by Mark Robson
On silent feet she raced across the living area to her father’s bedroom door. It opened as she approached and Matthew Cutler emerged, drawing a dressing gown round his body. Niamh put a finger to her lips as she approached and, grabbing him round the waist, pulled him back through the door into his room.
‘What’s . . .’
‘Shhh!’ she hushed, clamping a hand over his mouth. ‘It’s the police. They’ve come to arrest you. We’ve got to get out of here. They think you murdered the boys.’
‘What?’ her father exclaimed in a low voice, the colour draining from his face. ‘Have they found bodies?’
‘They didn’t say,’ she said, her voice urgent. ‘But they can’t have found Sam’s. He’s alive. I know it.’
‘Well, they’ve probably just come to get more information. Talk of murder is just nonsense! What made you think that?’
‘I overheard them talking as they got out of the car, Dad,’ she insisted. ‘If you answer the door, they will take you away. Don’t go. Please, Dad!’
‘Don’t be so silly, Niamh,’ he sighed. There was a second set of loud knocks. They sounded more insistent this time. ‘You don’t think I’ve done anything to the boys, do you?’
‘No! Of course not! I know you haven’t.’
‘Then I’m going to answer the door. You must have misheard them. And even if you didn’t, I’ve got nothing to hide. You know that.’
‘But how can we search for the boys if you’re locked up in jail?’ she asked, desperate now. ‘Please, Dad. I’m begging you. Don’t go.’
Her father removed her hands from his arms and placed them gently by her sides. Giving her a final warning look, he reopened the door and left the bedroom.
‘One moment,’ he called out. ‘I’m coming.’
‘Damn it!’ Niamh muttered under her breath. ‘What am I supposed to do now?’ Her legs felt suddenly weak. She sunk down onto the edge of the bed, her mind racing. The police would take her father, but what then? Would they take her too? They would have to, she realised. She was a minor. She would not be allowed to stay here alone. But then all hope of finding the boys would die.
The coastguard wouldn’t find the boys. Niamh didn’t know how she knew this, but she knew. Could she find them? She wasn’t sure. But, given her strange bond with him, she felt she had a better chance of finding Sam than anyone else.
Run! she told herself. It’s your only option.
Her decision was spontaneous, but she could hardly run away wearing nothing more than a bikini. Without further thought, Niamh slipped back out of her father’s bedroom and into her own. She heard him open the front door even as she began to pull on the first pair of shorts that came to hand.
‘Matthew Cutler?’
‘That’s right, officer. What can I do for you?’
Niamh rifled through her bedside drawer and grabbed her purse.
‘Sir, you are under arrest. Please keep your hands where I can see them. My partner here’s gonna cuff you and take you out to the car where he’ll read you your rights.’
‘This is ridiculous! What am I being arrested for? I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘Thank you for your cooperation, sir. Now if you’ll come with us and get into the car, I’ll secure the house and we can get to the station.’
‘But I’m not even dressed! Can I just put some clothes on? It’ll only take a minute. I also need to tell my daughter what’s happening.’
Niamh grabbed a T-shirt and her sunglasses. She was out of time.
‘Daughter? Is your daughter here in the house?’ she heard. That was it. She sprinted out of her room and across the living area towards the slightly open door to the pool area.
‘We’d better take her along too. Bud, you go get the girl and some clothes for Mr Cutler. Sir, you come with me . . .’
Niamh didn’t wait to hear any more. She squeezed out through the door.
‘Hey, you girl! Stop!’ The policeman’s voice held a note of surprise tinged with anger as he spotted her making her escape.
She was out and running. There was a curse. She heard the faint rumble of the door as it was yanked open, but she was already around the end of the building and sprinting across the lawn to the front fence. In an instant, she was up and over it, dropping down on to the road behind. She landed awkwardly and fell.
‘Stop! Police!’ the man yelled again.
Niamh did not hesitate. She scrambled to her feet, turned left along the road away from the driveway and set off again, sprinting as fast as her legs would carry her. Praying that the short cut over the fence would give her a good lead, she angled right, racing across the road and along a path into the trees on the far side. The houses here were spaced at irregular intervals. No two residences looked the same along this part of Summerland Key and she could not run far without running out of land. She turned left along the path that ran behind the houses. What she needed was a place to hide. With only one person chasing, she wouldn’t need to evade him for long to make him give up. He would return with others of course, but if she acted quickly, there was a chance she could slip away before the police could organise a proper search party.
The path was narrow. As long as she stayed on it, she was making it easy for the man to follow. Her breath rasped loud in her ears, as she pushed herself to keep running as fast as she could. Another garden appeared ahead and to the left. In a split-second decision, Niamh changed direction and cut through a gap in the bushes. As she approached the wooden fence surrounding the garden, Niamh tried to imagine it as a high hurdle like the ones on the sports track at her school. Too late, she realised that the fence was a bit higher than the training hurdles she was used to. Committed by her momentum, Niamh focused all her energy into her final bounding paces and launched herself over the fence with a mighty leap.
Heart racing, the world seemed to momentarily drop into slow motion as her front foot cleared the top of the fence and she sailed into the air. A burning sensation ignited along her right shin in mid flight. As she landed and the world exploded back into normal speed, she realised that her trailing leg must have scraped the fence top. It tingled as she landed, but she didn’t look down.
Her panting breath tore at her throat as she reached the corner of the house and rounded it. Pressing herself flat against the wall, she paused. The metallic tang of blood at the back of her mouth was unmistakable as she fought to regain control of her lungs. A tickling trickle tracked, stop-start, down her right leg. She glanced down. A long graze was speckled with welling spots of red and a single scarlet line of blood ran down her shin. It didn’t look bad, but the gently burning heat she had felt when hurdling the fence was now resolving into a line of fiery pain.
Niamh closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wooden wall of the house for a second. She couldn’t stay here. It was too open. It would be better to double back across the road. If she could turn left again and loop back to the Mitchells’, Moira might hide her. Could she trust Moira that much? No. Moira might see it as her duty to hand Niamh over to the police. But there was their garden shed . . .
‘There you are!’ the policeman exclaimed from the other side of the fence at the end of the garden.
Fear erupted inside her again.
‘No! Don’t run! I don’t want to hurt you.’
But Niamh did not hesitate. She turned and ran again, along the side of the house and out into the front garden area. The policeman cursed and began struggling over the fence. A dog began to bark as Niamh entered the front garden. She registered the large white shape emerging from its kennel on an intercept course and swerved to avoid it. The dog reached the end of its chain and stopped abruptly, but continued protesting her presence loudly as she sprinted across the street and into the garden opposite.
Ducking and weaving through the shrubs and trees, Niamh looped around the house, through the back garden and out on to the path along the edge of the canal, turning left again towards home. Stretching out her str
ides, she accelerated still further in an effort to maximise her advantage. A gap in the trees yawned to her left and she ducked through it into yet another garden.
There were still two more houses before the Mitchells’. Would it be better to hide now or to keep running? She didn’t know how much of a lead she had. No more than a few seconds at best. A fire raged in her lungs, and her throat felt hot and dry. She looked around frantically and then inspiration struck.
Seconds later, the policeman came running along the path. His footfalls sounded heavy and his breathing laboured. As he approached, he slowed. Niamh lay absolutely still, holding her breath as the man came closer and closer.
Keep going! Don’t stop! she prayed silently. She closed her eyes, not daring to look.
His footsteps stuttered to a stop and Niamh could tell that he was looking and listening for clues as to which way she had turned.
‘Damn you, girl!’ he panted. ‘It’s too early for this! Where’ve you gone now?’
Niamh cracked her eyes open and it felt as though someone had reached into her chest, grabbed her heart in his hand and squeezed it hard. The man was right below her. There hadn’t been time to climb very high into the tree, so she had concentrated on getting above a runner’s natural line of sight and staying as still as possible to avoid attracting attention. Runners naturally spend much of their time looking at the ground ahead to avoid tripping. He had no reason to look up.
Please don’t look up! There’s nothing here! Move on, she thought, willing the man away with every fibre of her body.
He didn’t look up, but neither did he move. He just stood there looking first one way and then the other.
‘GIRL!’ he called in a loud voice, the sudden increase in volume causing her to tense up. ‘If you can hear me, please listen. I just wanna take you to the Sheriff’s Office to keep you safe. We’re gonna ask your pa some questions, but you’re not in any trouble, I promise you. Please, come on in with me now, and stop messin’ around, OK?’
Niamh could feel sweat trickling down the middle of her back. Beads were also beginning to track down her forehead and she felt one slip between her eyebrows and make a run down her nose. It reached the end and began to form a drip. Her eyes crossed as she tried to focus on the end of her nose. The droplet dangled. The sensation as it grew was agonising. She desperately wanted to jut her lower lip out and blow it clear, but feared to make even the faintest of whisper sounds. The man was directly below. He would hear for sure.
More drips were forming on her hands, but she did not dare move. Her chest ached with the agony of controlling her breathing. The man turned this way and that as he dithered over which way to go, but still he didn’t move away.
Please go. Please! she thought.
The droplet at the end of her nose extended and fell. Her eyes widened as she watched it go. By some miraculous chance, the man chose that moment to take a half-step, shifting just far enough for the drop to miss his head and hit a fold on the back of his shirt. For a moment Niamh thought he must surely have felt it, but he didn’t. Everything blurred as a wave of relief left her feeling faint. Another drip was already forming at the end of her nose and he had shifted his weight back again.
‘Hey, Bud?’ The distant shout of the policeman’s partner drifted through the trees. ‘You got her yet?’
‘NOPE,’ he yelled back. ‘I THINK SHE’S GONE TO GROUND.’
‘Well, leave her. She won’t go far. Let’s take the father in and we’ll come back for the girl later.’
‘OK, I’LL BE RIGHT THERE.’
Don’t look up! Please, don’t look up! Niamh prayed fervently. Go! Go on. Listen to your partner . . . go! What are you waiting for?
The man didn’t move. He appeared to be listening and thinking. The second drop at the end of her nose began to stretch, preparing to fall.
For Pete’s sake, GO! she willed.
With a final tickling wobble, the droplet of sweat detached and Niamh knew instantly that this one would not miss.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
With a final blast of ferocious rain at about midday, the storm clouds relented, giving way to washed blue skies and puffy, white fair-weather cloud. A stiff breeze continued to blow, but the bright sun’s determined glare was so fierce that the boys welcomed the presence of the wind as they set out to see what had become of the boat.
‘You sure you don’t want me to come?’ Brad asked from the doorway.
‘You’re sure the raptors won’t hurt us if we go without you?’ Sam asked.
‘You’re unlikely to see any, but if you do, they’ll leave you well alone as long as you stay within the boundaries of the Reserve.’
‘What about other dangerous creatures? Are there any we should know about?’ Sam asked, starting to think that going out alone might not be the best idea.
Brad thought for a moment. ‘Nothing that should trouble you at this time of day, so long as you stick to the beach,’ he said. ‘The raptors keep the jungle around here pretty clear of predators, but every now and then one finds its way in, so it’s best to be on the safe side and stay in the open.’
‘In that case we should be fine, thanks,’ Sam told him. ‘We’re just going to walk along the beach and back to see if the boat survived the storm and take a look around. I’m not sure exactly how far Nipper carried us last night, but it can’t have been more than a couple of miles at the most.’
‘Well, OK then. If you’re sure,’ Brad said. ‘I don’t know what you think you’re going to do with the boat if you find it, but if you wanna go try, then I’m not goin’ to stop you. It might be further than you think, remember. The raptors can run seriously fast. Make sure you’re back by nightfall. Even in the Reserve it’s not a good idea to wander around after dark. Oh, and if you come across a man on the beach fishing, that will be Bill. If you see him, say hello and give him my regards.’
‘We will,’ Sam assured him, still finding it bizarre that a small group of humans had made this world their home.
‘Happy hunting then.’
Sam led the way through the trees to the beach. He had the distinct impression that Brad and Leah thought the trip was a waste of time, but with luck, the boat would be salvageable, and he and Callum could use it to find a way home. Besides, even if the boat was no longer seaworthy, there were lots of things around Brad and Leah’s house that had clearly been salvaged from various wrecks. Just recovering the fishing tackle would make it a worthwhile trip. Having a way of catching food in this strange world had to be a good thing.
Sam was on edge as they followed the path to the beach. He kept one hand on the hilt of the knife he now wore on his left hip until they were out on the open sand. The rocky outcrop that Nipper had scaled while carrying them the previous night proved a tricky climb. Although the sun was rapidly drying the surfaces, many rocks were still slick with slippery green weed and treacherous footing was not the only danger. Molluscs with razor-sharp shells waited patiently on open rock surfaces, poised to slice exposed skin at the slightest contact, and rubbery curtains of seaweed hid thousands more. Every crevice appeared to hold a pool, many teeming with creatures both familiar and strange.
Where Sam might have spent hours nosing through the pools collecting shrimp, crabs and little fish in a bucket when he was younger, this was nothing like his visits to the rock pools of Amroth and Saundersfoot in Wales. His curiosity was tinged with wariness. If Brad and Leah were telling the truth, this was not his world and there was no telling what dangers these pools might harbour. Callum showed no such caution as he scrambled up the rocks to the top. He was a surprisingly agile climber.
‘Hey! Wait up, Cal!’ Sam called, as his friend vanished from his view over the top lip. ‘Don’t get too far ahead.’
‘What’s the matter, Sam? Can’t hack the pace?’ Callum taunted, looking down from above.
Sam had to smile as Callum enjoyed his rare moment of triumph.
‘It’s not a race, Cal,’ he said casually.
‘If it was, trust me, I’d have whupped you.’
‘Oh, yeah? And my Aunt Aggie drives a McLaren F1!’
‘Did you never wonder why she has her hair cut short?’
‘What?’ Callum asked, reaching down and giving Sam a hand up to the final tier of rock.
‘Your Aunt Aggie – has her hair cut short, doesn’t she?’
‘Well, yes actually. But you haven’t met my . . .’
‘It’s cut short to make the racing helmet more comfortable,’ Sam interrupted, keeping his face straight.
Callum looked at him for a moment and then they both erupted into fits of laughter.
‘The only racing my Aunt Aggie’s likely to do is on a broomstick,’ Callum said, shaking his head. ‘Harry Potter has nothing on her!’
They stood on the top of the promontory for a moment, gazing along the broad crescent of sand that stretched ahead. The tide was further out than it had been last night, but there was no sign of the boat.
‘We must have beached it in the next cove,’ Sam observed, though looking at how far it was to the headland at the far end of the beach, he was not so sure. ‘Come on. Let’s climb down and get going.’
Getting down was more treacherous than climbing up, but both boys managed the descent without injury and within a few minutes they were hiking along the sand at a fast pace. The surf was still pounding the beach with a constant booming roar that filled their ears and quelled their conversation. Where the waves had been an ominous grey the previous evening, now they were an idyllic blue-green, tipped with pure white foam that fizzed as it rushed towards the sand.
Sam scanned the sand for any sign of footprints, but the tide had clearly been in and washed all evidence of the raptors’ presence away overnight. The sand was smooth and soft underfoot. To begin with, this was pleasant, but the boys soon felt their legs aching as the extra effort required to walk began to take its toll. They stayed well away from the tree line, but even above the constant roar of the surf, strange cries could sometimes be heard coming from the jungle. Sam kept a nervous eye on the trees for any signs of the huge creature that had made its charging run the previous evening, but there were none.
