Follow the Dead

by Lin Anderson

  For The Cairngorm Mountain Rescue Team

  Contents

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  95

  Acknowledgements

  They were holding hands, reminding him of Hansel and Gretel, or babes in the wood, although this place was barren of all vegetation. Come spring, the cold, hard ground would awaken allowing the tundra to burst into life. Not so for these two.

  And yet … in their frozen perfection, you might imagine it possible that with a little warmth and perhaps a kiss on the cheek, the ice might melt and free them from their prison, just like Snow White in her glass case.

  The boy was the smaller of the two. Perhaps five or six years old. He imagined her to be ten, maybe eleven. Even as he asked himself what they were doing there, on the border between Russia and his country, he knew the answer.

  In the near distance, a herd of reindeer nosed the snow, looking for the sustenance which lay beneath, their thick coats rustling in the encroaching wind. Had they not wandered this way with their herdsman, the children’s bodies would never have been found.

  He glanced up, noting the heavy snow clouds moving swiftly across the pale blue heavens. Instinct and the Sami herdsman’s motion skywards told him they would have to leave now with the bodies if they wanted to get out at all.

  1

  Scotland, Cairngorm Mountains, 30 December

  ‘Round three. Famous characters – fictional or otherwise.’

  Gavin winked at Isla as he handed round the Post-its, which she took as a hint that she could probably guess who he would choose – a character out of Star Wars or his current hero, Rick Grimes from The Walking Dead.

  Isla wrote down her character’s name and passed it on. As did the others. Then they set about sticking the Post-it they’d received on their foreheads. The purpose of the game was simple. To ask questions which might lead you to correctly guess the character whose name was stuck to your brow, and more importantly, cause as much merriment as possible during the process.

  Huddled together for warmth, a blizzard raging outside their stone refuge, laughter was helping to keep their temperature and their spirits up.

  I was right, she thought as she spotted Rick Grimes across from her. The chance of Lucy guessing her given character was close to zero, the tale of a walking-dead apocalypse not being on her radar. No wonder Gavin was grinning. As to what Isla had on her own brow, that was causing Malcolm some merriment, which probably meant he’d want her to go first.

  Gavin took pity on her. ‘I’ll go,’ he offered.

  Isla smiled back at him. After all, he was wearing the character that she’d chosen.

  ‘Female?’ Gavin began.

  A chorus of No.

  ‘Fictional?’

  That particular question had the other three looking at one another in consternation. Should ‘The Big Grey Man of Ben Macdui’ be regarded as fact or fiction? There were plenty of stories about his ghostly presence on Cairngorm. He was the unseen walker you heard behind you, whose appearance brought such an indescribable sense of terror and dread that well-seasoned climbers had been known to flee the hill quicker than they thought possible.

  Gavin was examining their expressions. ‘Well?’

  At that moment, the howl of the wind round the Shelter Stone increased in volume, whipping snow through the cracks and crevices of the makeshift walls. The fire brick they’d found in the cave and lit, spluttered and for a moment Isla thought it might have been blown out.

  Sensing their discomfort, Gavin tried to get them back on track. ‘Fact or fiction?’ he demanded.

  Malcolm obliged with a hand signal that seemed to indicate it could be either way.

  Gavin went studiously quiet. Isla could almost hear his brain working.

  The jammy bastard’s going to get it.

  Gavin gave them a triumphant smile before saying, ‘The Big Grey Man?’

  ‘How did you know that?’ Lucy said in disbelief.

  ‘Wasn’t that him howling outside?’ Gavin said, all innocence.

  His joke fell flat as the high-pitched howl sounded again. This time the fire brick did go out.

  Head torches were now the only light in the gloom.

  ‘Shall we pack up and go to bed?’ Lucy said, her voice a little strained.

  ‘I agree,’ Isla backed her up.

  Their best bet was to get some sleep. After all, they had to try to get off the mountain tomorrow, assuming the conditions improved.

  Their intention hadn’t been to spend the evening on Cairngorm, but at Macdui’s inn in Aviemore. The ascent of the deep gully known as Hell’s Lum had been challenging, but sheltered. Emerging out of the deep cornice at the top, they’d only then realized the full strength of the wind bearing down on them from the north – making their planned walk back in that direction impossible. Hence Gavin’s sensible decision that they should drop back down the gully and bivouac at the Shelter Stone for yet another night.

  Isla couldn’t help but imagine the scene in the valley below. Macdui’s would be heaving with partygoers, live music and drink. A blizzard raging on Cairngorm was of no significance to them. Tomorrow was Hogmanay and the resort was packed with holidaymakers wanting to bring in the New Year in the Highlands of Scotland. She contemplated the comfortable room and bed where she had hoped to spend the night and, catching Gavin’s glance, decided he was sharing the same thought.

  Gavin produced his hip flask. ‘We’ll have a dram, then head for bed.’

  The whisky went down a treat. Isla felt its warmth spread. And a double sleeping bag was almost as good as a bed once the lights were out, especially since Gavin radiated heat whatever the temperature.

  As they settled down, Gavin removed her forgotten Post-it. ‘Give us a kiss, Princess Leia.’

  Isla woke at two, knowing she would have to go outside, despite the weather. No one, but no one, went to the toilet inside the refuge, whatever the circumstances. Isla wished now that she hadn’t
had that final whisky.

  There was nothing for it but to go.

  Unzipping the sleeping bag, she pulled herself reluctantly out, realizing almost immediately that the temperature had dropped further since they’d gone to bed.

  It must be easily minus fifteen.

  She pulled on her outer garments, then eased her way past the second sleeping bag and crawled out of the crevice entrance. On exit, an ice-cold wind met her head-on, snow immediately gathering on her lashes and mouth.

  She would have to be quick.

  She realized then that the blizzard had momentarily eased and the powder snow that met her face was being whipped from the surface. Above her, the clouds parted, exposing a half-moon and accompanying stars. To the west, its beams had magically found the long strip of a frozen Loch A’an. For a moment she took in this wonder, then need drove her to locate a sheltered spot via her head torch where she might undress enough to relieve herself.

  The snow began falling again as she rearranged her clothing, the wind returning with a force that suggested it had only paused long enough to allow her to go to the toilet. In moments she was surrounded by a swirling snowstorm, fierce and disorientating. Only yards from the cave, Isla was no longer certain of its exact direction. The huge slab of rock that formed the Shelter Stone had disappeared, as had the loch and surrounding mountains.

  The force of a sudden gust thrust her to her knees and her head met a nearby rock. Dazed by the impact, she looked up to discover a tall figure beside her as though formed by snow. A gloved hand caught her arm. She thought it must be Gavin come to look for her, then registered that it wasn’t.

  ‘You okay?’ a male voice said.

  She nodded. ‘I came out to—’ She halted, realizing she had no need to explain.

  ‘You have companions?’

  ‘Yes, at the Shelter Stone.’

  He helped her up, the bulk of his white-suited body shielding her from the wind, and pointed the way. She wanted to ask him who he was and where he had come from, but that would have to wait until they got to the cave. Around her the air crackled as though charged with electricity and behind her the crunch of her companion’s footsteps seemed unnaturally loud and spaced out as though she was being followed by a giant.

  The Big Grey Man of Ben Macdui.

  She anticipated introducing him as such to the others and their imagined reaction brought a smile to Isla’s frozen lips.

  Then, as the curtain of snow briefly parted, she suddenly saw what lay before her. They were going in the wrong direction, heading down the boulder scree towards the loch, rather than upwards to the stone. She turned to tell him this and her head torch picked out his face staring down at her.

  As the wind swallowed her words – ‘We’re going the wrong way’ – Isla began scrambling back, her numb hands trying desperately to grip the snow-covered boulders.

  Finding her feet again, she rose to face him. And in that moment she knew.

  He has no intention of helping me.

  His gloved hand met her chest with a force that knocked the air from her lungs. She staggered, losing her foothold on the jumble of snow-crusted rocks. Thrust backwards by the impact, she tried to find her centre of gravity again, but couldn’t right herself before the second punch arrived, this time in her stomach. She crumpled under the impact, bile rising in her throat.

  He had chosen the spot well. Behind her was nothing but a steep boulder-strewn slope that even the snow couldn’t soften. He was on his knees now, peering down at her, determined to finish the job this time. Isla made one last desperate grab for her attacker.

  I’ll take the bastard with me.

  Her grasping hand found his face and she dug her nails in hard. His muffled shriek told her she had hit home.

  Then the short fight was over. The third and final impact achieved its aim. As she tumbled backwards, crashing against rocks, rolling, her mouth open in a silent scream, the tall figure melted into the blanketing snow.

  2

  Glasgow, Hogmanay

  ‘So, decided yet?’

  DS Michael McNab had been going through the book of tattoos for the last fifteen minutes, and had yet to make up his mind.

  ‘Can I show you what I want covered? Maybe you could suggest something?’ he said.

  Mannie looked intrigued.

  ‘Come on through.’

  He held aside a curtain behind which were a series of open booths. Three were occupied. McNab was shown into the fourth, where he stripped off his top half and turned round to let Mannie view his back.

  ‘Jesus.’ The tenor of his reaction suggested he was quite impressed. ‘You took a bullet?’

  McNab nodded.

  ‘Don’t see bullet wounds often except for a few squaddies lucky enough to return from Afghanistan.’

  ‘I want it covered.’

  ‘Can I ask why?’

  ‘I’m fed up answering questions about it,’ McNab said.

  Mannie raised his eyebrows, which now disappeared into his forehead tattoos. ‘They’ll ask about the tattoo.’

  ‘I prefer that. So what do you suggest?’

  ‘Something Viking?’ Mannie said. ‘They’re popular, since the TV programme starring Ragnar Lodbrok.’

  McNab definitely didn’t want a fucking Viking on his back and said so.

  Mannie smiled. ‘What about a skull then? We could mask the bullet hole in an eye socket.’

  ‘That’ll do,’ McNab said, bored now at having to make a choice.

  Mannie pointed to a sample on the wall. ‘It’s a lot of ink, but I think it’ll work.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘How old’s the scar exactly?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If it’s less than a couple of years old it’s not recommended.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ McNab insisted.

  ‘Okay. You’re the boss, Detective Sergeant.’

  Mannie pressed a call bell and moments later a young woman appeared. Dark-haired, slim, the body skin on show a walking advertisement for her chosen profession.

  ‘This is Ellie. She’ll be the one to work on you. Skulls are her thing.’ Mannie waited for a moment, expecting McNab to argue. When he didn’t, Mannie departed.

  As Ellie set to work, McNab made it plain he had no desire for conversation. Instead he concentrated on the varying degrees of pain the selection of needles offered.

  ‘You should ideally have something on the other shoulder. Balance things up a bit,’ Ellie said when they took a break. ‘I wouldn’t recommend it today, but you could come back when this heals.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning on getting shot in the other shoulder,’ McNab said, easing himself up.

  McNab had seen that look before. The I’m dying to ask you who, where and why, but not sure how you’ll react look.

  ‘It was a woman I cheated on,’ he lied. ‘I’m lucky she didn’t shoot a hole through my prick.’

  She gave him a smile. ‘We tattoo penises too.’

  ‘No shit?’ The thought made McNab wince.

  Ellie, seeing his look of disbelief, rummaged through a box of photographs, extracted one and handed it to him. The penis on show was coloured like a snake. It was also considerably longer than Mr Average.

  ‘Of course, it takes balls to have something like that done,’ Ellie told him.

  McNab met her challenging look. ‘And I bet you do balls too?’

  She smiled. ‘Just inked a guy’s testicles with the words “I’m nuts about you”.’

  McNab laughed and, holding up his hand, said, ‘Okay, you win.’

  ‘I always do,’ she assured him.

  At this she ordered him back into position so that she might complete her artwork. As the needle pierced his skin, McNab tried hard not to imagine it engaging with a more precious part of his anatomy, a thought which bizarrely made him hard.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s talk. Keep my mind off that photograph.’

  ‘You talk. I’ll listen,’ she said.r />
  This’ll be a first, McNab thought.

  An hour later, he had made a return appointment for the other shoulder, and Ellie had promised to have a drink with him. He decided he was rather satisfied with the morning’s proceedings. A fleeting memory of his last love interest suddenly presented itself. A PhD student at Glasgow University, Freya had had a keen interest in witchcraft, and for a while, him. Until he’d been dumped. A kindness on her part, was McNab’s final thought on that topic.

  Emerging from the tattoo parlour, he found the rain had turned to sleet, the pavement now covered in slush. He slithered his way across to his parked car. Forgetting momentarily where he’d just been and what he’d had done, he threw himself inside, where his newly inked back collided with the driver’s seat. The result reminded him of the months after he’d been shot. Sleeping on his front, dosed up with painkillers, if he slept at all.

  Give over, you big pussy.

  He recalled Ellie’s bare arms and their riot of colour. God knows where else she’d had inked and he couldn’t imagine she was one to complain about pain.

  As he fired up the engine, his mobile buzzed an incoming message. McNab’s pleasure at its contents made him momentarily forget his discomfort.

  It seemed the Hogmanay special was on.

  3

  Aviemore, Hogmanay

  ‘Not bad, eh?’

  Sean, on one elbow, gazed down at her.

  ‘Are we talking about you, the hotel or the weather?’ Rhona said.

  ‘What do you think?’ He placed a kiss on her lips. ‘What further delights do you have planned for this morning?’

  ‘It’ll soon be lunchtime,’ Rhona informed him.

  ‘So we start with lunch and go on from there.’

  He rose naked to look out of the window. ‘Snow’s on again. Maybe we should just order room service and stay put?’ His grin suggested he meant it.

  ‘Don’t you have to set up for tonight?’

  ‘I do, but not until later.’ Trying to interpret her expression, he offered, ‘What say we go for a drive around then have something to eat?’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  Rhona threw back the duvet and padded to the shower.

  The village has grown considerably, Rhona decided, as they took a brief tour round Aviemore. The number of newly built houses stretching up the hill on the northern side of the nearby A9 surprised her, as did the development of Scandinavian-style holiday apartments to the south-east. They’d arrived last night in the dark from Glasgow, so there’d been no chance to see the changes since she’d previously been here.