own there… twice.

  “Why not?” she asked, her voice hard.

  “I need you on the other side,” Tristan said. “You’re what I’m tethering myself to.”

  Oh.

  Well. That did make sort of sense. But she still wasn’t happy about him going through on his own, and she’d argue it to death if, as Tristan had pointed out, she had a better idea. Which she didn’t.

  “If you don’t come back,” she told him, “I’m coming to get you.”

  Another squeeze, this one much gentler.

  “Good,” he said in her ear.

  He followed his words with a kiss to her earlobe. Then to her jaw, her neck. Finally her mouth. Residual anger and tension from their conversation kept her rigid and unyeilding for a heartbeat, but when he kissed her more deeply, she melted.

  She’d crossed the wasteland for him before, she’d do it again.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “Jack?” Susanna slipped into Jack’s bedroom. He was standing with his back to her, gazing out onto the urban sprawl below. Tension held every line of his body rigidly still. “Jack, I think I’ve got an idea.”

  “What?” he whirled to pin her with his gaze.

  “About breaking the connection between us.”

  “Go on then.”

  “I think I know someone who can help.”

  Silence. Only the noise of Jack’s mum hoovering the living room carpet – which she’d already gone over twice since this morning – broke the quiet.

  “I thought you didn’t know anyone else here,” Jack said at last.

  It was impossible to miss the aggression in Jack’s voice.

  “He’s not from here. Not originally, anyway. He’s another person like me. Another ferryman.”

  “Huh.”

  Jack didn’t say anything further and Susanna forced herself to wait. Jack had to agree to this. She couldn’t think of any other way to get to Tristan – because nobody moved Jack when he didn’t want to.

  Please, she thought. Come on.

  To her surprise, instead of spearing her with his gaze and interrogating her with a series of rapid-fire questions, he fixed his eyes over her shoulder, down the hallway.

  “That’s right. Got to make sure everything’s perfect before he comes home.” His lip was curled up into a sneer.

  “What?” Susanna blinked, totally thrown. The noise of the hoover increased again as Jack’s mum continued to clean. Oh. “Your stepdad’s coming back?”

  “Yeah, can’t wait.” It was easy to hear the sarcasm in Jack’s voice, but Susanna also caught a tremor of trepidation.

  “Where’s he been?” she asked, aware that she was on thin ice. Jack didn’t like personal questions, and she knew he definitely didn’t like his stepdad.

  “Working,” Jack spat out. “He’s a truck driver. Long haul, so he’s away for days at a time. Wish he’d just stay away.” Jack’s gaze cut back to her, several things moving behind the dark of his eyes. “This ferryman,” he began.

  “Tristan,” Susanna said. Adrenaline had her heart beating faster just saying his name aloud.

  “Tristan?” Jack raised his eyebrows scornfully. He rolled his eyes. “You know where he is?”

  Ah. That was the sticking point.

  “Kind of,” Susanna hedged.

  “What does ‘kind of’ mean?” Jack advanced half-way across the room. “You do or you don’t.”

  “I do!” Susanna reassured him, grimacing internally at the tiny white lie. “I mean, I know the general direction.”

  “What?”

  “South.”

  “South?” Jack repeated, then paused. Susanna nodded. “Just south? That’s it?”

  “Well… south-west.”

  “Are you serious?” Another step forward put Jack within arm’s reach. It wasn’t a big room. “How the hell are we meant to find him if all you know is that he’s anywhere south of us, in the whole world?”

  “I can sense him,” Susanna promised. “He’s close. In the same country as us. We can feel each other. And it’s stronger the closer we are. If you just take me in his general direction, I’ll be able to find him. I promise, Jack.”

  Susanna was almost positive that was a promise she could keep. And even if she couldn’t, she was willing to take the risk. She had to get to Tristan. She hadn’t gotten as far as she had, chanced as much as she had, to give up now and be stuck with Jack for the rest of her mortal life.

  Jack opened his mouth to respond at the same time as the hoover cut off. The sudden quiet was distinctly uncomfortable. As was the way Jack suddenly changed his mind. Reaching to the side of Susanna, he grabbed his jacket off its hook and chucked her one of his mum’s thick cardigans.

  “Right then, let’s go.” Jack started purposefully towards the door, an agitated prowl, as if he’d storm right through her.

  Susanna did the only sensible thing: got out of his way. Relief made her giddy and her legs felt wobbly as she hurried after him. They were going to find Tristan. She almost couldn’t believe it.

  “Come on,” Jack prodded, and Susanna did her best to move faster, even though she didn’t understand the sudden rush.

  That became clear just as they reached the front door.

  The startlingly loud sound of a key in the lock stopped Jack in his tracks. His mum rushed to the sofa and started frantically plumping the cushions again.

  Susanna watched the door as it opened, half-expecting the devil to walk in, even though she’d already seen the man in Jack’s memories. He was very ordinary looking – a wiry build, average height. His brown hair was thinning above a narrow face with sharp features. He wasn’t related to Jack by blood, but somehow he seemed to have the same cold, cold eyes. They swept the room as he walked in, only pausing on Susanna for a millisecond before moving on. They ran the length of Jack, who was stood taut and tense, fists clenched, then took in the spotless room before
finally resting on Jack’s mum. She offered him a timid smile.

  “You’re home,” she greeted.

  “I am,” he said.

  Taking three more steps into the room he dumped his bags and jacket down on the sofa before enfolding Jack’s mum in a hug. Did Susanna imagine her slight flinch at his touch? She wasn’t sure. She definitely didn’t imagine the way Jack braced for battle when his stepdad pulled back and turned his attention to him.

  “Jack,” he rumbled. His eyes darted to Susanna again, and she felt the chill all the way across the room. “Who’s this?”

  “Jack’s friend. She’s been staying for a couple of days.” Jack’s mum offered the information with a hopeful smile.

  “I see.” Jack’s stepdad licked his lips. “Running a B&B, are we?” There was a razor sharp edge to the words.

  “We’re just off,” Jack blurted to his mum before she had to answer her husband’s question, positioning his body between them.

  “That’s a good idea,” his stepdad said, saccharine sweet.

  Jack looked like he wanted to say something back – or do something with the right fist that he was clenching and unclenching, but the possibility of escape was too tempting to pass up. Without another word, he stalked out. Susanna followed hot on his heels.

  “Jack,” she called, chasing down the stairs after him. The fire door burst open as he shoved at it with both hands. “Jack, wait.”

  He didn’t respond, going so fast that Susanna felt the pull between them, a sharp twinge in her side, and had to run, gasping and holding onto the site of the phantom stab wound.

  Jack didn’t slow until he’d erupted out of the building into the open air of the forecourt. Then he stood, breathing hard, like an enraged bull. With a strangled yell, he turned to the side and threw a fist into the already dented side of a white van.

  “Are you OK?” she asked.

  “Fine,” Jack grunted, the angry glitter in his eyes giving Susanna a different answer.

  “Your dad seems—”

  “He’s not my dad.”

  “Your stepdad, then, he seems—”

  Jack slashed a hand violently across the air, cutting her off again. “I don’t want to talk about him. Let’s go.”

  Jack stalked through the streets until the residences thinned into shops and then, finally, businesses and industrial units. It was much quieter here, even though the work day had started. A lot of the buildings had FOR SALE or TO LET signs hanging above them. Even the places that were still open looked in need of some repair. Susanna shivered. It wasn’t exactly cold, but there was little warmth about the place.

  This far away from the flat, Jack’s temper seemed to have cooled and she felt it was safe to try and talk again. Not that that was ever all that safe with Jack.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “You want to go find your ferryman, right?”

  Susanna nodded dumbly.

  “Well, we need a way to get there.”

  OK. She looked around again, still confused. There wasn’t a bus stop or a train station in sight. No taxis either. The only vehicle moving was an old transit van chugging out towards the town centre.

  Jack read the bewilderment on her face.

  “We need to pick up a ride.”

  “A ride?” Susanna repeated blankly. “But you don’t have a car.” Or a licence, she was fairly certain.

  “I can fix that,” Jack crowed, suddenly looking a lot more cheerful. “I’m a master at hot wiring.”

  Susanna wasn’t entirely sure what hot wiring was, but that didn’t help her sense of foreboding as she trudged along behind Jack, who had already started scouting for ‘something decent’.

  That turned out to be a neat little blue hatchback. Parked in a discreet patch of shadow between two looming buildings, it looked clean and well cared for, its age only told by the little spots of rust that were starting to creep up from the wheel arcs.

  Jack stepped closer, a sliver of something glinting in his hand. Susanna watched silently as, in one smooth movement, he slid it down between the door and the glass of the driver’s side window. There was a quiet click and the next second Jack was tugging the door open. “Ladies first,” he said, smirking at Susanna as he held the door open for her to slide over to the passenger side.

  Susanna hesitated. Perhaps it was denial, but she hadn’t quite realised that they were planning to steal a car until this point. Stealing a car. That wasn’t petty shoplifting or graffiti, the kinds of things Jack did on a regular basis. It was a real crime. If they were caught…

  But she knew she didn’t have much choice. If she tried to balk, it’d be an ugly scene, and she’d still end up riding in a stolen vehicle. Besides, a car was the best mode of transport for her hazy sense of Tristan’s location. Grimacing, she ducked down and crawled inside. It would be worth it. Worth it to get to Tristan.

  “Now what?” she said. She might not know much about how things worked in this world, but she did know that generally cars needed keys to start them.

  “Just wait,” Jack said, eyes slicing to hers, crinkled with humour. He held them as his fingers fumbled with something just underneath the steering wheel. Suddenly a tiny light flashed in the darkened well, then the car coughed to life. “Yessss!”

  This was him in his element. He forced the car into gear and then, with a screech of tyres, they took off.

  Though Jack couldn’t have a licence – he wasn’t old enough, Susanna was sure – the way he handled the car told her that this was not the first time he’d driven one. With spins of the steering wheel and quick, smooth changes of gear, he whisked them round the tight corners of the industrial estate and then, when he hit a dual carriageway, he hammered down on the accelerator, powering forward so hard that Susanna was thrust back into her seat.

  “So,” he said, fiddling with the buttons on the radio until a heavy bass started thumping through the speakers, almost drowning out the sound of his voice as he yelled. “South-west?”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  They took the same route to the tunnel as before, bomb-making kit crammed heavily into their school bags. There wasn’t enough space in the luggage compartment for their bags, but Tristan didn’t want to let them out of his sight, anyway. He arranged them carefully between their feet on each bus, with a warning to Dylan not to jostle too much.

  “They could explode?” she asked in a furious whisper.

  “No,” Tristan said, though he didn’t look convinced. “But there are chemicals in there that really shouldn’t mix. At least, not till we’re ready.”

  The walk to the train tracks was much easier this time because Dylan’s legs had healed enough to manage the rough terrain. Despite that, she walked slowly, trailing behind Tristan who was burdened with the two rucksacks. Her dillydallying didn’t seem to make the walk to the tunnel any longer; all too soon it loomed before them.

  Dylan had worried there might be workers on site, the train company feeling the pressure to get the line up and running again as soon as possible. Tristan disagreed, though. He’d read that work would have to halt until the police enquiry into the four men’s murders was completed… and given that they’d been killed by a wraith from the afterlife, he doubted they’d have made much progress. As they approached, Dylan saw that Tristan had been right – and wrong.

  There were no works vans or signs of construction. No digging, sawing or hammering. But someone had clearly been here since their last adventure, because a wooden barrier had now been erected at the tunnel entrance.

  KEEP OUT was spray-painted across the plywood, and police tape criss-crossed over it for good measure.

  Dylan paused, but Tristan kept going until he stood right in front of the makeshift blockade. He sighed. “We’ll just have to bash it down as best we can.” He gave it a frustrated kick and the whole thing quivered. “It doesn’t seem very substantial.”

  It wasn’t. Tristan was able to pull the entire barrier away from the opening in one piece.


  “Wait!” Dylan said a heartbeat too late as Tristan shoved the ungainly sheets of thin wood to the side. “What about wraiths?”

  “It’s daytime,” Tristan reminded her. He glanced up at the sky, heavy with rainclouds. “This is still too bright for them out here.” He made a face. “Just about.”

  Hunkering down just inside the shelter of the tunnel, he unzipped one bag and pulled out two heavy-duty torches.

  “Here,” he said, handing one to Dylan. “This might help keep them at bay better than your phone light. You stay here and I’ll go and check to see if there are any lurking further down.”

  He shone his torch briefly down the depths of the tunnel, where its beam was soon swallowed by the dark.

  “Tristan—”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  He didn’t give her any more time to argue. Shrugging one of the rucksacks onto his back, he started walking into the tunnel, the beam dancing and weaving round every curve of the arched ceiling, every dark corner near the ground. Dylan watched too, her eyes hunting for the darting, whirling mass of a wraith, but as Tristan walked further away from her, all the torch did was create more shadows. It was impossible to see.

  Wrapping her arms around herself, she turned and stared out across the bleak landscape. The railway tracks cut a straight line across the heather to the horizon, and on either side low hills rose and fell away from her. Unlike in the wasteland, here she could make out the odd farm house or country cottage and further on, the blurred glow of a small town. It was an uninviting setting, but not an empty one.

  It started to rain, droplets saturating her hair. Her jacket – new, but still inexpensive – wasn’t as waterproof as the label had claimed and she felt the damp chill on her shoulders. She could step back into the shelter of the tunnel, but she found it preferable just to get wet. She didn’t intend to spend longer than necessary in there when the time came.

  She blew out a breath. She felt sick, agitated – and it wasn’t just because Tristan was steadily increasing the distance between them. No, it was just this place. God, it gave her the creeps. If Tristan’s plan to collapse the tunnel in the wasteland worked, she was never coming here ever again.