When the children returned I was exhausted, it took all my energy to assuage the rage and hatred I had towards him. When Nikky saw us talking she grinned and gave me the thumbs up in excitement. I stayed for a short while longer until he started to teach. I told Nikky I was going home to change the baby and that I would be back. He was watching, but I spoke loudly enough for him to hear. He caught my eye and I nodded once. I hoped it would work.
It was done.
I cried uncontrollably as I tucked him in his blankets and kissed his forehead, my tears dampening his head and hair. I love you so much, so much my darling. Writing out the note for Hayley I finally said what I needed to say. I didn’t tell her everything involving Peter, but I told her the truth of the Unlands and what happens to those that are weak, and that I left in the hope to clear my head and heart of the demons of the past. I hinted heavily that I would be in the nearby woods looking for peace and that I would return. I hoped she’d understand. My backpack was heavy and cumbersome; I’d forgotten just how much it weighed. I’d grown soft and weak in the town, and there was no room for weakness now.
I made my way to the church and placed his note through the letterbox. I hoped he would understand, that he would believe me. I needed him to believe me and though I was only now ready to admit it, I needed him.
The beach and paths were clear and, grabbing the radio, I paused at the door and glanced back at his sleeping form. Already the pain threatened to be too much to bear but it was better this way, safer. I was leaving him alone. I never thought I would love someone so much as I did him, he filled my every thought, he was my reason for living now, the reason why I hadn’t ended my pain so long ago. It was for him that I did this. He deserved better, he wouldn’t understand, even I didn’t completely. A part of me – the rational part? – was screaming for me to turn around, tear up the notes and stay, to accept Peter and accept his deal to assure my baby’s safety.
Reaching the rock pools I continued to walk along the sand, if I was caught now then it would all be over, but he couldn’t be left alone. He needed protecting. I counted and switched the radio on.
“Glen?” There was a short pause.
“Kate?”
“Can you ask Hayley to go home, it’s urgent. I’m sorry.”
“What? What are you sorry for? Kate –”
“He’s worth it, Glen. He’s worth the fight.”
I switched off the radio, threw it into the water and carried on walking. He would be fine, Hayley would look after him. Hayley loved him. The steps fell heavier then and I struggled to lift each leg: it was done. I pictured her returning and calling for me, seeing my note. She would cry, I knew that. She would call Glen, and he would be forced to look for me, he would force him to look for me.
Reaching the rocky barrier, I cut my hands on the sharp and slippery black expanse as I crawled and lost my footing more times than I cared to count as I climbed across. The red water rolled away and disappeared against the black glossy surface. I gripped the stone tightly and dangled down the other side, my chest pressed against the slimy stone and my legs flailing desperately, the weight of my bag pulling me like an anchor. As my grip gave way I fell and landed heavily on my back, pulling and tearing my shoulder. The old injury flared up, and my vision blurred in agony. Weeping, I rolled to my hands and knees, sagging as my shoulder refused to support my weight. Gritting my teeth and swearing I dragged myself up and continued. I couldn’t stay here.
The further I walked, the rougher the ground became. The sand thinned and the golden beach was replaced by an expanse of stones. Looking behind I could no longer see the rocky barrier. It had been five hours now, my back ached and my chest was sore. A searing burn scorched my skin and it was as though a dozen hands tore at my insides. I’d cried yet again, stumbling through my tears and further away from my hope.
It was too hot. My skin was slick with sweat and the backpack rubbed against my hips and dug into my shoulders, chafing and painful. I reached the edge of the beach and struggled up a sharp incline, tugging at the tufts of long grass which peeked over the edge, and hauling my body steadily higher. It was so very green that I found myself standing and gazing around at the expanse, not considering the enemy, not paying attention. A field of daisies. I would spend hours sitting in the fields by my home with my MP3 player, making daisy chains and crowns trying to recapture my lost youth. Now, as I stared at the carpet of grass and the sprinkle of white flowers covering it I realised how much time I had wasted back then just doing nothing.
I needed to move, out of sight and as far from here as possible. Walking through the grass I watched three rabbits jump and scurry away in fear at my impending threat. I hadn’t seen rabbits since he took me hunting. Here there were two small ones, babies possibly, and one larger and darker furred bunny chasing them to safety. The flashes of their white tails made me smile involuntarily, but it was short-lived. I shivered. The rich smell of the small copse called to me, but he would find me there in the sparse collection of diseased elm trees. There was no place to hide or run should I be seen. I stepped through the shaded areas and savoured the quietness. No water, no wind and no chatter to distract my mind. I loosened the backpack and leaned against the nearest tree.
I still couldn’t find peace. He filled my every thought with his tiny face, those serious eyes, the smell of his skin. The churning and fluttering in my stomach was more than nerves and anxiety. I shouldn’t have left, how could I have left him? Alone and vulnerable? Emotions flooded me and I slid to the ground, crying into my hands. Loud, too loud, my sobs shuddered through me, echoing through the quietness and cutting the calm. The birds scattered and I flinched as two flew past my face, their wings flapping against my hands. I forced myself to stop, but moans still escaped as my body recklessly found a way to release the pain. I needed to be silent. It took an age. Each time I thought I was spent, a fresh melange of feelings rose and none of them soothing. My jaw was sore and my shoulder more so, while the pain was mirrored by that of my back and breasts.
He was overdue a feed, he would be missing me. I nearly started to cry again, but instead of a sob I took a sharp breath as a whistle carried through the air. Scrambling to my feet I tightened the clip of the backpack around my waist and moved through the trees, gripping and pulling at the bark and using it for leverage. I moved quickly, not stopping and not thinking until I reached a single track road now overgrown with brambles and hedges. Pausing briefly I took the compass from the small front compartment of the pack and headed north, turning left and crouching as far in the undergrowth as I could as I jogged. The high pitched sound of the far-too human whistle drove me on.
It was dusk when I reached the outskirts of a larger wood and what appeared to be an abandoned golf course. Long patches of overgrown grass stippled the flat area. Why had it not grown equally? I was standing in what once was a cared for fairway and instead the ground dipped and peaked like a badly fitted carpet. Useless now. The sun set low in front of me and I stumbled down the sharp incline into the partially covered sand bunker, where I sat and huddled against the dug-out curve of the ground. I couldn’t be seen from above, but I could be seen by anyone approaching from the front. The sand was filthy; seed casings from the trees overhead scratched at my skin, and I kicked and sifted the animal dung from my space. Removing the backpack I pulled myself up to the edge of the wood and snapped several large branches from the nearby trees – ensuring that the branches I took were spread equally from tree to tree. Dragging them over to the bunker I covered myself from those approaching from the south and sat with my eyes closed. Every sound carried in the stillness. The rustle of leaves in the cool wind and the sound of the wildlife were so enticing, but I knew better than to be lured and seduced into the darkness. He would be waiting: perhaps not here, but he was out there, of that I was sure.
He’d watched me for three days before capturing me. That small voice in the back of my head, the one that made no sense and speaks when not invited, whis
pered to me then: make it four before he finds you. It was a challenge of sorts and part of me revelled in it. But I wouldn’t, couldn’t, play the game of before. There was no tally to see who would win, there was him and there was me. He would not be underestimated again, not by me.
I slept badly. My body was now unused to the harshness of Unlands. Over two years of survival and learnt behaviour had been pushed aside and replaced with that luxury and caress of a bed. Waking often to the sharp stabbing reminder in my chest I cursed my lack of preparation and stretched my body along the sand, loosening the stiff, sore muscles. When I woke again the blackness of night had passed. Moving the branches, I saw the thin strip of red and copper haze of the sky: red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning. That was the saying wasn’t it? What would the shepherd be warning me of today? Dragging the branches back into the wood and hiding them in the undergrowth I smoothed over the sand in the bunker and made my way across the golf course, walking towards the sun and watching as it crept slowly across the sky.
The early morning chill melted away with each passing minute and I found myself thinking of everyone I ever knew in an attempt to stave away the ache. The morning I had met Stephen crept to the forefront of my mind like the sun creeping to its zenith. I recalled the way he had introduced himself in the coffee shop with an ill-timed and badly executed joke. I had forced a polite laugh and tried to walk away but something had stopped me. Fate? Divine Intervention? Curiosity? Boredom? I don’t know. I agreed to dinner after college. It was so unlike me, he was a stranger, older than I, with no sense of humour – well, none I had witnessed. Yet I was attracted to his smile and eyes. I cringe as I think back to how naive I was. That afternoon he picked me up in his red sports car and I was sold, he had the full package and I was eighteen and shallow: a fast car, great looks and he liked me, really liked me. Even as I remembered the way he kept glancing at me as we drove through the back roads with the roof down I couldn’t help but smile. He was funnier that afternoon, his nerves disappeared and he oozed a confidence that I found strangely intoxicating. What was the phrase? He rocked my world. I was enchanted from that moment onwards. Now I walked away from the only other person I had loved with such intensity, with more intensity.
I had moved full circle, in trying to push my thoughts from my little hope I had instead found my way back. But some of the pain had abated and instead I was simply tired and empty.
The golf course covered miles and it was mid-morning by the time I reached the far side. In the large clubhouse-cum-convention centre I sifted through the kitchen cupboards; they were all bare, stripped to the carcass by those who had passed through a long time before. I found two unlabelled tins which had rolled under the massive stainless steel fryer. Opening one, I smiled at the irony: peaches. Forcing the slimy slices down my throat, I emptied the tin and moved on, tucking the other tin in my backpack.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
While I had been inside, the smell of the morning air had faded, and the damp of the grass had been dried by the sun. It was bright. I should have brought sunglasses. I left the door open to the building and gazed around. There was a lot I should have brought with me, but were any of those things really necessary? I had managed alone with far less than I carried now: adaptation was the key.
I soon realised I was walking without purpose or thought. The woods had thinned and my dark red tee shirt seemed so conspicuous against the green and brown background. I could have been seen for miles. I needed to speed up and move back into the dense greenery ahead. Was this a forest? How would I tell? Why these thoughts sprang into my mind I didn’t know. It was uncomfortable out in the sun, and I wanted a breeze and some moisture to cool down and cleanse my skin.
A whistle, again. Another human voice? Was this a game? Was the whistler looking to tease me? Was there more than one? Would I be rounded up like a frightened rabbit and skinned?
I fumbled with the straps to my bag, tightening them as I ran; the constant bouncing of the backpack against my body irritating my already sore skin. I was so out of shape, the months of regular meals, of sitting around and socialising had made me soft and vulnerable. By the time I was under the cover of the trees I was sweating profusely and my knees were shaking: get a grip, for fuck’s sake. I was angry now, again, angry at myself and the weakness I displayed. I wasn’t incapable nor was I stupid and yet every noise, however small, made me jump and cringe. Pathetic. I had spent months away from him, months I could have spent working on these errant and unwanted emotions, but I hadn’t, and now I was weak; inside and out.
It was dark, crouched low by the misshapen trunk of an oak tree. The bark was soft under my hands and I found myself stroking it absent-mindedly as I craned my neck and struggled to hear the whistle again. A soft green powdery mould coated my fingers, and I wiped my hands on my jeans.
Silence again. What was the noise? Who was it? I tried to think logically, but I simply had no idea as to who would be whistling. Unrelated? Could it be another wanderer perhaps? Someone who wanted the peace and tranquillity of the coast? Yes. It could be.
That’s all it was. How many people had I seen wandering during my two years alone? It must have been over a hundred: I’d seen those with cheery faced and happy grins, those who whistled and sang. I never approached them – they were the most dangerous.
Soon I could only hear the sounds of a woodpigeon and for a small moment I was lost. The ground beneath my feet seemed to tilt and my vision blurred. With a blink the feeling disappeared and my clarity and vision returned. Swallowing, I breathed deeply and exhaled, stretching down and rolling my shoulders: fine, I was fine.
Courage is resistance to fear; that’s something ‘they’ said, or was it something I had read? I couldn’t remember. It was ridiculous repeating the phrase aloud while simultaneously trying to control my breathing and check my surroundings.
The woodpigeon called again and, moving out of the darkness of the forest towards the rays of light that cut into the green, I followed his calls deeper into the woodland. The more I touched the trees, the softer they became, there was no sun to warm and dry out the bark and ground. It was gentler here and the atmosphere was different to the open expanses. The further I walked, the quieter it became. Even the bird was silent now and I was conscious that every movement needed to be measured and controlled. It was odd, I was calmer alone and without supplies, without comfort or the blanket of safety that the town provided. Slipping off my backpack, I crouched under a huge blackthorn bush and swapped my red tee shirt for a dark black one.
Sitting back and hiding from sight I rubbed the damp soil between my fingers. The texture was so different from the sand to which I had grown accustomed. This was smooth and moulded to my skin; whereas the sand was gritty and everything I formed fell apart when touched.
It had been over twenty-four hours. I pictured him sleeping, being changed, fed, and then crying. If he was crying then Hayley wouldn’t know that he liked to have a finger run along his nose to lull him to sleep. He would miss that. Before I had a chance to stop them, tears slid down my face, I was crying silently but I was crying nonetheless. I wanted to kiss his cheek, to inhale his smell and hold him against me, the warmth of his tiny body merging with mine. The disquieting sounds of the world meant nothing as I worked at capturing that memory, making it my goal, my purpose. It was then that I knew his name, and that made me cry harder as the totality of my desperation for him hit me. I continued to cry, ignoring the milk from my breasts as it leaked through my clothes.
It seemed hours before I was in any state to move, and my already sore body was now stiff and tired. As I went to leave the crack of a branch and a cough stilled me. I shrank back under, pulling my legs close and using the dark green canvas of my bag to hide my jeans.
A pair of boots: black and scuffed, well-worn and travelled. They were large, a man’s and yet the wearer walked lightly, leaving barely a mark on the ground as they moved. I fought the urge to fidget. I wanted to look at t
he face of the wanderer and run from him, but it was safer to remain silent and still.
Twenty-two. That’s as far as I got before the boots moved, stepping to the right and facing the bush. I held my breath. If he bent down he would see me, the branches stopped almost a foot from the ground. One – he didn’t move, but I could see the dark green of his combats through the leaves. Two – I swallowed and panicked; it was too loud. Three – a rustle of something to the side of my head. A crawling sensation tickled in my hair and my heart started to thud. Four – the crawling moved closer to my ear, irritating my scalp. I had to move, brushing my head: a large, strange looking bug flew away, causing the slightest of noises. A cry caught in my throat. Five – the boots moved away and towards the centre of the forest.
I didn’t stop counting for a long time and it was only the dampness chilling me which forced me to move. I crawled on my stomach, dead fallen leaves sticking to my skin as my tee shirt rode up. I stopped and counted. I could hear the woodpigeon again, but no whistling, no coughing. I pulled myself up and brushed away the debris and mud. My left side was wet and uncomfortable. Twigs fell from my hair as I ran my fingers through and retied my ponytail. Kneeling, I secured my backpack. I ran my hands over the tracks of the boots. If I stayed to the left and worked my way around then I shouldn’t cross the path of the wanderer; unless he changed direction. The ground started to dip to the right, perhaps I should take the low ground? Follow the contour and valley away from the direction of the town? There would be more places to hide, the ridges and rocks would provide shelter.
He dragged me through a wood similar to this, chained like an animal, my back a huge scabbed wound. My feet a bleeding mess. I rubbed my wrist absently. There wasn’t a breath of wind and it was as though I was standing at a great precipice with no one to pull me back.
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