But the man wasn’t listening. “Do you know what he is now—my only son?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “A missing person. That’s all.” The man shook his head in disbelief. “But we both know that’s not right don’t we? We both know he’s dead. But I can’t lay him to rest. I can’t…I can’t even say goodbye. Do you understand what that’s like? Do you?”
Tom kept his fingers clamped tight to his face. His shoulders shook and he let out a pathetic sob.
The man checked his wristwatch. “I haven’t got time for this,” he said, his voice hard. “Take your hands off your face.”
“No. Leave me alone.”
The man raised the baseball bat, holding it with both hands. “I said, take your hands off your face. Now. Or I’ll break both your arms.”
Something in the man’s voice made Tom believe him. Slowly, he lowered his hands, but he couldn’t look up, couldn’t face his persecutor.
The man nodded, satisfied. “I meant it when I said you’d taken everything from me.” He hesitated, struggling to keep his voice calm. “Since you…since you did what you did, I have nothing. Nothing. Not even a moment’s peace. You stole that from me. You took everything.”
Tom sniffed. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. It wasn’t easy, but he raised his head and looked up at the man. He looked him in the eye, and in that moment, he knew it was all over. There’s no point in arguing. There would be no point in pleading or explaining about his rehab from the drugs, his good behaviour, his mentoring work. It would just be a waste of breath. He sighed. It was time to give up, to give in. “Go on then,” he said. “Get it over with.”
The man twisted the baseball bat in his hands. His nostrils flared as he took a breath. “Is that what you think? This is just me getting revenge?”
Tom nodded slowly. “Just get on with it.”
The man grimaced. “You moronic little thug,” he spat. “That’s not what this is about.” He hesitated, then lowered the baseball bat. “Yes—it eats away at me that you got away with what you did,” he snarled. “But I can live with that. It happens. People get away with crimes all the time. But what I really cannot tolerate, not for one more minute, is not knowing what happened to my son. I need to know where he is. I need to lay him to rest.”
For a moment, Tom’s lips moved wordlessly. I’ve got to say it. I’ve just got to get the words out. He ran his tongue over his dry lips. “I don’t know,” he said. His vision blurred and he blinked away a tear. “I really don’t. I don’t know where he is.”
The man’s snorted in contempt. “You don’t honestly expect me to believe that do you?”
“It’s the truth.”
“No,” the man said. “No, it isn’t. It’s a pathetic lie.”
Tom held out his hands. “Listen to me. I don’t know what happened.”
The man shook his head. “I don’t understand how you can live with your lies, but I can’t tolerate it—not for one second longer.” He paused. And when he spoke again, his voice was a venomous whisper. “I can’t live like this, so now, I’m going to do something about it.” Without warning, he swung the baseball bat toward Tom’s head.
Tom didn’t have time to duck. He closed his eyes and flinched as the bat slammed into the rotten tree, just millimetres from the top of his head. Chunks of mouldering bark rained down on his hair, his face, his shoulders. Something cold and wet fell down the back of his neck. “Christ,” he hissed. “You could’ve killed me.”
“Yes. But I didn’t.”
Tom took a breath, felt it shake his chest. For a moment, he remembered his breathing classes, and he almost laughed. They were no use to him now. His ribs burned with every breath.
“Come on,” the man said. “On your feet.”
“Why? What are you going to do?”
The man narrowed his eyes. “That depends—on how helpful you are.”
Tom tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. “All right.” He hung his head. “What do you want to know?”
The man allowed the ghost of a grim smile to flit across his face. At last. He ran his tongue over his lower lip. “It was in here wasn’t it? I’m right aren’t I? This is where it happened.”
Tom nodded, but he didn’t speak, didn’t look up.
“I knew it,” the man said. “I told the police but they wouldn’t listen. They said there wasn’t any evidence, but that was because they didn’t even look properly.”
Tom raised his head. “How did you know? I never told anybody.”
The man waved the question away. “It was obvious. I knew you’d both been in here before. My son had been in here with his friend and the old man, Mr. Drew, he recognised you. He said he’d seen you around here lots of times.” He paused. “But no one saw you that last time did they?”
“No,” Tom said. “No one.”
The man took a breath, exhaled loudly. “This is it,” he murmured. “I’m finally going to find my boy.” He pulled himself up to his full height. “Come on, get on your feet. You’re going to show me. You’re going to show me exactly where it happened. And you’re going to show me right now.”
Tom sighed. “And if I show you, you’ll let me go? You’ll get me an ambulance or something?”
The man nodded, but his face gave nothing away.
You bastard, Tom thought. You’ll probably just leave me here. He couldn’t trust this man, not for one second. But maybe, if he went along with his mad idea, there might be a way out of this mess. It was a slim chance, but it was the only one he had. “All right. I’ll try.” He pushed himself up to his feet, wincing with every movement, then he stood, swaying a little, and looked the man in the eye. “Listen,” he said. “I really don’t think this is going to help. Not in the way you want.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” the man said. “Now get moving.” He stood still and watched Tom take his first few unsteady steps, and then he followed on behind. “Hold on, son,” he whispered. “Hold on. I’m coming to get you.”
Chapter 22
3650 BC
THE LEADER PULLED MY ARMS out in front of me and tied a length of rough rope around my wrists. I grunted when he pulled the rope tight, but he didn’t take any notice. He just finished his knots and handed the rope to the teenager. Then, without exchanging a word, they set off into the forest, the teenager leading me along.
At first, the boy was hesitant, scarcely pulling on the rope at all, and he kept glancing back over his shoulder to check on me. He looked uncertain, nervous, as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. That makes two of us, I thought bitterly.
But my captor soon tired of being my babysitter. The older men were travelling fast, loping through the forest like a pack hungry wolves. But I was weak and worn out, and I just couldn’t keep up with them. The forest floor was uneven and the undergrowth was so dense I couldn’t see where I was putting my feet. Thorns snagged at my jeans, and tangled strings of trailing ivy caught around my legs and threatened to trip me. It would have been hard enough to jog through this place at the best of times, but with my hands tied together, I had to work hard just to keep my balance.
The first time I stumbled, the teenager just glared at me, but it wasn’t long before he resorted to yanking on the rope whenever I lagged behind—and I lagged behind a lot.
When we finally stopped for a rest, I sank to the ground and rested my back against a tree trunk. I just hoped that, with my hands tied together in front of me, I’d be able to get up again. But at least it was cooler down there, among the undergrowth. I closed my eyes, took long, grateful breaths, and I tried not to think about what might happen to me.
I wasn’t allowed to rest for long. The teenager stood over me and scowled. He looked me in the eye and muttered a few words. I didn’t need to understand his language to know he was swearing at me. I shook my head and looked away. Maybe if I ignored him, he’d just leave me alone. Something rustled through the ferns and when I turned to look, the boy had wandered over t
o talk to the others. The rope lay slack on the ground, snaking between the ferns. Was this my chance to escape? Did he think I was so hopeless he didn’t even need to stand guard over me?
The men were a little distance away, huddled together, muttering in low voices. I kept one eye on them and pulled gently on the rope. My heart raced as the rope slipped across the forest floor, but then it went tight. I pulled harder, hoping it was snagged. But it was no good. He’d tied it to a tree. “Of course you have,” I muttered. The teenager wasn’t as stupid as he looked.
I sighed and rested my head back against the tree trunk. Despite everything, I could’ve slept, right there. I was utterly exhausted and everything ached. The rope chafed my wrists, my stomach cramped with hunger, and my head buzzed with a dull ache that shifted across my skull every time I moved. But my legs were the worst. My calves felt like the muscles had been ripped apart, right down to the bone. I leaned forward and, as best as I could with the damned rope around my wrists, I hitched up the right leg of my jeans. I winced. The bruises covering my shin were purple and angry. Dark red blotches showed where blood vessels had burst beneath my skin. “Bloody Robbo,” I muttered. I leaned back and shut my eyes. I pictured his foot swinging toward me, again and again. I saw his shoe slamming into my legs, my arms, as I lay curled in a ball on the ground. The day before yesterday, I thought. That was just the day before yesterday. I rubbed my eyes, tried to think of something else. Anything. But it didn’t work. The memory was too vivid; more real than the endless forest and these strange men with their bows and arrows. A sudden thought flashed across my mind: Is all this just a weird hallucination? Am I really lying in a hospital somewhere, with tubes and wires dangling from my comatose body? For a split second, it made sense. But when I opened my eyes, there he was.
The teenager was squatting in front of me, and next to him, his dog sat on its haunches. They were both staring at me, the same hard glint of mistrust in their eyes. I couldn’t be imagining this, could I? No one could dream this. No one in their right mind anyway. I pushed the thought away—it wasn’t going to get me anywhere.
I licked my dry lips and tried to swallow. Perhaps I could convince the teenager to give me some water. I lifted my arms, cupped my hands, and lifted them to my mouth as if I was having a drink.
He looked worried for a moment and glanced over to the others. But then he untied a flask from the strap he wore across his body. He took a bung from the top and offered the flask to me. I hesitated. The flask had a strange, curved shape, and it looked as though it was made of leather. Would there be water inside, or something strange? He shook the flask and frowned, already growing impatient. I hated to think what these people drank, but I was almost too thirsty to care. Maybe it was just water—there was only one way to find out.
“Thanks,” I mumbled. I took the bottle and held it to my lips. I could smell the leather, but the mouth of the flask was hard and smooth and clean. When I took a sip, the water had a faint acidic tang, but it was fresh and good. I gulped it down greedily.
Hafoc couldn’t believe what he was seeing. How could anyone guzzle so much precious water? “No,” he said. But the stranger took no notice. “No.” He jumped up and snatched the flask from the stranger’s hands. “How can you be so careless?” he demanded. “Don’t you understand? Now we’ll run out of water.”
The stranger held up his hands and showed his palms. Hafoc raised his fist, and when the stranger flinched, Hafoc snorted in disgust. What kind of a man was this? He glanced over at the others. Tostig was already coming over to see what was going on. Hafoc scowled at the stranger, then he bent down and pulled on the rope to check it was still tied securely. He looked the stranger in the eye. “Don’t make such a fuss,” he grumbled under his breath. But the stranger just shook his head—he clearly didn’t understand. I’m wasting my breath, Hafoc thought. He looked away and stood straight as Tostig approached.
“Everything all right?” Tostig said.
“Yes,” Hafoc said. “I’m sorry, I made too much noise. But I gave him water and he took far too much.”
Tostig nodded. “Perhaps he needed it.”
Hafoc hesitated before replying. “Yes. I suppose so.”
“He doesn’t look well,” Tostig said. “I wonder. Do you think we did the right thing, to bring him with us?”
Hafoc raised his eyebrows. Was Tostig really asking his opinion? “Yes. Yes, of course.”
Tostig grunted. “Good. And you did the right thing when you gave him water.”
Hafoc nodded slowly.
“Hafoc, none of us have fought the Wandrian before,” Tostig said. “Your father would’ve prepared you for what you must do today. In his place, I can only offer a few words of wisdom. Stay strong and stay close, and remember, in a fight, things change very quickly. Keep your wits about you and be ready to strike.”
Hafoc opened his mouth to speak but before he could reply, Flyta joined them. “We should be moving,” Flyta said. “We’ve rested long enough.”
Tostig put his hand on Hafoc’s shoulder. “Bring the stranger. And, Hafoc, remember what I told you.”
I kept a wary eye on their leader. It looked like he was giving the teenager a pep talk. Then, as I watched, they started getting ready to set off; putting away their flasks, checking their weapons. The teenager picked up the rope and went to untie it from the tree. I forced myself to my feet. It was better than being yanked up by the rope.
“Come on,” I said. “We may as well get on with it.”
The leader gave me a look, sizing me up. He nodded once to the teenager, and then he turned and walked away. The others fell in behind him, leaving me to stumble along behind. At least I’ve had a rest, and a little water. I let out a heavy sigh and willed my aching legs into motion. But I wasn’t going to try too hard to keep up. It seemed like they were getting fed up of dragging me around behind them. Maybe, if I hung back and slowed them down, they’d give up and let me go. It was worth a try.
But we hadn’t gone far when suddenly, the dog bared its teeth and growled, its hackles raised. The men stopped dead in their tracks. The leader gave a hand signal and as one, they crouched. Oh god. What now? I wondered. But I copied them—it didn’t feel like I had a choice. The men had been tense before, but now they were anxious, jittery. They were giving each other furtive glances; their jaws clenched, their eyes narrowed. For a moment, it looked like no one knew what to do, but then their leader looked at each of them in turn, gesturing with his hands, and immediately they all started checking their weapons in silence.
All I could do was crouch in the undergrowth and wait. I chewed the inside of my cheek. Perhaps they’re hunting, I thought. After all, there were deer in the woods and if these men were on some sort of crazy hunting expedition it would explain their bows and arrows.
I watched the teenager place an arrow against the string of his bow. He threw me a look of annoyance and I knew what he was thinking: how could he shoot an arrow while he was holding my rope? This could be a chance for escape. While they were intent on their prey, I might be able to slip away. Go on. Put the rope down—just for one second. But the teenager was paying me more attention than I thought, and when I glanced down at the rope, he followed my gaze then he looked me in the eye and shook his head slowly. I tried to look innocent but he wasn’t fooled. He stepped up to the nearest tree, threw the rope around it and tied a knot. He wasn’t as stupid as I’d thought. But I might still have a chance to get away. If they chased after their prey and left me alone, even for half a minute, there was nothing to stop me from untying the knot. I looked at the teenager and sighed as though I was disappointed that he’d foiled my plans. I wanted him to think I’d given up.
Then suddenly, they froze. They tilted their heads as if they’d heard something. But the looks they gave each other weren’t just anxious. The men were clearly scared. A shiver ran down my spine. I don’t know what’s going on, but this isn’t just a hunting expedition. And then I heard the voices.
They were too faint for me to make out the words, but they were men’s voices, and by the sound of it, there were quite a few of them. I tilted my head, concentrating. Were the voices getting nearer or farther away?
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to keep quiet, but the ferns rustled against my leg. The teenager shot me a look, and when I saw his expression, everything changed. The teenager’s face was pale, his lips drawn tight against his teeth, and his eyes were round with fear. He was utterly terrified.
What does it take to frighten these maniacs? One answer flashed into my mind: the police. These weapon-wielding thugs would not want to be discovered by the authorities. Even a gamekeeper or a park ranger would have something to say about their bows and arrows. And people in authority would have mobile phones and vehicles. This was it. This was my chance to be rescued, perhaps the only chance I’d get—I had to take it. Even if the voices didn’t belong to policemen or park rangers, but to normal, everyday people, they would surely help me. So long as they’re tough enough—if not, anything could happen. I glanced at the three men and the teenager. How would they react to being discovered? Would they run, or fight? I shuddered at the thought of those bows and arrows being used in anger. I didn’t want to drag anyone else into danger. But I had to escape. These men had threatened me, beaten me and bound my hands. At the very least, they meant to do me harm, and at worst, they planned to kill me. I had to face up to the truth. Every second I stayed with these men took me closer to a shallow grave in the woods.
I closed my eyes for a moment. There was only one thing I could do. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs, then I stood up straight, pushed my shoulders back, and I yelled. I yelled with every scrap of strength I could muster, and with every last gasp of air in my lungs. “Help!” I cried. “Help me! Over here! Help!”
Outcast (The Darkeningstone Series Book 2) Page 18