by Neil White
‘Come with me or I leave it tight and you’ll die out here.’
Alice nodded vigorously, her heels banging on the ground.
He left it a few moments longer, just so that she got the message, and then let it slacken, just enough to let her suck in air. He gripped her cheeks with one hand, squeezing so that she pouted. ‘All you have to do is keep up.’
He lifted her onto her feet and set off again along the bed of the stream. His shoes were slippery on the stones and Alice struggled to keep up, barefoot and cold, whimpering, crying, and now gasping as the rope stopped her from getting decent breaths.
‘Farrell!’
It was Hunter again. He just needed to get out of sight and away from where the photograph had been taken. There were no blue lights or sirens though.
The slope of the streambed got steeper and the sound of running water became louder. There was more water ahead as the slopes around him got higher, the tops marked out by rugged clusters of rocks. He had to keep heading downwards.
He tried to pick up the pace but Alice fell, crying out, muffled through her gag. It pulled the rope tight around her throat. He reached behind to slacken it. It wasn’t her time, not yet. He might need her to trade. She sucked in air through the gag and coughed loudly.
He thumped her, his fist hard on her cheek. ‘Shut up,’ he hissed.
Alice curled up, cold and scared, the water running past her, soaking her, only the gag stopping her from wailing loudly. He’d hurt her.
He turned back. It was of no consequence. It would all end soon. Just not like this.
‘Farrell, you sick fucker! Where are you?’
Hunter again.
Declan knew Hunter would keep going. Hunter knew all his secrets, where the bodies were buried, who they were. It was Declan’s way of torturing him, the control, that Hunter could only stand and watch as Declan did his thing, because he had Hunter’s secret. Now it was out and Hunter would want revenge. Declan understood revenge, but control was important. Hunter was angry and that would make him act rashly.
But Declan knew it was time to keep moving.
‘Come on,’ he said to Alice and pulled the rope tight again, so that it puckered the skin on her neck. He gripped her by her upper arm, her bone small in his grip, her arm weak.
He started running again, going downhill, skipping over the rocks, rugged and uneven, so that they both struggled to keep their feet. Alice was exhausted, and they had to keep stopping whenever she fell so that he could pull her back up again. The stream stopped winding and headed more directly downwards. The steady twist of grassy spurs opened out towards the silver gleam of water, lit up by the moon. Reservoirs. He wasn’t thinking far ahead, lost in the moment, but he needed to get to the road below. He could flag down a car and deal with the occupant and get just enough miles away to hide.
Alice fell again.
Farrell stopped. He could leave Alice behind and make good his escape. Hunter would never catch him, but that was a happy ending. He had never done happy endings and Sam and Joe Parker didn’t deserve one. They had brought this about. Alice wasn’t going to walk away from it, not even with scars, visible or invisible.
But he would be caught if he kept her with him. She was slowing him down. He couldn’t bury her, as his spade was back in the derelict cottage.
Then he remembered something.
The fast bubble of water was getting louder as they went. There was another valley joining, the two streams combining and falling into a concrete pool, held back by a weir. There was a tunnel, large and round, eight feet high, brick-lined, with green slime gathered at the entrance. It was a diversion for the stream, ensuring that the water was collected rather than allowed to sink into the soft peat. It sent it through the hill and down to the reservoir, water coursing through it at knee-height.
They set off again, Alice struggling, his arm hooked under hers, almost dragging her on her knees. They slid together down a grassy bank, the noise of the water getting louder. Then he saw it.
The mouth of the tunnel gaped darkly, a black circle against the murky shadows elsewhere. Water gathered around the entrance, the tunnel narrower than the concrete pool in front of it, so that it rushed through. Access to it was gained by clambering over a stone wall and into the pool. He lifted Alice over first, losing his grip on the rope as she slid down and into the water. She went under the surface, unable to break her fall with her arms behind her back. He followed her over the wall and gasped as the cold water soaked him. He looked down at Alice as she struggled to get to her knees, her hair floating in the water. She pushed herself up eventually and coughed through her gag, but the sound was lost in the rush of the stream. She sucked in air through her nostrils, her eyes wide with fear and cold.
He reached for her and pulled her to her feet. She was shivering. He dragged her through the water, Alice slipping on the floor of the pool, until they entered the brick mouth of the tunnel.
The darkness enveloped them as they entered, the glow from the moon gone. The water was smoother, with no rocks or diversions to make it ripple, but it was moving more quickly. The bricks were treacherous from the wetness and the way they had worn smooth through the years. The tunnel sloped downwards and their splashes echoed as they went. Water dripped from the ceiling.
‘Keep going,’ he said, and tried to walk more quickly.
There was the sound of more water ahead. It was like something being emptied into the tunnel, a pipe spewing something out.
They kept going for another fifty yards, Declan always looking out for something to tether Alice to, when he saw it.
There was some light making it in from above, casting a weak shaft of silver moonlight against a stream of water cascading into the tunnel, like a direct fall. Caught in the faint gleam were the narrow rungs of a ladder.
As they got underneath it Declan saw that the ladder led up and out of the tunnel, the rungs tight against the wall and disappearing down into the water. Water streamed over it, another hilltop stream being diverted the quick way down the hill.
He took the rope from around Alice’s neck and knelt down in the water. He tied it around the bottom rung as Alice stood and shivered, too exhausted and cold to run. He dragged her to her knees, then took the rope he had looped around the rung and threaded it through the one that bound her wrists. He pulled it tight so that it forced Alice backwards into the water.
Her eyes opened wide with shock as she fell onto her back and was lost in the fast flow of water through the tunnel as it headed down towards the reservoir far below in the valley. Her hair thrashed around as she struggled to gain some balance, until she came bursting back to the surface, her teeth clenched around the gag.
Declan fastened the knot tightly around the rung and grabbed her hair, pulling her shoulders free of the surface. ‘You won’t last.’ He had to shout to make himself heard above the water streaming down from above. ‘Sam will always blame himself for not being quick enough.’
He kissed her on her forehead. ‘Goodbye, Alice.’
With that, he threw her back into the stream and set off the way he had come, up the tunnel, splashing through the water. He paused for one last look along as he got to the exit. He couldn’t see her. Just a long torrent heading into pitch blackness.
He ran out of the tunnel. He stopped and listened for Hunter but there was no sound. There was the faint flicker of a torch on a hill higher up the valley. He was searching up there.
Declan climbed back over the stone wall and was ready to run along the reservoir path when blue lights lit up the sky ahead. The police. They were heading his way, coming from below, not from behind, the way he had come.
Shit!
He turned around, trying to decide what to do. There was a shout from the hilltop further along. Hunter had seen him.
He looked up the high slope that towered over him, a steep climb to high rocky outcrops. Once on the top though, it was open moorland. That was his only escape.
; He started running.
‘Where are they?’ Joe said.
They were at the cottage, looking around, turning, trying to see shapes in the darkness. There were just the high sides of the valley that made the reservoir below. The hills rose steeply in front of them, making all the noises bounce around, so that their sources were hard to pinpoint. There were flashes of colour lighting up the sky ahead, but he couldn’t see how close they were.
Then Mary pointed and gripped his arm. ‘There,’ she said.
Joe followed her direction, squinting, and then he saw. There was some movement ahead, high on the moors, more than the slow ramble of a sheep. There was a light source, like a thin torch, but it bounced, just giving glimpses of the dark heather. It was someone moving quickly.
‘Is that him, with Alice, or Hunter?’ she said.
‘I can’t tell,’ Joe said. ‘We need to find another way. Whoever it is, they’re too far ahead.’ He pointed towards the valley. ‘Down there.’
They both scrambled towards the rocky streambed, stumbling and moving as quickly as they could, the water cold, their shoes splashing loudly.
They lost sight of the light as they carried on downwards, swallowed up by the hills, but Joe wanted to be there when whoever was there came down from the moors; he couldn’t stay up there for ever. It was too bleak and exposed.
The stream curved its way through the hills before the narrow valley opened out, the shine of water ahead. The flickering lights flashed brighter in the distance, bouncing between the valley sides far away.
Then Mary pointed upwards. ‘Look!’
Joe followed her direction. There was someone else; a dark figure on the hillside, scrambling upwards, the hill steep and covered in black shadows, rocks and boulders, fallen down through the centuries. At the top, visible against the stars, were large outcrops, leaning out over the side; any fall from them would be too high to walk away from.
But there was only one person on the hillside. Whoever had the torch was still at the top.
‘Where’s Alice?’ Joe said, looking around for any sign of her.
‘I can’t see her,’ Mary said.
‘Declan Farrell!’ Joe shouted.
The figure paused, looked back, and then kept on upwards, faster this time.
‘I’m going after him,’ Joe said, starting to run.
‘What about Alice?’
‘Only he knows. I’m going to find out.’
And Joe set off for the hillside, scrambling over the rocks and jumping over a low wall, using his hands to help him as the slope got too steep. His lungs soon strained for air, the climb hard going, stumbling on loose stones and long grass, the top of the hill still far away, the overhanging boulders becoming more brooding with every step.
But he wasn’t going to be stopped.
Sam strained forward as Gina steered the police car along a narrow lane, stone walls on either side, bracken peering over the top, just dark fronds under the canopy of the trees that ran to the reservoir in the distance. Their lights reflected from the hillsides, a coloured strobe highlighting the rocky tops. The strain of the engine echoed and Sam had to grip the door as the car bumped along.
‘How far along?’ he said, his voice fraught, checking his phone constantly for any news from Joe.
‘Just around these reservoirs,’ Gina shouted. ‘Either he has to go back towards Joe or up onto the moors, but the helicopter will pick him out up there. Or else he will head this way, down the valley. We’ll cut him off but hold on – it’s going to be bouncy.’
She turned on the high beam and the way ahead was lit up brightly. A long expanse of water lay between hills that were high and steep. The narrow track opened out ahead but once again disappeared into trees.
‘You keep a lookout,’ she said and accelerated harder, so that the walls and nearby trees became a blur.
Sam scoured the path ahead, looking up the slopes, but there was nothing. The car slewed as it took a corner, throwing Sam towards Gina as she accelerated out of the slide, and headed along the reservoir banks. They rattled over a metal grid and their headlights caught the staring eyes of sheep that stood near the track, small spots of light in dirty bundles of white. One headed towards the car, but then thought better of it and scrambled back to the safety of the grass. Grouse scampered along a wall, a line of them.
Sam shouted as the car bottomed out when it hit a small dip. The wheels almost left the ground as they rose up again, the beam bouncing, and then into the space between the next cluster of trees.
It seemed like they were always on the verge of spinning off, the back end sliding on the loose stones, but Sam wasn’t going to tell her to slow down. Instead, he gripped the door handle as they bumped and raced and followed the long curve of the reservoir.
Gina braked hard when the track turned into a rutted path that climbed upwards, as the reservoir came to an end and the hills and moors took over, the valley getting tighter and darker. Meant for hikers only, the car pitched and rolled as it struggled over small rocks and deep grooves.
Then Sam saw them.
‘There,’ he said, pointing towards dark figures scrambling up the hillside, caught in the beam.
Gina threw the car towards them, skidding it sideways, stopping quickly to avoid sending them into a ditch, her beam lighting up the hill.
It was Joe, and a woman some way behind, running and climbing towards a figure higher up. It must be Declan Farrell.
That didn’t concern him. Only one thought was in his head. Where was Alice?
Alice fought against the water.
She was able to keep her head above the surface for a moment, the rope around her wrists stopping her getting to her feet. She put her back to the flow and it streamed over her shoulders, pushing her along so that her arms were forced up her back, restrained around the ladder.
She tried to stay upright against the fast flow, but she was pulled under. She couldn’t see anything. The sound was gone, the constant rush of water replaced by a loud hum and the echoed shrieks she was able to make through her gag. She couldn’t stop the water streaming in; it was soaking the gag so that it was hard to empty her mouth again whenever she got to the air. Her feet pushed against the slippery bricks, as she tried to get her head up so she could take one more deep breath through her nostrils.
It was so cold. It sapped her strength and her hunger to survive. For a moment, she thought of giving in, of letting the water stream over her and into her lungs so that it would all be over.
Then she thought of Erin and Amy. She had to stay alive for them.
One final push of her legs helped her raise her shoulders above the surface again, her teeth gritted around the gag as she tried to suck in air. The cold was her enemy, too. It had been hard to stay upright when she was marched away from the cottage, her footsteps laboured, so that she tripped and stumbled, and now she was losing feeling in her legs.
She tried to look back over her shoulder, but all she got was the faint glow of light as it reflected along the fast flow of the streams being funnelled down the hill, echoing, deafening, splashing against her shoulders, threatening to pull her back under. Ahead, it was just black and noisy.
She screeched as she started to slide again, the force of the water too strong. It became blurred ahead. Her breathing was quick and shallow, hard through the gag.
She gritted her teeth and thought of her children, to keep her mind sharp. She had to keep going for them. They were not growing up without a mother.
But it was getting too hard.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on keeping her head above the water. All she could do was focus and try to stay upright and wait to be found. Someone else had arrived. She had seen him on the moors, chasing. Others would follow. It was going to end, she knew it.
But she couldn’t hold on for much longer.
Joe’s shoes slipped on loose stones, sometimes stumbling on rocks that jutted out of the ground, but still he kept going. There w
as a bright light behind, and when he looked back, it was a police car, its blue lights flashing, the headlights bright and blinding. Mary was behind him, her hand sometimes on him as she sought grip and balance, both of them panting hard, Joe’s legs stiff and aching.
He stopped and looked back. He recognised the person climbing out of the passenger seat.
‘It’s Sam, my brother,’ he said. He looked down to shout, ‘She’s not up here.’
Sam didn’t look like he could hear him.
Mary pushed him, breathless. ‘Keep going.’
They both scrambled the rest of the way, finding a steep route through the outcrops that hung high over the slope. Joe couldn’t look down again. A stumble would send him rolling down with only boulders to stop him. His legs ached and his lungs burned but he wasn’t going to stop.