Anna

  For a fleeting moment I thought this to be a massacre of the war, or perhaps a final resting place for those who had suffered a plague; but the barely sunken-eyes, the cool skin and recognisable red patched jacket of Neil Proctor told me this was the community’s closet, and the place where they hide their skeletons. Scrupulously just, words on the wind, but it was an echo, just an echo. How a community deals with its enemies. Blind with ignorance I stumbled here as I had there. I allowed this to happen.

  Another downpour, water rose, pulling us closer. The man at my side, he helped, and so I followed his outstretched white hand and grabbed the root that reached down to me. Pulling, I dug my cupped hand into the perfectly straight wall, but it fell away and a sob escaped as I landed face down on my guide who slept silently in the gloom, never to speak or be spoken to again. Hope, my hope, I did this for you. I’m sorry. Closing my eyes, I rolled to my side, and the smell of long forgotten sin lingered in the air between us. I am everyone here and yet I cannot stay. Opening my eyes, the rigid trees stand to attention.

  The dark gloom of the sky continued to fall. I then saw the first bird of the afternoon. A black crow sitting on the branch of the oak tree. Dark eyes full of life stared back at me. Dark eyes. The mud, the grey, brown, white chalky earth had consumed me. My skin couldn’t breathe and yet I continued to move in the rising water. My hands lost in the pool. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. To each of the fallen I apologised as I clambered and disrupted their rest. The touch of a hand, the feel of hair and unnaturally warmed and wet skin. I’m sorry. I didn’t look for long, fearful that I would recognise one or worse, more, of those I clambered over. The crow watched, I could feel his stare. Judging from high, looking down, anticipating.

  As I rose, standing on the shoulders of one who had fallen, I was carried high and could see through the rain and into the trees. Throwing my pack and reaching up I dug my hands into the ground and my toes into the wall of the grave. I whispered a final apology and, closing my eyes, I pulled my body from the despair. The mud slipped across my stomach and arms, and my wrists ached. I couldn’t let go. Willing myself forward I stabbed my left foot higher up the barricade, twisting and turning. The mud gave way and my shoulder jarred. I stabbed again. Deeper. I ignored the tears that ran down my face and mixed with the rain. I ignored the taste of smoke, of ash, of mud, of lies and death that crawled around my mouth. The water continued to fall, forgive me, each drop washing a little more away. I was clean and yet the grey-brown soil enveloping my skin was still my shroud. I heaved again, stabbing the wall and thinking of those I had left behind, those I had left when they needed me. My family, Stephen, the man and his family, the women from the town, the boy in the field, of Kat and her scowl, of Ben and Ella. I dug deeper, my cheek now resting on the ledge of the grave. The lovers: they continued to stare at one another, grimly gay, their faces slowly disappearing into the swirl of grey. With one final pull I broke free and stared at the sky from the safety of the forest floor.

  The crow hadn’t moved, but as I turned my head and watched him, our eyes connecting, he called out and rose from the branch, flying free and away from the death. Away from me. I was alive. The old lie: it is sweet and right.

  Chapter Thirty

  I stood at the doorway of the small information hut, leaning against the wood and watching the sky. By the time I had summoned enough energy to move from the graveside it was dark, and yet, I had stumbled through the black and shades of grey to the open arms of the woodland and eventually, my shelter.

  Pinks and reds swam across the canvas of the sky. The storm had broken and a ray of light pierced through the clouds, hitting the ground and creating a dazzle of blues and whites. The chirps and tweets of life called out – the scurrying along the floor, the cries from the skies. Each sound bright and crisp. Rubbing my arms the dried mud curled and scabbed away. I changed my clothes and dragged a brush through my knotted and caked hair. With each stroke, death and smoke were released. When I finished, the sun had broken through the red haze and burnt the morning warning away. I needed to keep moving.

  I walked back to the grave and left my filthy clothes at the side, it was closer than I thought, perhaps four hundred metres from the hut and I stood far from the side, not needing to look in again. Scanning the area, a well-worn gravel path led to the main asphalt covered road.

  The weather had slowed me down; yesterday I had covered just five miles. I didn’t want to go too far from the settlement, and needed to make my presence known to him. He could be anywhere, close, perhaps even watching. It was a curious feeling. The all-consuming fear no longer stilled me and instead a flutter of eagerness and relief tickled me. I was tired, and filthy.

  Months of cleanliness, of civilisation washed away in one night. Civilisation. I thought then of the horrors I had seen, that I had been a part of. The Proctors. Did the whole town know? Was this the price to be paid for peace? I had so many questions but hunger and thirst overruled my conscience and instead I dragged my feet along the road. I hadn’t removed my boots during the night and my feet were still damp and sore. If I took them off now, I wouldn’t be able to put them back on. I had blisters, I was sure. That biting sting mid-heel was too ripe to ignore, but I had to try.

  With my compass in my hand and a head full of thoughts, I walked past the layby and continued along the road. Something forced me to stop, and turning, I walked back. A dark green and deliberately hidden car was partially covered with broken branches. Automatically I moved to the treeline and hid. I sat for a long time. Still and waiting, but it was just the forest. Opening the driver’s door, the smell of well cared for leather and polish greeted me as I climbed into the seat. The backseats were empty, but in the foot well of the passenger’s side there was a small grey bag. As I opened it, a mobile battery pack and radio lay cushioned in a case with a map of the area. Switching it on I recognised the frequency and channel: the town. The static hummed, and I crawled through the car checking for supplies, or better, keys. No voices, just silence. Checking under the car mats, in the visors, door cards, and chair pockets I searched for the keys, but there was nothing. Eventually I remembered: the front right wheel. My chest filled with relief as I found them there and, as I turned the key in the ignition, I thanked Deven for letting me know where they all kept their keys.

  As the needle rose I grinned. Nearly a full tank, and with a car this size I could cover good distance if needed. Manoeuvring out of the layby I navigated with the small built-in dash compass and continued west. The radio still crackled and driving along the road I opened the window. The diesel engine knocked and chugged and that nagging fear was back. Too loud. Even the tyres spraying through surface water sounded like a roar.

  Trees, trees, more trees, the countryside blurred as I drove through the forest. Pockets of water stippled the ground and twice I struggled with the steep inclines as the asphalt road changed to mud and gravel. As I shifted down a gear, a voice cut across the radio:

  “Team two to control, negative on quadrant alpha three. Moving to four.”

  I couldn’t stop. I needed the momentum. But I wanted to listen, to see what was negative, what they were looking for. Through the static I struggled to recognise the voice.

  “Control received. Believed that subject may be as far as quadrant charlie fourteen.”

  Was that Simon? I couldn’t tell. It sounded like him, but also a little like Rich, or even Glen. Gripping the wheel tighter with my right hand I turned the radio up.

  “Team one to control, just checking in, negative up to quadrant charlie seven, moving westward and remaining in quadrants bravo and charlie.”

  That was him, of that I was sure. Sure and confident.

  “Roger that team one, further supplies have been dropped off at charlie twelve.”

  They continued to discuss quadrants. There were six teams out looking. I presumed they looked for me and I guessed there was no escape, no mercy for me. I had turned my back on Simon’s caution, he wouldn’t let me re
turn unscathed. He had said as much. I could remember the smile when he warned me in the library. I didn’t know how Simon and Will knew each other, but their bond ran deeper than camaraderie: they had shared something. Perhaps I would be able to walk back through the gates unmolested if I just stopped now and returned with him and forgot everything I had seen. Perhaps I should return with them and show them both that he didn’t own me. That I was a free person; but it was an impossibility, there was no scenario I could think of where he didn’t win and possess us both. My body reacted then, an involuntary sound escaped my lips as it protested at the thought and I allowed the grimace to remain on my face as I listened to the last of the radio chatter die away. Quadrants, numbers, letters.

  Pulling over I unfolded the map and followed the hand-drawn grids. It looked as though a net had been cast across the paper and the curved lines were divided into sectors. I found my location and then his. He was close. He would be at the grave soon and he would see the car was gone. I needed to pause and give him time to realise. Never underestimate your enemy.

  And so I switched off the engine and waited, he needed time to catch up with me, I wasn’t thinking this through.

  “Team one to control. I’ve found signs of the subject, and vehicle four is gone. Is it scheduled for service or in use?” My heart almost stopped as I waited for the reply. It was silent for nineteen seconds.

  “Negative team one. Vehicle four should be in situ. Wait there. Wheels being brought to your location.”

  Time to move. I jumped out the vehicle. He would find it and follow me. I was sure. The aches from the day before tormented me and I smelt of stale sweat and sour milk.

  I had to leave him. I would leave him if I had to get him food; I would leave him if I had to get some medicine which would save him; I would leave him to ensure his life. I must leave him to ensure he had the right life, to ensure he didn’t become him.

  In a fit of desperation I picked up the radio and spoke:

  “Are you there, Will?”

  My only reply was static. I don’t know if I expected him to reply, or even if he was listening and his radio was on, if he replied, I didn’t know what I would say. Would I taunt him or simply give him my location? There was nothing. One hundred.

  “I’m heading back to the grave.”

  Clipping the radio to my jeans I emptied the car of anything of use and circled the nearby woods on the map. Shaking, I left the map under the windscreen wiper and set off down the road with my pack.

  I came across a small travelling community. The small collection of vans, caravans and large vehicles encased with portable metal fencing and solar lights protected their perimeter, and even across the field I could hear the laughter of children and the murmurs of conversation and music. During my time in the Unlands I’d seen several communities like this one and always kept my distance, declining their warm welcomes and encouragements to dine and travel with them. Right now, I surprised myself, for I yearned for company and strength in numbers, for rest and easy conversation and laughter, but it would be fucking stupid to stop and so with reluctance I kept moving.

  The radio remained silent. What was I doing? He could have taken any number of roads, any number of turns. There were miles and miles of countryside between us.

  It was already mid-afternoon, and I remembered something Will told me months before, when he kept me chained to the wall in his cell. I’m a patient man. That’s what he had said. Every time he wore down my defences he had done so in a precise and calculated way. He had planned each move and I had reacted just the way he had anticipated. Except the night he first raped me.

  Walking away from the traveller site and the possibility of refuge, I turned the radio down at my hip and stamped the mud from my boots on the tarmac. While it was warm, there was a cool chill in the air that left me feverish. The flaking picket fence that ran along the side of the country road looked sad. The brown of the paint and silver of the wood resembled a disease and stretched as far as I could see. A cracked and toppled telephone pylon seemed to balance precariously in the middle of the field while two horses grazed lazily between the slack thick cables. I hadn’t seen a horse for months. I watched them flick their tails and twitch their ears with casual confidence. The large farmhouse was nothing more than a pile of ruined rubble and charred wood, but a tiny brick house stood alone just forty or so metres away. I sat behind the hawthorn bush and continued to watch them while picking and nibbling at the berries. The grass was damp and sweet-smelling; within minutes my backside was cold and wet. Closing my eyes, I listened and tried to block out the bitter aftertaste that assaulted my mouth. In the distance I could hear the familiar beat of music and the odd note. I was at least a mile from the travellers. There were so few people left and yet I was so surrounded.

  A flash of blue to my right made me turn as the front door of the old farm worker’s house opened. An elderly lady walked out with a young man – her grandson, perhaps? She watered the immaculate hanging baskets that framed her front door while he stood scanning the road with his shotgun in his hands. She struggled to raise the can, and with his other hand he reached up for her. She patted his arm. With a final cursory glance he looked around and escorted her back inside with tender love, closing the door.

  I needed to keep moving. If this was to end then I had to keep going. It was a little too late for apologies and mistakes. The walls that I had built came tumbling down, and I didn’t have a choice. It was a risk, but one worth taking. Taking the long way around and avoiding the rectory I waded through the soggy field to the woods that curved along the roadside. It was dark and musty as I stepped under the canopy. Within moments my boots were caked in mud once more and it was cold. I tried the radio frequencies again and hearing nothing I switched the machine off and packed it away. I didn’t need the distraction; it would slow me down to be regularly checking the airwaves for a voice and a sign that I wasn’t alone.

  I strode further back into the woodland. Bright berries and vines twisted around the trunks of the trees like a strangling snake. Yew berries. Poisonous. There were so many, they had overrun and smothered the other plants. I continued to walk and the further I went, the more hostile was the terrain. The land was guiding me to the grave and I couldn’t deny it. As the trees became denser and thicker, I climbed up an oak and scanned the horizon. My attention was caught by the sudden bolting of a Muntjac. I almost slipped from the branch. It was him. He stood there at the edge of the clearing in his black lightweight jacket and his cargo trousers; he looked at home in the forest. Could he see me? I gauged that I was about a hundred feet away, but if he was to look up to his right, then he might just see my blue jeans.

  He didn’t though; he sat by the side of a fallen tree, removing his bag and hunting knife. The blade glinted in the sun and I watched as he deftly created a snare loop. His fingers moved quickly and all the while he gazed around, assessing his surroundings. I didn’t move. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I had no way of approaching him without being seen, I would have to wait.

  Staking the snare, he backed away from the trap and waited. My backside was numb and my legs tingled, but I didn’t want to move.

  It was close to an hour before anything happened. Then I watched as a rabbit became tangled and he strode over and killed it, attaching it to his bag and sitting down again. He massaged his right thigh and I noticed the way his body tensed and his shoulders rose as he did. After he stopped he spent over ten minutes with his head in his hands before setting off into the forest. As he disappeared I moved quickly and hit the floor with a thud. I couldn’t lose him now. Running lightly, I followed his tracks and slowed as I reached the area where I lost sight of him and swivelled the bag around, taking out my own weapon and tucking it into the back of my trousers.

  As I knelt and touched the indentations in the mud, I craned my neck and kept a look out, tuning out the whistling of the birds and the whisper of the leaves. I needed to concentrate on the abnormal sounds, human s
ounds. He’d headed this way, but then turned and walked back again. I slowly continued through the undergrowth, crouching and moving in the shadows of the trees. There was a flash of black ahead and I caught my breath. But I followed slowly, stretching and stepping in the shadows. The wind came from behind, cooling my back and neck. He stopped and I darted into the shade of the tall goosegrass. Fifteen feet ahead, that was nothing. Shit, if he turned around he would find me. Not here, this wasn’t right. I shrank further back and waited, and through the gaps I saw him look around, frowning. I itched to step out and see the expression of surprise on his face: but not here. He moved and I increased the distance between us by another ten feet. I watched the rabbit swing limply from his bag.

  The adrenalin was tiring; it flooded my being and controlled my body. I followed him instinctively, matching his pace and step, pausing when he paused, quickening when he quickened.

  Later, from a tree high above I watched as he lit a fire and skinned the rabbit. He worked in silence. Of course.

  I didn’t sleep. I concentrated on him and every movement he made. He ate the rabbit; the smell of the tender meat made me salivate, but I couldn’t open a tin, not here, and I ignored my stomach. As he stamped out the flames and leant against my tree, pulling his hood down over his face, I smiled. The smile spread across my face and I found myself laughing hysterically inside. He had no idea, absolutely none. I could finish it here. Right now. He wouldn’t know it was coming. But no, I wanted him to see me and see what I could do. I win, your turn.