“What was that?” I stood still and tried to think straight. Surely, I’d only imagined it. Or I’d just made a mistake, like I had with the wind in the treetops. But then I realised my feet were getting damp. I looked down, gaping stupidly at the ground. I was standing in a shallow patch of muddy water. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I dropped my backpack, squatted down and pushed the ferns to one side. The ground dipped slightly and it had collected a puddle of water. It was murky, swirling with the dark mud of the forest floor, but my stomach churned and gurgled at the sight of it. I cupped my hands and lowered them gently until they just broke the surface. I stared at the water as it flowed between my fingers. Was I really going to drink this? Shouldn’t I do something clever to somehow filter it? Probably. But I didn’t care. My hands trembled as I raised the scant handful of water to my lips. My dry lips burned as I sipped. The water was gritty and acidic, but it was water. I swallowed it down and sighed. Again, I cupped my hands and scooped the water as carefully as I could. It was harder this time. The puddle was already lower. I drank and wondered whether it would be worth digging a hole to see if it would fill with water. I could use the chisel. Or maybe I should just wait and see if the mud would settle. In the end, I did neither. I couldn’t wait. I pressed my hands down into the soft mud and collected as much water as I could. It would be my last handful and it was more mud than water, but I drank it anyway, doing my best to leave the worst of the grit in my hand. It was better than nothing. But what was I going to do now?
I stared at the damp patch of earth where the puddle had been. I felt a little better for having had the drink, although I could still feel the grit between my teeth and an acidic aftertaste clung to my tongue. I was a little bit appalled at what I’d done. Normally, you couldn’t have got me to drink from a puddle if you’d paid me. But that was back in my normal life, where water was on tap and finding the next meal was a short walk to the kitchen. The kitchen. Suddenly, the image of a well-stocked fridge burned in my mind. I pictured an enormous pizza, piled high with spicy pepperoni, juicy red peppers and creamy, molten mozzarella. My stomach groaned and I laughed bitterly. “That was then but this is now,” I said. I rubbed my hand across my aching stomach. I’d have to find some food as soon as I could.
I pushed myself up to my feet and checked behind me. I could just make out the trail I’d left as I’d pushed my way through the ferns. Good. I was still facing in the same direction. I set off again, scanning the trees and ground as I walked, looking for anything that might be edible. At home, I had one of those SAS survival handbooks. A Christmas present from Dad, from back in the days when he still lived with Mum and me. I’d been quite keen on those survival TV shows at the time and I’d read and re-read the book many times. But that was a couple of years ago and a lifetime away. Now, all I could remember was that you shouldn’t eat anything that smelled like almonds. But what did almonds actually smell like? I tried, but I couldn’t conjure up the smell or the taste of them. Marzipan—was that made from almonds? I wasn’t sure. “I don’t even like marzipan,” I muttered. And the thought made me smile. I guessed I wouldn’t be so fussy about food right at that moment. If someone had offered me a can of dog food I would’ve ripped the top off the can with my teeth.
I trudged on, and after a while, I spotted a huge brown fungus growing out from a tree trunk. I had a vague idea it was a bracket fungus but I couldn’t remember whether it was safe to eat or not. I chewed my lip and stared at the fungus, hoping for some clever idea to pop into my mind. But all I could think of was the dire warnings hammered into me by parents and teachers: lots of fungi were poisonous and some of them were lethal. I shook my head. It just wasn’t worth the risk. Not at this stage.
I kept walking, and it wasn’t long before I found the path. It was one of those woodland tracks you see in any forest; little more than a winding strip of relatively clear ground meandering through the trees. It didn’t look as though it went anywhere in particular and for all I knew, it might branch out in random directions or even peter out entirely. I tilted my head and studied the path. Who, or what, has passed this way often enough to make a track? There were probably deer in the forest, but what other animals could there be? I’d heard there were wild boar in some woodlands now. They’d been raised on farms for meat, but had escaped and bred. They were quite rare, but if you did come across them, they could get quite nasty. I shook my head. Stupid. It was more likely that the path had been left by walkers out for a stroll. It might even lead somewhere useful, like a car park, or an information point with a map to show me where I was. There was a chance I’d find someone who could help me, or maybe give me a lift to the nearest town. There might even be a drinking fountain and a toilet. I frowned and rubbed my stomach. That last thought was suddenly very important. My guts felt like they were tying themselves in knots. I really shouldn’t have drunk that muddy water. I’d have to find a toilet soon or improvise, and that was a very good reason to follow the path.
I took one last look back and set off. The path was easier going than wading through the undergrowth and I decided I could wear my backpack again. I swung it up on to my shoulders and adjusted the straps. The heavy tools still bumped against my back as I walked but it wasn’t too annoying. I was walking fast and making good progress, but I couldn’t smile about it. My thirst was like a living thing, a parasite growing in my belly, crawling up my throat. It was all I could think about, so at first, I didn’t notice the change in the forest in front of me.
Suddenly, I realised that up ahead, the sunlight was brighter, the trees farther apart. There had to be something there. I picked up my pace. I swallowed hard and called out, “Hey! Hello! Is anybody there?” There was no reply, but something scuttled away through the undergrowth to my right. It was probably just a rabbit or something. I hurried on. The trees were definitely thinning out. There must be something there. I jogged forward, breathing hard, the sweat running down my brow. It was so much lighter here. Perhaps there really was a picnic area after all, or something like it—some other sign of civilisation. I’d find out soon enough. I was almost there. I stepped out from beneath the trees, squinting in the sunlight.
“Oh no!” I stood, gasping for breath, and shook my head. There was nothing. It was just an empty, grassy clearing. There wasn’t even a picnic bench. I ran my hands through my hair and a cold trickle of sweat ran down the back of my neck. “No,” I whispered. “No, no, no.” I stood and stared at the ground. All I’d done was waste energy. Now I was even thirstier, and my leg muscles were killing me. “Idiot,” I muttered. “Stupid bloody idiot.”
I shrugged my backpack off and sat down heavily on the grass. I stretched my legs out in front of me. My feet throbbed and tingled with tiredness. I pulled my trainer shoes and socks off, wiggled my toes down among the cool grass and took a long, slow breath.
Without really thinking I plucked a tall stem of grass and peeled the lower leaves, exposing the pale base of the stem. I put it into my mouth and crushed the stem with my teeth. The juice was sweet and tasted so good, almost like butterscotch. But the taste didn’t last and it faded away to leave a faint bitterness. I threw the stem away. There were plenty more. I didn’t even have to move.
I stayed there for a while, picking out the juiciest looking stems, then peeling them and sucking the juice. There can’t have been much goodness in them, but at least I wasn’t quite so thirsty, and the slightly sugary taste cheered me up. I should have a look around, I thought. Maybe I could find something better to eat.
My socks were still damp with sweat so I shoved them into my backpack and put my trainers back on my bare feet. I stood up, threw my backpack onto my shoulders and set off around the edge of the clearing, studying the ground as I walked. I soon spotted some clover leaves nestling among the grass, and I bent down to pick a handful. I had the vague idea they were safe to eat. Perhaps it was something I’d remembered from my SAS book, but I wasn’t sure. I gave them a sniff. They didn’t smell of anything very
much, just a general smell of greenery. “Could be worse,” I muttered. At least they didn’t smell even remotely like almonds. I nibbled the edge of a leaf. Not too bad. I popped a few of the leaves in my mouth and chewed them as I walked. I swallowed them down but they were only tiny and my stomach was churning like crazy. “Aha,” I whispered. “A dandelion.” I could definitely eat those. Dad had always been a foodie, and he’d once put the leaves in a salad and sprinkled parts of the flowers over the top. He’d told us you could make some sort of coffee substitute from drying out the roots. At the time, I wouldn’t eat the leaves despite his cajoling. Now, I wished I’d been more appreciative. Thanks, Dad.
I squatted down and examined the crown of frilly leaves. The leaves on the edge were bigger, but they looked old and tough. Carefully, I pulled a younger leaf from the centre and pushed the whole thing into my mouth. “Oh my god,” I moaned. I pulled a face. The leaf was unbelievably bitter. I forced myself to chew it and swallow it down. Something tasting that bad had to be good for you. Reluctantly, I pulled a few more of the smaller leaves. “Best to get it over with,” I murmured. I put them all into my mouth at once and chewed them up as fast as I could. I had to force myself to swallow my mouthful of bitter mush. “Ugh! I preferred the grass.” I shook my head. Did I really just say that out loud? I worked my jaw and clucked my tongue against the roof of my mouth and the bitter taste faded a little. It’s better than nothing—just. I stood up and moved along the edge of the clearing until I found another dandelion. I pulled up all the youngest leaves. “Don’t think about it,” I muttered. “Pretend it’s really spinach or rocket or something.” It didn’t work. I had a good handful of leaves, but even though my stomach was grumbling and calling out for food, I just couldn’t face eating the bitter leaves right away. I’d save them for later. Unless something better comes along—then out they go.
I paused and took a breath. The leaves had given me a little energy but now I wanted something more substantial. It was time to get going again. I turned around, scanning the edge of the clearing. There were several narrow tracks leading out into the forest, but which should I take? I chewed at the inside of my cheek. Perhaps the tracks were made by deer coming into the clearing to feed on the grass, but maybe, just maybe, this place could be popular with walkers. After all, it was quite a nice spot, if you liked that whole back-to-nature kind of thing. Thanks but no thanks. I’d had enough nature to last me a lifetime.
Still, if people did come here, then I couldn’t be too far from a road. There would be a way out of there. I just had to keep walking.
I picked a trail that was roughly opposite the path I’d arrived on, and once again, I stepped into the shade beneath the trees. I walked quickly, peering ahead for some sign that the forest was growing thinner. I tilted my head, hoping to hear the distant drone of a car or the mumble of voices, but there was nothing. It was silent, except for the steady clanking of the tools in my backpack and the quiet thud of my feet on the forest floor; the rhythm unchanging, hypnotic. I plodded on, and soon my mouth was dry and my throat tight. I needed water. Water—cool, refreshing, delicious water. My stomach gurgled and I fed another dandelion leaf into my mouth. This time, I hardly noticed the bitter taste.
I walked on, following the narrow, winding path through the ferns; trampling down the layer of dried leaves beneath my feet; taking no notice of the endless trees hemming me in on every side. I walked, and I didn’t even slow down until I smelled the smoke.
I stopped in my tracks and sniffed the air, casting around. Where was it coming from? I sniffed again. It was definitely smoke and was that a hint of cooked meat? A barbeque? My mouth watered and I swallowed hard. “You’re imagining it,” I murmured. But this smoky scent on the air was not the acrid smell of a bonfire or a forest fire, it was the sweet smell of wood smoke. And that could only mean one thing: people. They’ll help me, won’t they?
I ran a hand over my chin. I was alone and in the middle of nowhere. The last person I’d seen had been Robbo and he’d threatened to kill me. What if these people were like him? I shook my head. Very few people were that bad. Surely, just about anyone would give me directions, or even spare me a little water. And I could always approach cautiously. If it looked like there could be trouble, I’d just sneak away back into the forest and I’d have lost nothing. But there was everything to be gained.
I took a deep breath and set off, trying to follow the scent of the smoke. I had to find the fire. There had to be people there. They had to help me. It was my only hope.
Chapter 7
2018
CALLY’S BREATH CAUGHT IN HER CHEST. Her throat tightened. She couldn’t take her eyes off Doctor Seaton’s door as it swung open. And as she stared at the widening gap, her tutor suddenly thrust his face through the opening. His grizzled grey hair was even more awry than usual and his bloodshot eyes were red-rimmed.
“I say,” Seaton said, “there’s no need for that sort of language, Ms. Freeman.”
“Sorry, I…”
“You know how I feel about bloody swearing.”
Cally gawped at her tutor. She put a hand on her chest and willed her heart to beat in its usual rhythm. “Why didn’t you answer? You scared the life out of me.”
“Scared?” The doctor frowned, and, keeping a tight hold on the edge of his door, he craned his neck forward and glanced up and down the corridor. “What do you mean?” he said. “Why should you be scared?”
Cally shook her head. Her breathing had returned to normal now and she blushed a little as she wondered how her behaviour must’ve looked. “Oh, nothing,” she said. “I was just being silly. It’s just…it’s late and you didn’t answer. It just freaked me out a bit, that’s all.” She bit her bottom lip and forced an embarrassed smile. At least there was no one else around to watch me make a fool of myself.
Doctor Seaton beamed at her. “Ah, I see. That’s all right then.” He looked at Cally and nodded as though waiting for her to explain her presence.
“Well, you asked to see me,” Cally offered. “And here I am.”
“Yes,” Seaton said. “Here you are.” He opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated and glanced back over his shoulder into the room.
Cally tried to follow his gaze but he still hadn’t opened his door fully and she couldn’t see past him.
Seaton turned back to her and she averted her eyes, pretending she hadn’t been trying to peer in. He seems really anxious. What’s got into him? He’d always been a bit eccentric, but now he seemed one step away from hearing voices.
Seaton smiled at her again. Cally was beginning to find all these grins a bit unnerving.
“Well come in then. Come in,” Seaton said. “Don’t just stand out here wasting time.” He turned his back on her and retreated into his room.
Cally sighed and followed, looking around the room as she walked into Seaton’s office. Everything looked as cluttered and disorganised as usual. The shelves were crammed with a jumble of books, their spines arranged at all angles. The filing cabinet in the corner still had the top drawer missing, and piles of papers, files and folders littered every available surface. Cally narrowed her eyes. The office seemed normal, but something was wrong. She could feel it. She cast a glance at the huge, wall-mounted, glass display case. Cally had always been envious of Seaton’s collection of artefacts. To the untrained eye, they were little more than a collection of oddments; the type of odds and ends that come and go in people’s lives. There were buckles and combs, buttons and crochet hooks, and a small rack of tobacco-stained pipes. But between them, they covered several thousand years of history.
“Now then, where were we?” Seaton muttered as he jammed himself into the rickety wooden office chair behind his desk. He began shuffling through the morass of papers on his desk.
While her tutor got himself organised, Cally took the opportunity to move over to the glass case. She wanted to take a quick look at her favourite artefacts. Seaton’s pride and joy was his collection of Bro
nze Age jewellery, but it was something even older that Cally particularly hankered after: a simple flint knife, its edges only slightly dulled by the passing of at least five thousand years.
“No,” Seaton barked.
Cally stopped in her tracks and turned to face the doctor. His weird behaviour was getting beyond a joke. “I beg your pardon?”
A flush of colour bloomed among the broken veins on the doctor’s cheeks. “I…I mean…no, we mustn’t waste any more of your time,” he said. He waggled his fingers in the air nervously and seemed flustered, as though searching for something to say. “I…I mean, you’ll be wanting to go home, I imagine.”
Cally ran a hand through her hair and frowned. This was the first sensible thing her tutor had said and she was suddenly very keen to get this appointment over with. Yes—she did want to get home and have something to eat, and maybe a glass of wine. Maybe two. She took a breath and sat down on the room’s only other seat; an old-fashioned wicker chair which always felt to Cally like it was about to collapse. Remarkably, she didn’t have to clear it of papers first. She lowered her bag to the floor, placed her hands in her lap, and sat facing her tutor. “So, what would you like to see me about?”
Outcast (The Darkeningstone Series Book 2) Page 5
