“Show me your sleeve,” the cameraman ordered and Danny dutifully obeyed.
Dylan sucked in a breath – the boy’s jacket was torn to shreds and, given the slick red smear across the cream fabric, so was the skin underneath.
“We need to move away from the fire a bit,” Mark said. “Draw it out. I’m not staying here all bloody night.”
“You first,” Andy commented wryly.
There was some grunting and shoving, and by the time the camera had panned to face the action and adjusted to the light of the fire enough for Tristan to see, Andy lay sprawled across the woodland floor, a mix of anger and terror on his face, scowling in Mark’s direction as he tried to scramble to his feet. Fear or the leaves coating the ground had made him clumsy and he’d slipped.
At exactly the same time, a growling snarl started up and the wraith came darting in from the side furthest from the fire. It flew unerringly for Andy, but before it could reach its target, Mark swung the bat, using his whole body to put power into the stroke.
He thwacked the wraith, sending it tumbling through the air into the trees outside the relative safety of the clearing.
“Shit! Did you get it? Is it dead?”
“Can you see it?”
“You must have killed it, you walloped it!”
There was a confusion of movement and shouting as the boys foolhardily ran after the creature. They crashed through the undergrowth, their progress nothing more than streaks of light and dark, gasping and exclaiming.
“That’s it! There! There!”
Tristan lost his grasp on who was shouting. He supposed it didn’t really matter. A moment later they’d found it and he was looking down on the wraith, nestled amongst a pile of leaves. It writhed, clearly trying to get up, to face the threat that hovered above it.
“It’s moving! Batter it!”
As Tristan watched one of the boys stepped forward and pummelled the wraith, again and again, choked little sobs escaping the wielder with every swing. The rest stood in silent witness until at last one of the boys – Andy? – said, “All right, Danny. That’s enough. You killed it.”
Danny stopped at last, then stepped back. Tristan saw the wildness in his face, heart-wrenching fear rendering him completely frenzied, manic.
“Look! Look what it’s doing!” The shout had Tristan tearing his eyes away from Danny and down to the wraith, which was smoking, preparing to disappear in a cloud of gas.
There was more to the video, but Tristan stopped paying attention as the boys began debating what it was they’d killed, where it came from, and how it managed to evaporate out of existence at the end. Instead, Tristan watched James – who watched him.
“They were so lucky,” Dylan breathed. “That thing could have killed them all. If they hadn’t had a fire—”
“They’d all be dead,” Tristan agreed.
“I’m going to take it,” James said quietly, “that you know what that thing is.”
“I know what it is,” Tristan confirmed.
“You’ve seen it before?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Tristan just looked at him. James waited a heartbeat, then another. Seeing Tristan wasn’t going to bend, he gave up. Letting out a tired sigh, he reached over to take the tablet back. Tristan considered holding on to it – he wanted to watch the video back, again and again – but if it was on YouTube he would be able to find it himself and, really, there was nothing to be gained by picking over every detail. He’d watched closely enough, had taken in all the film had to tell him.
Except…
“You’ve watched it a few times?” he asked James.
Switching the tablet off so that only the muted glow from the table lamp lit up his features, Dylan’s dad nodded sombrely.
“Can you see enough to work out where they are?”
If James said no, Tristan would simply pore over the clip himself, see if he could find clues, but that would mean letting Dylan watch it again, too. The way she was sitting so close to him, leaning in, her hand still wrapped around his arm, he figured she was going to have nightmares enough as it was.
“Doubt that you’ll be able to tell from the footage,” James said, “but whoever put up the film tagged the location. It was in a wood just outside of Kilsyth.”
“Kilsyth?” Dylan jerked slightly. “Near where all those sheep were attacked?”
Tristan watched James put two and two together as the man nodded. He could have cursed Dylan for pointing that out, but there seemed little harm in the information. It wasn’t as if James was going to call the farmer and tell him what happened.
And it wasn’t as if James had any idea that the creature was a mutated soul who’d snuck through from the wasteland.
Wanting to make sure no more secrets snuck out, Tristan stood up.
“Thank you for showing me that,” he said. Then, “It would be best if you pretended you didn’t see it.” James said nothing, his expression thoughtful. “Most people will dismiss it as clever CGI,” Tristan went on. “You should too.”
“Just answer one thing,” James said. He took a deep breath, seemed to brace himself. “Are there more of those… things?”
“Here?” Tristan asked, and James looked momentarily taken aback before nodding. “I hope not. Come on, Dylan,” he held out his hand and tugged Dylan to her feet when she automatically grabbed it. “We need to work on that essay for English.”
James let them go, the tablet tucked tight under his arm, a slightly lost expression on his face.
Tristan could feel Dylan’s anxiety beside him, knew she was practically bursting to talk about the wraith in the video, but mercifully she held her tongue until they were back in her room. Tristan swiped at the map, sending it sliding to the floor, and then drew Dylan down onto her bed. She came willingly, pressing herself into his side then tilting her head up to pierce him with her gaze.
“This is good, right?” she whispered. “If that was the wraith that killed the sheep and the horse, then it’s dead now.”
“It was possibly that wraith,” Tristan amended.
“Probably,” Dylan fired back.
Tristan didn’t argue, wanting to believe that it was. But that still left one very problematic question to which they had no answer.
“How did it get here, though?” he murmured.
“I don’t know.” Dylan shrugged helplessly.
“It couldn’t have come from where we went through, or Susanna and Jack,” Tristan reasoned. “It’s too far away, for one. We closed both holes, but even if one of them managed to reopen, there’s no way a wraith would pass so many populated areas without feeding.”
“I don’t know,” Dylan repeated, a little more quietly. Tristan almost didn’t hear her, lost in his thoughts.
“And I’m sure, absolutely sure that no other ferrymen have come through. I’d feel them.”
He shut his eyes and reached out with his senses, just in case, but all he felt – all he’d felt the dozen other times he’d tried – was an emptiness, a quiet. He was alone here.
Dylan looked up at him. “You said the veil was thinner on the edge of the wasteland. A wraith couldn’t just have clawed its way through?”
Tristan shook his head, immediately dismissing the idea. “The wasteland doesn’t work like that,” he said. “The veil doesn’t just break, or crack. It’s held for an eternity.”
“As far as you know,” Dylan contradicted carefully.
Tristan opened his mouth to tell her that he did know, that he could feel it… but he’d told her that he couldn’t follow her back through, could never exist in the real world, and yet here he was. There was, he supposed, a first time for everything.
And just because he’d been conditioned to believe an idea as truth, it didn’t mean that it necessarily was.
“It’s possible,” he had to admit.
“All right.” Dylan dropped her head down to rest in on his shoulder. “What do you think we shou
ld do, then? How are we supposed to make sure no more wraiths can get through if we can’t even work out how this one did?”
Resting his chin on the top of her head, Tristan grimaced. “I don’t know,” he said, pulling Dylan tight against him. “Strange things are happening, and I don’t understand it. Not at all.”
CHAPTER 11
“I’m going to miss you, you know.”
Susanna rolled over onto her front on the lumpy sofa and stared at Jack, who was standing by the front door again. This time, at least, he had a decent view. The valley they’d made it through by the skin of their teeth stretched out beyond the safe house doorway. It was terrifying, a funnel thrusting them into the path of more wraiths than Susanna had ever seen gathered in one place, but now that they’d crossed it, she could admit that the vast sweeps of hillside, the sinuous, slightly shimmering black of the narrow pathway and the burning hue of the sky had a strange kind of majesty.
If she never saw it again, though, that would be absolutely fine by her.
“Are you talking to me, or the wasteland?” she teased.
“Mostly the wasteland.” Jack grinned out at the valley before turning to face her. “But you as well, I suppose.”
“Right.” Susanna rolled her eyes at him. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled at her fake disgruntlement, crossing the room to absently run a hand over the surface of a rickety kitchen table. “I wish there was something to eat.”
“You’re hungry?” Susanna asked, surprised.
“No.” Jack shook his head. “I just… I could really go a bacon roll right now. Or a bag of chips.”
“Healthy fare,” Susanna commented dryly.
“Yeah well.” He shrugged. “My mum never let me have that sort of thing. Meals had to be old-fashioned, with veg and crap, or else my stepdad—” Jack broke off, suddenly shoving at the kitchen table. One of the spindly chairs tucked beneath it toppled loudly to the floor, but Jack ignored it, coming over to sit on the sofa.
Looking at the hunched curve of his spine, the tightness in his shoulders, she sat up and swivelled until they were sitting side by side.
“I’ve never had chips,” Susanna said quietly. “Or a bacon roll.”
Jack made a non-committal sound, rubbing his hands through his hair.
“Or chocolate,” she added. “I’ve heard a lot about chocolate.” She wished she’d had the chance to taste some while she was in the real world, but with everything that had happened, sampling foods had been the last thing on her mind.
“You should have said,” Jack told her. “My mum has loads.” His voice took on a caustic edge. “Stashed away where my stepdad can’t find it. He’s always telling her she’s getting fat.”
Susanna didn’t know what to say to that. She reached out hesitantly and put her hand on Jack’s knee. She’d seen him try to act the protector in memory after memory, knew it must be gnawing at him that he couldn’t step in between them any more. Make himself the target for his stepdad’s cruel words.
For his punches.
“Did I kiss you?” Jack said suddenly.
“What?” Susanna blurted, totally wrong-footed by the abrupt change of direction.
Jack turned his head ever so slightly, giving her a view of his sheepish expression and burning cheeks. “Did I kiss you?” He shifted on the sofa, their positions close enough that he knocked her elbow. “I feel like I remember… the first time we were in the wasteland, we walked to a flat.” Jack scrunched his face up, searching memories Susanna knew would be blurry. “You said it belonged to a pal or something. She had a stupid name…”
“Marcy,” Susanna said.
Jack snorted. “I should have figured it out right there and then. What kind of a name is Marcy?”
“Lots of people are called Marcy!” Susanna protested.
“Fifty years ago,” Jack countered.
“It’s hard to keep up with the times,” Susanna muttered, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him. “And I was under pressure – you were being a nightmare!”
Jack laughed, a loud, hoarse sound. Rusty, as if he hardly used it, which Susanna knew to be true.
“In my defence, I thought you were Sammy,” Jack said.
“I know.” Susanna nudged him gently with her shoulder. “Do you miss her?”
“I’m not… I mean, I feel like I should.” He shrugged. “But I don’t, not really.”
“Oh.” Susanna was surprised. Sammy had been a rock for Jack, a steady presence in the tumult of his life. Susanna knew he’d had strong feelings for her, that’s why she’d taken on that form. “Well, that’s OK,” she added somewhat lamely, feeling the need to fill the awkward silence that had somehow settled on them.
“I did kiss you, didn’t I?” Jack asked. He was carefully not looking at her.
“Well…” Yes, he had. He’d lain over her, kissing her neck, tried to slip his hand under her shirt to feel her up. “You thought I was Sammy,” she reminded him.
There was a moment of tense silence that Susanna didn’t know how to break. She couldn’t even guess what Jack was thinking, but he suddenly seemed to find the floor very interesting.
For Susanna, it was hard to think about the memory, fresh as if it had happened only moments ago, without feeling odd. Jittery. The Jack that had kissed her then had been a stranger. But now…
“I’m sorry,” he blurted, breaking the silence and fixing his eyes on Susanna’s. “For the way I acted, I mean.” A pause. “Was that your first kiss?”
“What kind of question is that?” she retorted. She felt heat start to creep up her cheeks and it was a struggle to hold Jack’s unrelenting gaze.
“Was it?” he asked, doggedly pursuing an answer.
“No,” Susanna said tartly, then, because Jack was looking so skeptical, “and it wasn’t the best kiss I’ve ever had either!”
This time his laugh was so loud it seemed to rock the safe house.
“Now I know you’re lying,” he said with a wink.
“Hmmm.” Susanna sniffed, arching an eyebrow at him. “Anything else you’d like to know? My deepest darkest secrets?”
“Like you’ve got any!” he shot back.
“I do so!” She smacked his arm. “And I’m not telling you!”
He grinned, then he blew out a breath and looked towards the door. It was near dark, and the wraiths were thick in the air, screaming and wailing, but the magic of the safe house dimmed a lot of the noise, even with the door open, and the terror of the wall of tortured sound had lessened with time.
“Are we nearly there?” he asked, any traces of laughter now gone.
“Yeah.” The word came out scratchy and Susanna had to clear her suddenly tight throat. “Yeah, there’s not far to go. One more big obstacle, one more safe house, then we’ll be at the line. You’ll be able to get out of here.”
“And you?”
“I’ll…” Susanna didn’t really know. “I’ll probably be sent to ferry another soul.”
She hoped. Because if the Inquisitor left her here, alone, with the heat and the desert dryness and the ever-present wraiths, she thought she might lose her mind.
“Right.” A pause. “What’s the last big obstacle, then?”
“A lake,” Susanna said. “We row across it.” Then she made a face. “I row across it.”
“A lake?” Jack asked, and Susanna nodded. “How big is it?”
“Well, I don’t really have anything to compare it to, but it’s too big to walk around, not before the sun sets.”
“Oh.” Another pause. “Is it deep?”
“Yeah,” Susanna said, “It’s pretty deep. I’ve had the joy of swimming in it a few times.” That was an understatement. “I’ve never been able to reach the bottom.”
“I can’t swim,” Jack announced. He fidgeted. “Like, at all.”
Susanna already knew that.
“Don’t worry, Jack. We’ll stay in the boat. I promised you,
remember? I’m going to get you out of here. In less than two days, I’ll have you across the line.”
And didn’t that just stab her in the heart.
“I really am going to miss you,” Jack repeated quietly, reaching out and pulling her towards him. This time, Susanna didn’t make any sort of smart comment. She just rested her head on his shoulder and waited for the dawn.
CHAPTER 12
“Annabelle, would you just sit down!”
The girl with the long black hair ignored her, too intent on the picture she was taking. Jennifer Moffat sighed. She loved netball, and she loved coaching, but dealing with teenage girls she could do without.
She needed a pay rise.
“Annabelle!”
When the star goal attack ignored her once more, Jennifer levered herself out of her seat. Using the headrests for balance, she walked carefully up the narrow aisle of the bus, past the six empty rows to where the majority of the team were seated. Annabelle stood with her back to her, legs slightly bent as she angled her phone to perfectly capture the grinning faces of her two friends, who were leaning dangerously out of their seats.
Done with subtlety, she tapped firmly on Annabelle’s shoulder.
“What?” Annabelle spun so quickly her swathe of hair whipped Jennifer across the face. The girl eyed her petulantly. If she wasn’t so much better than the reserve goal attack players, Jennifer would have thrown her off the team long ago.
Unfortunately, Annabelle was. And she knew it.
“Sit down,” Jennifer said firmly. “Put your seatbelt on.”
There was a brief power struggle as Annabelle stared at Jennifer, waiting to see if she could intimidate her into scurrying back to the front with the other coach, old Mrs Halliday, who liked to pretend she was deaf and dumb as soon as the bus started going. Jennifer held her nerve. She might be four inches shorter than Annabelle, but she wasn’t going to be intimated by too much hairspray and attitude.
Or at least, she wasn’t going to let Annabelle know that she was.
“Sit down, Annabelle,” she repeated, the growl in her voice telling the girl this was her last warning.
Outcasts Page 8
