by Tom Hoyle
Something cold pressed against Adam’s cheek, and he looked up to see Megan’s grinning face. ‘Spare key,’ she said. ‘It was worth looking. My grandparents put theirs under a plant pot. It was hidden behind that water butt.’
The key opened the door and they slipped past four bikes, one with stabilizers, and into the sitting room. Once the front curtains were drawn, Adam sat on the sofa, relieved to be in the relative warmth of the house.
Megan explored the kitchen, then joined him in the darkness. ‘We’re going to have to steal food, Adam,’ she said.
Adam yawned. ‘And nick their bikes probably. We’ll have to put things right afterwards.’ He pulled a cushion off the sofa and lay it on the floor. ‘I don’t think I’d be able to sleep in their beds.’
Megan also pulled down a cushion, and a blanket from the arm of the sofa.
Adam lay down against the sofa, with Megan in front of him, facing in the same direction. He put his left arm round her, flinching slightly at a twinge of pain, and she wriggled back slightly to be next to him, her hair resting against his face. He breathed out once, all of his fears disappearing, and fell asleep immediately.
Bolleskine did not sleep that night. His cars and people roamed every street in Aviemore, far more thorough than the police.
‘We’re going to watch all the roads, and the bus and railway station,’ he said. ‘Adam will not leave this town without us knowing.’
CHAPTER 19
‘HELP’ (MONDAY 15TH DECEMBER 2014)
On their way to continue the hunt for Adam, several Toyota Land Cruisers with winter tyres rumbled out of the garage at Castle Dreich.
Abbie, standing with a small group at the bottom of the main steps, wanted to catch her father’s eye as he drove past, but he was looking ahead, serious and resolute, and didn’t even glance her way. Bolleskine’s eyes met Abbie’s and didn’t waver.
‘Once the boy is here, then we will be ready,’ someone said.
Abbie listened carefully. If ever there was a chance to escape, it was now.
After six weeks at Castle Dreich, Abbie was used to the distinction between the Inner Guard and the Pillars. The Pillars were cooks, administrators and those responsible for recruiting new members. The Inner Guard, which now included her father, consisted of those closest to Bolleskine. There used to be a third group, the Inclined, but this group had withered to nothing: new members were not being recruited now, and those already in the castle were getting more serious.
Abbie was guided into the castle by a wiry woman in her fifties, one of the Inner Guard. Abbie decided to take a chance, to risk saying something that assumed more knowledge than she really had. ‘Will the boy they’re getting be put with the others?’ she asked.
‘Adam is exceptional. He will be given exceptional treatment.’ The woman had a mouth that looked as if it was trying to smile but the rest of her face wouldn’t allow it. ‘He will lead us. Adam is the hundredth and final traveller.’
‘I know that. I have been listening.’ But there were things Abbie didn’t know. ‘How do we travel?’
The woman spoke earnestly. ‘We will be guided across time and space.’
Abbie looked away from the castle into the night. It was miles to the road, and then ten or twenty more miles to the nearest village. ‘Will there be some sort of spaceship ?’
She was full of simple trust: ‘We will be taken.’
This was going round in circles. ‘By what method of transport?’ By what vehicle, you idiot? HOW?
‘That is not for me to say or you to know. But our spirits will be taken.’
Spirits? ‘What about our bodies?’
The woman squinted slightly, trying not to say too much. ‘They will be left here.’ And after a pause, to make it clear she really hadn’t given anything away, she added, ‘Of course.’
The words tumbled from Abbie: ‘You mean we’re all going to commit suicide?’
The woman slapped Abbie hard once, then, as Abbie recovered and stood upright again, another slap, even harder. Her eyes were dark and livid. ‘We will be liberated and free from this world,’ she said. ‘We will live on. Those who are left will see this world as it truly is.’
Abbie had felt depressed and worried; now shock, panic and terror rose above the pain in her cheek.
She had to escape.
It took five of them to hold Abbie down. She spat and swore even after each limb had been restrained and her head was gripped tight between someone’s knees.
‘Open your mouth!’ It was the same woman. ‘Open your mouth!’
Abbie saw a hand coming towards her, with the yellow crumbly drug that smelt like pepper, pinched between fingers protected by a plastic glove. She pushed her lips tight together. But her nose was held, and her lips were being forced open, and she was being punched in the stomach, and . . .
She couldn’t resist any longer. The crumbs went into her mouth.
Delivery by water, even in tiny doses, generated suspicious fear and vague, confused imaginings. When injected, the effect was immediate: hallucinations. As gas, it took effect gradually. Taken as a solid, the outcome was different again: there was a delay, then sudden and terrible visions – so real that they could be touched.
More than a teaspoon, taken in any form, resulted in death. Abbie swallowed about half that amount, far more than she ever had before.
A huge spider came to her, brushed its hairy leg across her face and forced her to stand up. Abbie’s body was rigid with horror and disgust.
Abbie realized that the drug did not confuse. It seemed completely normal that a spider was wrapping its front legs around her shoulders and forcing her to help in the kitchen.
It whispered in her ear.
Tick, tick.
Tick, tick.
The real world was still normal, unaffected: spices on a shelf, cinnamon, black pepper, and other flavourings. On one hob a pot of pasta simmered gently. Hundreds of peeled potatoes sat in enormous metal saucepans. And a spider rested its abdomen against her back.
‘These are for the cavern.’ Pasta was being spooned into plastic containers. ‘Abbie, put them on a tray.’
Abbie was tense, trying not to press against the spider. She knew it wasn’t there – it isn’t there – it isn’t there – it isn’t there – it isn’t there – it isn’t there – yet it was.
Maybe it was there.
No – it isn’t , she thought.
Yes, I am , its fangs clicked.
Hallucination!
‘Abbie, put these on a tray!’ The voice was louder.
The kitchen was a flurry of activity as Abbie brought over the tray. She placed the containers on them one by one. The notepad in front of her said that there should be twelve.
She had an idea. No one was looking at her except the spider, which shrieked and shot out silk, wrapping it around Abbie’s face; it dug its fangs into her neck.
It didn’t stop her.
In the caverns below, a boy poked at his pasta. He was called Max, and had been selected as a scientist to be taken on the cult’s journey. I must keep my strength up , he thought.
After a couple of mouthfuls he realized that something else was in the container. At first he thought it was a piece of plastic, but turning his pasta over with his fork, he plucked out a tiny piece of pencil – and there was a small piece of paper as well.
Who are you? I want to help.
Max held the paper to his chest, then slid it in his pocket. As he had many times since his arrival, he wept. He looked up at the ceiling, glancing at the cameras, wondering what the consequences of discovery would be.
The spider was smaller and less tactile when the trays returned.
‘Abbie, sort this out, please. Throw away the leftovers, wash the containers,’ said the woman.
‘Of course.’ Abbie meant it to sound helpful, but it still came out like a teenager’s grudging acceptance of work.
The last container was nearly full. She dribbled th
e contents into the bin slowly.
Then she saw the slip of paper. She touched it. It was real – not a hallucination. Max had only risked four letters.
HELP
CHAPTER 20
LEAVING AVIEMORE (TUESDAY 16TH DECEMBER 2014)
Adam lay awake, enjoying having his arm around Megan. He seemed not to have moved at all in the night.
Megan had been awake for longer and noticed that Adam’s breath on her ear had changed in rhythm. ‘Are you awake?’ she asked.
Blurred reality suddenly clicked into focus for Adam. ‘We need to go.’ But he tightened his hold on Megan slightly. ‘I have a plan, and it starts with borrowing as much breakfast as we can.’
Aviemore is a busy place after snowfall in the holiday season, so the people from Castle Dreich had no problem blending in. Abbie’s father, Mark, stamped his feet on the ground as he stood with another man outside the railway station, glancing at each person that passed, scrutinizing the face of anyone in black ski jacket and salopettes. Adam had not gone by. Mark sent a text to the men at the bus station and received one back seconds later: Nothing here either .
A heavy lorry threw up slush on to a Land Cruiser parked in a lay-by on the A9 Edinburgh road. More men sat watching the A9 going in the other direction, north, next to a sign marked Inverness .
Bolleskine circled the town of Aviemore – a wolf trying to smell out his prey. ‘If he leaves, he will head south: the lure of home. The supposed safety of Edinburgh.’
Adam was pointing at a road atlas that they had found in the kitchen. ‘Edinburgh’s the capital. There’ll be police there who know about this sort of thing, who might even know who we are. Or we can get the train home –’ Adam’s finger ran down the map of Britain that was on the inside cover – ‘to London.’
‘We need to get the local police involved,’ said Megan. ‘They can trace Oliver – and then track down the cars.’
‘Yes, but there’s no way I’m going to hand myself to the local guys, who’ll just force me to go back to Mr Macleod. And there are several of those Toyota Land Cruisers.’ Adam glanced at a picture on the mantelpiece in the sitting room and pointed. ‘He’s about my age, isn’t he? No wonder that mountain bike’s my size. Maybe you can use one of the adult ones?’
They spent about ten minutes discussing their options. Adam was animated, and Megan added her own ideas, dangerous though Adam thought they were.
He was adjusting the seat on one of the bikes, his mouth full of dry cornflakes, when there was a rattle at the front door and the bell rang. They crouched down close to the floor and froze. The bell rang again and there was another short burst of knocking. In the silence that followed, they could hear an engine outside. Adam saw the kitchen knives nearby, but shoved the thought from his mind.
Then came the higher-pitched sound of a car pulling away, and Adam ran and put his eye to a small opening between the curtains. A red Royal Mail van was driving off.
‘Let’s get a move on,’ said Adam. ‘I’m terrified the people who live here are going to return. Are you with me?’
Megan kissed him. Her answer was clear.
Abbie’s father called Bolleskine the moment he saw the black salopettes and ski jacket cycling towards the station. ‘He’s about 400 yards away, just getting off a bike, using a mobile.’
HELP , came in the message to the police telephone operator, I’m a child in danger at Aviemore station. There’s a man after me. He wants to hurt me.
Child, man, hurt : the key words triggered an immediate response. Two police cars closed in – as did the Toyota Land Cruisers.
The train was due to leave Aviemore for Edinburgh at 13:31. It was 1.25 p.m., just before it pulled into the station.
1.26 P.M.
Sirens could be heard swirling in the distance as the police fought to get to the station in time. Toyota Land Cruisers drew up and parked outside the station.
Megan repeated her message: Please help. I’m going to be attacked.
1.27 P.M.
Less than 250 yards from the train door. The bike, wheeled along, cut through black slush at the side of the road. Nervous short breaths panted through a scarf.
1.28 P.M.
Abbie’s father touched the syringe in his pocket. It contained the same drug that had been forced into Abbie. ‘Let us make it so,’ said Bolleskine into his telephone. ‘Wait until he’s level with you and then strike – we’ll steer him down a side street and get him into a car.’
1.29 P.M.
Just 125 yards from the train; one minute’s walk, and then Abbie’s father could administer the drug.
1.30 P.M.
Police cars came to a halt and officers stepped out.
Three paces ahead of Abbie’s father.
‘Help me!’ shouted Megan, appealing to a policewoman. She ripped off her scarf and tore down the hood of Adam’s jacket. ‘I’m the girl who’s been calling.’ She grabbed the arm of the officer. ‘And take down that number plate.’ Pulling away into the distance was the same Land Cruiser that Megan had been crouching behind the night before.
1.31 P.M.
The train doors closed.
EARLIER THAT DAY
‘Right. Let’s get our kit off!’
‘Adam!’
‘Here,’ Adam continued, ‘I’ll put these on.’ He held up jeans and a rather sickly-looking green coat that belonged to the boy who lived in the house.
Megan put on Adam’s black ski jacket and salopettes; Adam discovered that the boy was a bit taller than he was, but probably about the same around the waist. The green coat had a cinema ticket in the pocket, and the presence of a personal item made the borrowing feel like stealing .
‘You’ll need to make sure they can’t see your face,’ Adam said.
Megan wrote a note for the people who lived in the house:
Dear family,
You have helped us without knowing it. We didn’t have a choice.
Many thanks – we’ll repay you when we can.
From two grateful kids
PS We have borrowed all £35 from the kitchen jar, some clothes, a little food and two bikes.
Adam was right about one thing. The roads were being watched.
It was seven miles from Aviemore to Carrbridge, the next railway station north. ‘One of Europe’s great wildernesses,’ Mr Macleod had said, and Adam appreciated that rugged isolation as he bumped and slid along the slushy road.
The plan was for him to go north, further away from Edinburgh, get on a train at Carrbridge railway station, and then come back south. The railway line went back through Aviemore, but by then he would be on the train, keeping his head down, while Megan distracted everyone.
The problem wasn’t simply that the road was icy, it was that the snow was so unpredictable. Adam could see why his dad said Eskimos have over fifty words for it – some snow helped traction, some was wet and heavy, and some crisp and covered in ice. A string of swear words spilt from Adam as he slipped and slithered, fighting to keep the bike upright.
He had expected the whole journey to take him little over an hour, but progress was much slower, so he was beginning to get worried about the time – and then he saw a Toyota Land Cruiser in the distance. It was parked by the side of the road on a snow-covered verge.
Adam lay the bike flat and ducked down, thumping the snowy tarmac in frustration. He looked at the forest that was thick on either side of the road. Safer, but much slower – and he had to get the right train, otherwise the plan wouldn’t work.
It would be hopeless to try to race past: even at little more than jogging pace the bike was nearly impossible to control. They would easily catch him.
During this indecision, Adam heard an engine approaching, about to emerge over the brow of a hill about 150 yards behind him. He would have to take his chance in the forest after all.
But as he reached the trees he realized that what was coming up the road was much larger than a 4x4. A yellow metal neck came first, fol
lowed by the body of a JCB, a snowplough on the front scraping as it went.
Adam acted before his plan properly made sense. He dashed out as the JCB trundled past, leaped on the bike, grabbed the shovel at the back of the truck with his left hand, and hid behind the yellow arm as best he could, fighting with all his strength to keep the front wheel of the bike straight, his legs locked into the frame.
And he was pulled along. Now there was no swearing: Adam gritted his teeth as his body screamed in protest.
Hidden from view on the far side of the JCB, he passed the Toyota Land Cruiser.
He managed to keep hold for over half a mile, a feat achieved more through persistence than judgement, until the front wheel turned to the right on a patch of ice, the bike twisted under him and he fell to the ground, again on to his left side. Pain’s jagged bolts punched through him.
He was now much closer to Carrbridge, and the road was easier and clearer now that the snowplough had passed ahead of him. Having the bike was vital, and, sweating and exhausted, his left side dull with pain, he pedalled hard up the hill to get to the station on time.
He hid the bike in some bushes behind the station, boarded the train and eight minutes later was back in Aviemore. He looked out from his seat, unable to resist a glance, and was just about able to see Megan talking to a policewoman. He saw three or four people wander nonchalantly away. The doors locked, and the train started to accelerate, the guard announcing that its final destination would be Edinburgh Waverley Station.
‘As if by magic,’ Adam muttered. ‘Well done, Meg.’
It was another two hours and forty-five minutes to Edinburgh.
CHAPTER 21
NO ESCAPE (TUESDAY 16TH DECEMBER 2014)
It was late in the evening when they came to get Abbie. She was craning her head out of the window, thinking about the layout of the castle, when the door opened without warning and two people entered.
One was the woman who seemed to have been entrusted with Abbie’s ‘welfare’. Abbie had heard her being called Vee, but she didn’t know what that was short for, nor what her surname was. Surnames were rarely used in Castle Dreich – the idea was that everyone was now one family. Vee’s fanaticism worried Abbie; her belief seemed absolute.
