“I’ll give you a leg up,” I said.
With me giving him a lift up to the lowest branches, Dougie was able to scale the sturdiest-looking tree in quick, lithe movements. He paused in the center, testing out the higher branches with his hands. They swayed easily under the pressure.
“Don’t go too high,” I warned. “The last thing we need is for you to break your neck!”
He chuckled but stopped trying to climb higher. “Any luck?”
“No. Yes! We have lift-off! Hang on, it’s ringing now.” I waited, both anxious and eager. Then… “What the hell?”
“What?” No answer. “Dougie, what is it?”
“My battery just died.”
I huffed a laugh, though it really wasn’t funny. “You’re joking?”
“No.”
“Hang on.” I dug into my pockets again. “Catch! See if I have a signal.”
I threw my phone up into the tree, wincing apprehensively, but Dougie’s deft hands caught it easily. I watched him jab at the screen.
“How do you turn it on?” he called down.
“It is on,” I replied. “Is the screen locked?”
“No. Heather, it’s definitely not on.”
I looked up at him, mystified. It had been on a minute ago. Maybe my fingers had accidentally hit the power switch when I threw it, although you had to hold it down for at least five seconds. I described the way to start it up, then waited. And waited.
“Nope, it’s not turning on. Could it be out of power?”
“No. I still had half a battery. That should do me till at least tomorrow.”
“Well, it’s not working.”
“Toss it down,” I sighed, exasperated.
Dougie obediently dropped it into my waiting hand, and I plunged my thumb down onto the power key, waiting for the little red Vodafone symbol to dance across the screen. It didn’t.
“That’s not right,” I murmured quietly. Was it broken?
“I told you,” Dougie called down.
“I don’t understand,” I said, raising my voice so he could hear. “It was fine a second ago.” I looked about me. “Could it be the generator thing? Can it drain batteries?”
“Dunno.” Dougie’s voice was closer now. I looked up to see him slipping down through the branches. “Just our luck this weekend.”
He scuttled lightly onto the final branch and hovered there for a moment, judging the distance to the ground. As he bent his knees, preparing to jump, I heard a deep crack resound from the trunk. Dougie’s face dropped in time with the branch, and both of them tumbled to the ground.
“Dougie!” I cried out, already reaching for him. He was sprawled on the ground, tangled up in the whippy, leaf-covered shoots spiking off from the broken branch. Even as his hands tore at the foliage, I knew something was wrong. Peeking out from the confusion of glossy green was his ankle, turned awkwardly under him. His mouth twisted in a grimace of pain, and he gripped his leg just above his foot. He groaned, still trying to extricate himself from the chunk of tree.
“Are you all right?” I gasped.
Dougie huffed. “Yeah, I think so.” I took hold of his hand and hauled him to his feet. He hissed in pain as soon as he tried to put any weight on the damaged ankle. “Maybe,” he amended.
“Is it broken?” I asked.
Please let it not be. How the hell was I meant to get him back down to the campsite and the car if he couldn’t walk? There was no way I could carry him that far.
“No, doesn’t feel like it. Hurts, though.” He blew out a breath, tried gingerly to step on his right foot. I watched him grit his teeth. “I think it’s just sprained.” He laughed, though the sound was slightly hysterical.
“What’s funny?” I asked, my eyebrows rising in puzzlement and disbelief. Laughing was the last thing I felt like doing.
“It’s just… Could it get any worse?”
I smiled, though the muscles in my jaw had to work harder than usual to achieve the effect.
“Don’t say that,” I warned. Then I sighed. “You’re not having much of a birthday trip. What are we going to do, Dougie?”
We still had no idea what had happened to Martin, and now Dougie probably needed a visit to an ER.
“I don’t know,” he murmured. “Let’s just get back to the campsite. Then we’ll figure it out. Darren’ll have to drive us somewhere.”
I wasn’t so sure. The look on Darren’s face when we left had been unambiguous: he was furious. And in my experience, a furious Darren was not a helpful one. Still, maybe if he saw the state Dougie was in, he’d warm up a little. That’s if I could get him there.
“Think you can walk?” I asked, eyeing Dougie dubiously. He was trying to stand normally, but it was obvious that it was agony to put any weight on his foot.
“I’ll try,” he offered.
It was very slow progress. Dougie attempted to walk by himself at first, but he couldn’t manage anything more than a snail’s pace, limping a few inches at a time. His face was drawn, and his top teeth were gnawing down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. After only a few hundred yards, he had to surrender.
“Look, I’ll wait here,” he said, preparing to lower himself onto the grass. “You can walk back down and get Darren to come up with the car.”
I paled. I did not want to have to face Darren without Dougie. “Maybe I could carry you?” I suggested.
Dougie snorted.
“Are you Wonder Woman on the weekend?” he asked.
“No,” I admitted. “But look, put your arm around my shoulder. I’ll be your human crutch.”
That worked a lot better. Dougie had to walk in a slightly awkward crouch because I was so much shorter than him, but he was able to take a step without dropping his full weight onto the rapidly swelling joint. It was hard work, and my arm—wrapped around his waist and gripping him so hard my fingers went white—quickly started to ache. But I knew we only had a couple of miles, maybe a little less, to go.
The sun was at its peak by the time we limped back to the parking lot, although it was hidden behind a thick bank of clouds. Hungry, worn out, and aching, I dropped Dougie against the hood of the Volvo. He slumped down by the dirty gray metal, his mouth pressed into a thin line. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.
“How does it feel?” I asked stupidly.
“Sore.” He flashed me a half smile. “I can’t wait to get my shoe off. It feels like it’s about to explode out of the fabric.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” I suggested. “We might not be able to get it back on.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not going anywhere except in the car. Come on, let’s go talk to the delightful Darren.”
I stared at Dougie for a moment, trying to decide if he was delirious or joking. He looked wary under the wink he gave me, so I went with the latter.
Although it looked nothing the same—it was broad daylight, and this time our things were strewn around the campsite—I had a strange sense of déjà vu when I hit the sinking softness of the sandy beach. For some reason I had the same tense, uncomfortable feeling I’d had last night when we’d come back to the darkened site to not find Martin where we’d hoped he’d be. It was the silence. It was the emptiness. It was the fact that, once again, no one was there.
“Emma?” I called.
No answer. I looked toward our tent. I really didn’t want to have to go in there looking for them. Dougie was already struggling with the uneven, constantly shifting surface, though. I couldn’t ask him to wade all over the beach. Making an embarrassed noise under my breath, I plodded over.
“Emma?” I called again, still hoping her head would peek out, and I wouldn’t have to interrupt. No such luck.
I drummed my fingers against the fabric of the tent—in case they hadn’t heard me yelling, just to give them a fe
w more seconds—then gingerly eased the zipper down. I squinted into the interior cautiously, ready to shut my eyes. Then I opened them wide in confusion. The tent was as empty as the beach.
“Dougie?” I spun on the spot. Dougie was over by the other tent. The flap was wide open, and it also was clearly unoccupied. “They’re not here.”
“What do you mean, they’re not here?”
I moved to the side and gestured to the vacant tent. “They’re not here,” I repeated.
“For God’s sake!” Dougie hobbled over to peer inside for himself. As if I could have missed them among the chaos of clothes, sleeping bags, and toiletries. I hadn’t. They were gone.
Fourteen
“You don’t think they went looking for Martin too, do you?”
“No.” Dougie’s voice was certain. But where else could they be? The car was still there, so they hadn’t gone far.
“Do you think they just went for a walk?”
“Maybe.” His doubt was easy to hear.
I drummed my fingernails against the plastic armrest of my chair. The sharp, staccato noises jarred my nerves, but it was better than sitting still, doing nothing. I was finding it a challenge just to stay in the chair.
It was incredibly frustrating. I wanted to drive somewhere, raise the alarm for Martin. I wanted to get Dougie to a hospital and have his ankle x-rayed in case there was a fracture under all that swelling. He’d propped his foot up on one of the other chairs and put the last dregs of ice from the cooler into a towel now wrapped around the joint, but he had taken my advice and left his shoe on. He wasn’t complaining, but I could see that it was hurting him.
Most of all, I wanted to find Emma and wring her neck! How could she be so inconsiderate? I expected nothing better of Darren, but not Emma. They hadn’t even waited around to find out if we’d managed to get in touch with Martin!
“I’m getting a sweater,” I announced, lurching to my feet. I wasn’t cold; I just wanted an excuse to move about, to do something. Inside the tent, I dug around in my bag, hunting for my zip-up top. A crumpled sheet of paper floated to the ground as I did so. It had been caught under the flap, the reason I hadn’t noticed it before. Curious, I grabbed it. Opening it up, I recognized Emma’s sloppy writing.
Going to find more wood for fire. Think there’s a cove just around the headland. Back in an hour. Em
I pursed my lips as I glared down at it. The note did not make up for the fact that they’d disappeared. Nor did it excuse their lack of concern about Martin. And I still hadn’t forgiven Emma for siding with Darren. At least we knew where they were, though.
“Found a note,” I called out, emerging from the tent, sweater in one hand, scrap of paper in the other. “They’ve gone for more firewood at the cove.”
Dougie’s eyes narrowed, and I knew that he was still annoyed as well.
“It says they’ll be back in an hour,” I said, handing him the note. “Don’t know how long ago that was. They shouldn’t be long, though—” I broke off in the face of Dougie’s dissatisfied grimace.
“This is ridiculous! We can’t just wait around—we need to do something about Martin.” He looked at me. “Can you check your phone again?”
There wasn’t much point. Even if it turned on, there was no signal down here. I did as he asked, however, digging out my phone and banging down on the power button. Nothing.
“Still dead.”
He made a frustrated growl under his breath.
I stared at him thoughtfully. Did we have to wait for Darren? “Can you drive?” I asked. It was a different question than before. I wasn’t sure his ankle would hold up enough to push the pedals.
He made a face. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He pulled his leg off the chair and pressed his foot onto the sand. Grimaced in pain. “Maybe not,” he admitted. “Can you?”
No. I’d never had a lesson. Never even reversed my parents’ car out of the driveway. The Volvo was like a boat, and the thought of trying to navigate the steep, narrow, potholed road up to civilization was terrifying. Even more frightening was the thought of Darren’s reaction if he found out I’d driven his car. I wasn’t entirely convinced that he’d be above punching me in the face! But Dougie was looking at me hopefully. I shifted from foot to foot on the sand, uncomfortable. “I don’t know…”
“I’ll help you,” he offered. He grabbed my hand, his fist warm around my icy fingers. “Come on, Heather. We still don’t know where Martin is.”
I couldn’t say no. “I’ll try,” I mumbled.
Dougie directed me to where Darren kept his keys—thankfully he hadn’t taken them with him in a fit of pique—and I helped him limp back to the car. Dougie lowered himself gingerly into the passenger seat while I yanked open the door to the driver’s side. I couldn’t even reach the pedals and had to yank the seat forward with an earsplitting screech.
“Right,” I said. “What do I do?”
“Putting the keys in the ignition is a good start,” Dougie offered, grinning at me. I didn’t grin back; I was too nervous. My hands shook a little as I shoved the key into the slot.
I twisted the key. Nothing happened. It wouldn’t turn, not even a little bit. I twisted harder, but I was worried about snapping it.
“What’s wrong?” Dougie asked.
“It won’t turn,” I complained.
“Twist hard.”
“I am!”
Dougie sighed and reached over me. I sat back, a petulant expression on my face, and watched him try. My scowl became smug when he had no more success.
“Hang on, the wheel lock’s on.” He jiggled the steering wheel, then went back to twisting the key. This time it rotated, but the engine didn’t spark. It didn’t even cough. It was a replay of the scene by the highway: nothing but a series of dissatisfying clicks.
“Heap of junk!” Dougie exploded. He banged down on the middle of the steering wheel. “The battery’s gone again.”
I said nothing; I’d figured that out for myself.
Dougie sat hunched across from me, still gripping the wheel as if he could make the car start with the power of his mind.
“Now what?” I asked after a full minute of silence. He sighed, aggravated.
“Now we wait for Darren and Emma,” he said after a moment. “We’ll have to hike back up to the road, and you won’t be able to help me all the way up there. Unless you want to go by yourself?” He looked at me, and I quickly shook my head. Once more, we slowly made our way back to the still-deserted beach. Just for something to do, we made lunch. Neither of us had eaten breakfast, and it was hard to decide if I felt sick because I was worried about Martin or just because I was hungry. I made myself eat, forcing in one mouthful at a time. They still hadn’t arrived by the time we’d finished eating.
With nothing better to do, we sat and watched the constant movement of the water. We didn’t speak. There was nothing to be gained by berating Darren and Emma, or guessing where Martin was. That just made the anger and fear spike by degrees. After a while, I dug the brooch back out of my pocket and started to stroke it, running my fingers around the curved edge, tracing the carvings with my fingertips. Like before, the metal remained cold, despite having spent the morning snug against my body.
Eventually I became aware of Dougie staring at me, staring at it.
“I want to take this back,” I said softly. “I feel like we shouldn’t have taken it. It’s not ours, and it means something to someone. They put it there for a reason; that’s where it belongs.”
When Dougie didn’t respond, I turned to stare at him. His expression was unreadable.
“Well?” I asked.
“If you want to,” he said tonelessly.
I tried not to make a face, but I didn’t like his reaction. I pursed my lips, feeling the need to explain myself further.
“I just… I just feel li
ke it’s unlucky or something. Look at everything that’s happened since we picked the damn thing up.” Dougie was frowning so I went on hurriedly. “I mean, we had that big fight and Martin stormed off, then he went missing. Then all that trouble with the phones, your ankle…” I pointed at his swollen leg. “Now the car won’t start, and Emma and Darren aren’t here. They should have been back by now.”
Dougie huffed a laugh.
“Darren and Emma’ll be fine,” he said, crossing the last item off my list. “As for the rest of it… Martin was uncomfortable with Darren coming along from the start.” (This didn’t surprise me, though I was a little put out that he hadn’t said anything to me himself.) “And the damn Volvo is an unreliable piece of crap, no matter what Darren says.”
“I know, but I still want to take it back. It feels… It feels weird, having it. I don’t like it.”
“Well, I’m in no shape to go hiking,” Dougie said. “And finding Martin is kind of a priority…” He broke off, looking closely at my face. “But if you want to get rid of it…”
Before I realized what he was going to do, he’d taken the brooch out of my hand. He shifted upright in his chair and, curving his arm back, launched the little circlet into the air. It arced across the cloud-covered sky, then landed with a splash in the choppy waves, several yards into the sea. I gaped at the water, then at him. I hadn’t meant that; I hadn’t meant that at all.
“Gone,” he said, looking at me solemnly.
“Dougie!”
The uncomfortable feeling I’d had about the brooch went into overdrive. There was absolutely no way to get it back now. I knew roughly where it had landed, but the constant motion of the waves would already have shifted it, and the sea was dark and murky and uninviting.
Now I felt worse than a thief. I was a vandal. A desecrator. A… A… I wasn’t even sure what the word was. My stomach churned.
But I didn’t want to fight with Dougie—not with everything else that was going on—so I bit back the angry words that were forming, bitter on my tongue.
The Last Witness Page 11
