She’d made him a promise.
And it might not be too late to keep it.
CHAPTER 19
He was back.
Tristan felt the wasteland settle around him and fought to draw breath. Nothing had changed, not really. They still stood in the flat, he could still see the street out of the window.
But everything was different.
It was the stillness of the air; the eerie silence. It was the feeling of desolation that struck so hard it almost dropped him to his knees.
Get used to it, he thought.
He’d convinced himself he’d never be back here, that he’d left this ‘life’ behind. He should have known better.
“Come on,” he said wearily. “Let’s go.”
Dylan followed him down the stairs of their building and out onto the street, and then she just stood and stared. Knowing the first day was always a short one, he paused, letting her drink in the subtle differences, the tiny markers that signalled they weren’t in the real world any longer.
Standing in the middle of two long rows of three-storey tenements, cars lining the pavement on each side, they were surrounded – and yet the place was completely empty. There were no birds calls, no traffic noises. They could knock on any door, peer into any window. Dylan and Tristan were the only people there.
The Inquisitor had taken no chances that they might attempt to change their mind. It had thrust them deep into the wasteland, where they couldn’t even catch a glimmer of life continuing just out of reach.
“This is weird,” Dylan murmured. She gave a delicate shudder. “Which way?”
Tristan nodded towards the end of the street and they started off. The sky above their heads was thick with cloud, the undersides drooping heavily. He saw Dylan eyeing them uneasily and almost smiled. He remembered just how much she’d hated being cold and wet the first time they’d travelled the wasteland together, how much she’d complained as she traipsed along behind him.
“Is that me?” she asked. “The clouds, are they my fault?”
Tristan paused for a moment, looking up with a frown on his face. “I’m not sure,” he said, “but I don’t think so. This isn’t your wasteland, it’s your parents’. They’ll be controlling the weather.”
“Oh.”
Tristan started walking again, his stride both long and quick, forcing Dylan to hurry to keep up with him. He had to. They needed to catch her parents, before they got to the line. He promised Dylan he would get her to them, then get her safely to the line, and that’s what he was going to do.
He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t.
He was simply determined to succeed, that was all.
And he didn’t have any right to be angry. The choice had been Dylan’s to make, and she’d made it.
He fought to tamp down his emotions, to rein himself in until he could be the cool, calm ferryman he used to be… but the numbness wouldn’t come.
“Tristan, I’m sorry.”
The words jolted Tristan, forced him to break out of the ruthless pace he’d been setting. He stopped entirely when he saw how out of breath Dylan was. “Don’t apologise,” he replied. “You did what you thought was right.”
“But it wasn’t the choice you would have made.”
No, it wasn’t.
Unable to voice the thought, Tristan set off again, keeping to a gentler pace this time. They continued along in silence until they were out of Dylan’s street and into a nameless road that didn’t exist in real life.
“I would have made whatever choice kept you safe,” he announced as they crossed the street.
“What?” Dylan hurried to catch up.
“If it had been up to me,” he clarified, “I would have chosen anything that would keep you safe, so no. I would never have opted to bring you back here.” He scowled at the ominously empty windows that stared down at them. “This place is crawling with wraiths.”
“Can they come out?” Dylan asked, glancing around nervously.
Tristan shook his head. “No, they’re trapped by the light, remember. We’re safe. The Inquisitor had that much mercy, at least.” He turned to Dylan when she didn’t reply, caught the confusion on her face. “It came to us in the morning, and it’s put us in the wasteland at that time, too. That means we have the whole day, which is good.”
“Because we’ll definitely make it to the safe house,” Dylan concluded, but Tristan shook his head.
“Because, if we’re going to catch your parents, we need to skip straight over the first safe house and make it to the second.”
Dylan paled, clearly thinking about how long they had walked last time on that first day… and then the second.
“Tristan, that’s an awfully long way.”
“We’ll make it,” he said. He tried to sound determined, confident, but he was worried. He’d never attempted this before, had always stopped at each and every safe house – and for good reason. The journey was hard. How often had he failed to get souls to the next resting place in time? How many had he lost?
“We’ll make it,” Dylan repeated, nodding, seemingly trying to muster some confidence. “We will. I won’t hold us back, I promise.”
“Tell me that after the first hill,” Tristan shot back, and he gave her a sideways look, one eyebrow raised in amusement.
Dylan smiled, but it faded as a deeper emotion bled into her eyes. She reached out and grabbed his hand. “I love you,” she told him. “No matter what happens, remember that.”
“I know it,” Tristan replied. “I won’t forget, not ever. And know that you’ll take my heart with you, when you cross the line. So, in a way, we’ll always be together.”
She’d take his heart, but he’d cling on to the memories they’d made together. All of them, from the first moment she’d stumbled, frightened and hesitant, out of the tunnel, to the moment she’d reappeared in the wasteland, having faced so much alone, for him. The sight of her broken body on the stretcher, her strength when she faced down a wraith armed with nothing more than a stray branch. The sound of her laugh, even her scowl when he annoyed her. Every expression that played across her face, every word she’d ever spoken to him; he’d keep them locked tight in his mind and use them to drag himself through the rest of his sorry existence.
He hoped they’d be enough.
They kept going all morning. Dylan did her best to match his pace, but he knew she was struggling. By the time he paused outside a block of flats, she was sweating and looked exhausted. She didn’t ask why they’d stopped, simply dropped down onto a stone bollard, one of several decorating the front of the building, breathing heavily.
“This is the first safe house,” he told her.
“It is?” Dylan looked at the building with surprise – and indignation. “Is this the luxury version, then? Did I get stiffed?”
Tristan managed to raise a vague smile.
“It’s all about where you expect to be, remember?” Hoping to lighten the mood, he formed a mock-scowl. “It’s not my fault you had to choose a tunnel in the middle of nowhere to pop your clogs.”
“Choose?” Dylan spluttered. “Choose?!”
He grinned.
“Are we halfway, then?” she asked hopefully. “Are we making good time?”
He grimaced. No, they weren’t. Not even close.
“All right.” Dylan read the answer on his face. She stood up and dusted off her jeans. “Let’s go then. I’m ready.”
Another grimace. Because no, she wasn’t. Not even close.
“You need to rest, Dylan. It’s no good if we get halfway through the afternoon and you collapse because you’ve pushed yourself too hard.”
Dylan set her mouth, her eyes narrowing. “I’ll make it,” she ground out. “We’re in the wasteland, so this isn’t really my body any more, right?”
Tristan nodded.
“Then it’s mind over matter. I’ll do it.” She threw Tristan a look, daring him to contradict her. “Let’s go.”
He w
anted to argue, but she had that glint in her eye, the one that said there was no point arguing with her. He loved that glint, loved that she was so strong, so determined. If she could hold on to that, they might just make it.
The wasteland was starting to take them out of the city and into the barren landscape they’d face for the majority of their journey. It got hillier as they traversed what should have been the second day’s journey. The inclines became steeper and longer, and each time they crested a hill it was to see another, bigger version hiding behind it. Tristan kept a careful eye on Dylan, and he could see her strength waning, but she didn’t complain. She simply put her head down and ploughed on, one foot in front of the other.
* * *
Though it hurt – really, really hurt – Dylan kept up with the pace Tristan set. Partly to prove to him that she could, but also because they were getting closer and closer. Every step was one nearer to the safe house. One nearer to her parents. Joan and James had been taken less than twenty-four hours before the Inquisitor put Dylan and Tristan into the wasteland, and if they were squeezing two days into one, they should meet Dylan’s mum and dad at the next safe house.
It was little more than twenty-four hours since the Inquisitor stole her parents’ lives, less than thirty-six hours since Dylan had spoken to them, and yet it felt like for ever. Like the reunion they were about to have had been years in the making. Lifetimes.
She was near giddy with excitement, thinking only about seeing her parents and not about the separation that was going to happen soon after. Or the second, more painful and more permanent parting that was going to happen just a couple of days after that.
One thing at a time, Dylan told herself. Just get there.
Get to the safe house and see with her own eyes that her parents were fine. That their short stay in the wasteland – something that was entirely Dylan’s fault – hadn’t hurt them.
“Are we nearly there yet?” Dylan asked. It was getting darker and if Tristan said no, she knew they were going to have to run. Dylan had always maintained that she would only run if she was being chased… she hadn’t meant being chased by wraiths.
“Yeah,” Tristan grunted. “Just about. We’ll make it before it’s dark.”
Each word came out on a pant and Dylan was so surprised she nearly tripped on the stony path they were following. Tristan was out of breath.
Tristan was out of breath.
The thought buoyed her enough that she practically floated up the hill. Their entire previous journey through the wasteland, Dylan had huffed and puffed and panted and gasped (and complained). Tristan had been insufferable, ignoring her moans and mumbles, and refusing to look so much as winded.
She couldn’t resist teasing him about it.
“You must be getting out of shape,” she said, looking at him slyly out of the corner of her eye. “It’s all those crisps and chocolate.”
“Your fault.” Tristan scowled at the ground. “Are you allergic to vegetables?”
Dylan laughed and paused, bracing her hands on her hips. They had reached the top of a dip between two higher peaks (that Dylan had been delighted to hear they didn’t have to scale), and the wasteland lay spread out before them in a sprawl of hills interspersed with patches of flat ground that Dylan knew from experience would be boggy and difficult to wade through.
“There it is!” She pointed a finger down the hill. There, where the land flattened out, was a bothy. It was small, but looked fairly intact. The door hung slightly open, and though she couldn’t see any light spilling out of the sliver of entryway or the small window that might indicate a fire blazing inside, Dylan took it as a sign that her parents were there, waiting for her.
She grinned, relief bubbling like champagne in her blood.
“We made it!” she said to Tristan, then she started down the hill, half-running, knowing he’d follow.
There was still no sign of movement when she reached the bottom of the slope, or when she started down the path – really running now – but Dylan still expected to see her parents in the safe house… right up until she burst through the door.
They weren’t there.
She skidded to a stop and looked around in confusion. The safe house was nothing more than a single room: there was nowhere to hide. That didn’t stop her calling out for them.
“Mum? Dad?” She turned in a circle, taking in the space: the low bed, the small table and two three-legged stools. The old-fashioned sink and the fireplace – cold and empty, nothing but ashes that could have been left yesterday… or years ago.
A sound from the doorway had her spinning, heart in her throat, but it was only Tristan, easing the door closed as he slipped inside.
“They aren’t here,” Dylan said. “Why aren’t they here? They were only a day ahead of us, we should have caught them by now!”
It was a stupid question, Tristan didn’t know any more than she did, but Dylan felt cheated. After everything she’d put herself through today, all the stupid hills she’d climbed without a word (or many words, at least) of protest – where was her reward?
“Why aren’t they here?” she repeated, more quietly this time, and to herself, but Tristan answered anyway.
“Time doesn’t work the same way in the wasteland. You were gone for days last time, but when you fell back into your body, it was like no time had passed, remember?”
Dylan nodded. She couldn’t look at him, trying to stop her lower lip from trembling but failing miserably. She felt like a small child who’d just had their treat taken away.
“OK,” she said, working to get a hold of herself. “OK. So tomorrow, we just try harder. We can do the same thing again, right? Skip over a safe house and turn two days into one?” She’d phrased it as a question, but Dylan assumed that would be what they’d do, so she was totally unprepared for the slow shake of Tristan’s head.
“It’s too far,” he told her. “The first day, it’s a short one, to make sure the soul makes it, to give the ferryman a little extra time in case they run into difficulties. After that, though, the distances increase. We’d never make it to the valley tomorrow. Not before dark.”
“I’ll run,” Dylan promised. “I can run.”
Mind over matter. She’d do it, someway, somehow. She’d bleed if she had to, push her muscles until they screamed.
“No, Dylan.” Tristan crossed the distance between them and pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry, it’s just too far. Too dangerous.”
Dylan’s heart squeezed in her chest, the hope and jubilation she’d felt just minutes ago crumbling into ash as cold and dead as the burnt-out remains in the fireplace.
“We’re not going to make it, are we?” Dylan asked him quietly. “We’re going to be too late.”
Tristan didn’t reply; he just squeezed her tighter, his hand wrapped around hers, resting right over her heart.
CHAPTER 20
“I need to ask you something.” Susanna stared at Joan and James, who were sitting side by side on the worn-out sofa in the safe house, and grimaced. “Actually, I need to ask you for a favour.”
“A favour?” James frowned. “What do you mean?”
Susanna took a deep breath, and held it. Was she really going to ask? Was she going to try? It was a fool’s errand, she knew. The chance of success was so miniscule, and yet… there was a chance.
She breathed out. “A favour,” she repeated, her course decided. “I want you to stay in this safe house for a day. Just one day.”
“Why?” Joan asked.
It was a fair question.
“There’s something I need to do. Something I need to try.” Susanna broke eye contact, looking down at the floor, but she knew the two souls were still sitting there, watching her. Waiting. “I lost a soul here.” She gestured out the door at the wasteland. “At the lake.”
“Lake?” Joan asked, her face paling. “We have to cross a lake?”
“There’s a boat,” Susanna explained. “It’s safe—”
Susanna took a step back, stung. “That was… different. “Jack…” She struggled over his name, realising this was the first time she’d said it out loud since she’d lost him. “Jack and I… we weren’t in a normal wasteland.” Susanna moved to stand by the door, gazing out at the valley, covered with the purples and muted browns of heather in Joan and James’s wasteland. “What you see out there, it’s a… well, it’s a skin. A coat over the real wasteland. It’s a horrible place. The sun burns your skin and the ground is nothing but sharp rock and gritty sand. And the wraiths are everywhere. They aren’t held captive by the sun. They swarm, constantly. It’s a nightmare.”
“What happened to this… coating last time you were here? Why was it so different?”
“We were being punished,” Susanna said quietly. “I can’t say any more than that.”
The Inquisitor hadn’t told her that she had to keep quiet about what she and Jack had done – what Dylan and Tristan had done – but Susanna couldn’t bear to tell the story. Not today, possibly not ever.
‘Time heals’ was an idiom she’d heard from souls many a time, but she wasn’t sure that it applied here, in the wasteland, where time didn’t mean quite the same thing. Honestly, it felt like the raw, pulsing wound inside of her would never heal.
“When did this happen?” James asked, his eyes narrowed in thought. “The soul you lost – Jack, you said – it was recent, wasn’t it? When we found you—”
Susanna tried to cut him off. “Yeah, it was recent.”
“When we found you,” James went on, oblivious to Susanna’s attempt to head off his line of questioning, “you were crying. It sounded like your heart was breaking. That was for him, wasn’t it? He’s the soul that’s one of those creatures now… a wraith?”
Susanna nodded, avoiding both of their gazes, eyes back on the valley. Soon the place would be alive with movement, with death.
“What happened to him?” James pressed.
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