by Sue Fortin
I blink. I can’t face my own thoughts. It’s too much to bear. I need to get away. If Tris knows what I’m thinking …
The neuro pathways in my mind are numb as I try to push a command through to my feet. Run! Run! I can hear myself screaming in my head. Get away! Now!
Without warning, my body explodes into action, absorbing all the instructions at once.
I hadn’t noticed Tris move closer. An error on my part, but there is still sufficient distance between us, which allows me to swing my body to the side and avoid contact. However, he catches hold of the rope on my shoulder and yanks at it. The force drags me off balance and I stumble, almost colliding with Tris. The rope drops to the ground and I must make a split-second decision. Pick up the rope and risk being caught, or try to out-run him.
I opt for the latter and sprint across the garden. The run to the croft has already warmed my calf muscles, so I hurtle up the incline towards the forest beyond. If I can get in amongst the trees, there’s a chance I’ll lose him.
The sound of his feet thundering on the ground behind me spurs me on. Every so often, he gives a grunt as we both leap, stumble and dodge the rabbit holes and dips in the ground. I don’t know how close he is, but he’s too close. I lean forward and with every ounce of energy and determination, I push myself harder. One last effort and I’m at the top of the hill, the grass and rock petering out as I charge into the forest.
I’m aware my bright-yellow jacket isn’t helping to camouflage me, but taking it off will slow me down and then I’d have to carry it, as it would be foolish to discard it in this environment. I don’t know how long I’m going to be out here in the wilderness.
‘Carys! Don’t be stupid,’ Tris calls. ‘Where are you going? Come back!’
My survival instinct kicks in as I sense I’m putting distance between myself and Tris. I veer off to the right in a bid to stay roughly parallel with the track. The trees are getting thicker and less daylight is breaking through the branches. I try to recall where Joanne had taken us on Friday when we had gone to the ancient clearing. I’m certain we had headed in a northerly direction, somewhere to my left.
I can no longer hear Tris’s feet hitting the ground behind me, nor his panting or groans as he struggles with the terrain. For the first time, I look over my shoulder. I’m relieved when I can’t see him.
I slow my pace to a jog, hoping to conserve my energy, and allow myself a more detailed look at my surroundings. There’s a glimpse of movement behind me. It must be Tris. I duck down behind a large rock and peer cautiously over the top, tracking him as he runs steadily in and out of the trees. He can’t have seen me. I’ve been lucky.
I watch as his pace slows and then he comes to a stop. He is about forty metres away from me. I hold my breath and crouch lower, keeping him in sight. He turns in a small circle, looking all around him. I duck completely out of view as he spins my way.
A few seconds later, I hear the crackle of the radio and Tris’s voice breaks through the still air of the forest.
‘Carys, I know you can hear me. Stop all this. It’s gone too far. We need to talk.’
Shit! The radio I’m holding is still on. I fumble with the handset to turn the volume down. Has he heard his own voice from the walkie-talkie? Very slowly, I take another peek over the rock.
He’s closer. Maybe thirty metres away. He must have heard.
I’m about to get up and make a run for it while I still have a reasonable head start, when I have an idea. I need to act fast. He’s getting closer and closer.
‘Caaaarrrys! I know where you are!’ He’s taunting me with a sing-song voice which reminds me of the child-catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
I push the walkie-talkie into the pocket of my jacket and fasten the zip. From the ground, I select a small rock, the size of my fist. I have to dig my nails into the dirt to free it, but the ground is damp from all the rain and releases the stone without too much resistance. I try to make my breathing as quiet as possible as I wait for a pause in his calling.
‘Come on, Carys, come out. It’s no use hiding, sweetheart.’
And there it is. He’s stopped. I can’t hear his voice or any movement through the leaves and undergrowth. I take yet another sneaky look and good fortune is on my side. He has his back to me. As quick as I can, I throw the stone towards a clump of bigger rocks to his left.
As soon as the rock leaves my hand, I hide once more. I hear the rock hit the larger ones with a clonk and then bounce on to the forest floor with a noticeable thud.
‘Oh, Carys!’ His voice rings out. I hear his footfall as he runs through the undergrowth towards the cluster of rocks.
Slowly, keeping as low as possible, I retreat backwards, further and further away from my hiding spot. My nerves break and I can no longer control my survival instinct to flee. I turn and run as fast as I can into the forest.
I hear Tris shout my name but he’s further away now. This time there is no callous amusement, just pure anger at being duped.
I don’t know where I’m running. I am certainly not on any path, but weaving and zigzagging my way through the trees. I’m running so fast, I can’t stop myself as the ground dips violently and I half-fall down the side of a hill. My left shoulder whacks into the bough of a tree which makes me cry out in pain. Dirt and leaves scuff up as I tumble. I can’t stop myself and can only pray I don’t meet the same fate as Andrea or, worse, hit a tree head-on.
By some miracle, my path to the bottom is clear and I land in a stream, face down. I lift my head, spluttering, and spit water out. The stream isn’t deep but the bed is stone and I can taste blood in my mouth. I think I’ve bitten my lip on the way down.
I stay where I am, stunned and winded. Somehow I pull myself on to my hands and knees, then take a moment to catch my breath. Above me I can hear Tris’s voice calling my name. I don’t think he can see me. Bushes halfway up the embankment act as a shield.
Slowly and as quietly as possible, I crawl to the edge of the stream. Keeping low, I practically belly-crawl out of the water, the walkie-talkie digging into my hip every now and then. I unzip my jacket and slip my arms from the sleeves. I have a quick look at the walkie-talkie. It feels dry, the waterproof outer layer of my jacket doing a good job at protecting it. I have no idea if it still works, but with Tris still too close for comfort I have no intention of putting it to the test. I push the handset into the pocket and zip it up again.
Trying to make as few and as quiet movements as possible, I turn the jacket inside out. The black fleece lining now on display will offer much more camouflage than the fluorescent yellow.
I’m not sure how long I have been lying here, squeezed up against the cold bank, but my toes are starting to go numb and my fingers are taking on a yellowy-white tinge. In fact, my whole body is damp and cold, my core temperature dropping fast after all that exertion. The last thing I need is to develop hypothermia. I must move.
I listen carefully but can’t hear anything other than the wind rustling the leaves on the trees like tissue paper being scrunched up.
Making no sudden movements, I turn and peer up at the bank. I move from the sheltered position and take a cautious look around. There is nothing to make me believe Tris is still there.
I have no choice but to make a break for it now.
Chapter 24
The stream I’m following dips and dives its way through the forest with no sign of it meeting up with the larger river we paddled down yesterday. Was it only yesterday? It seems so much longer.
My sense of direction is telling me I am moving further into the forest and away from the track that leads from the croft. I picture the track in my mind, remembering how it sloped away to the east and then twisted and turned itself down into the valley and out on to a main road.
I use the term ‘main road’ lightly. Round here, that could be no more than a length of tarmac.
It has started to rain again and although the trees provide some shelter from the weath
er, they aren’t enough to stop me from getting wet. I’m regretting taking off my hat and gloves at the croft and dropping them on the sofa. My ears and fingertips are numb with cold. At least my toes are faring slightly better, thanks to the two pairs of socks I put on before setting off this morning.
Tiredness is draining energy from my limbs and mind. I can feel my muscles burning in protest, a feeling I’ve often experienced when cross-country running. All I have to do is dig in as if I were competing. I can’t stop now, I’m not confident my muscles will work again if I do. My priority now is to find shelter. Somewhere safe. Somewhere Tris can’t find me.
The thought of Tris and the noose at the end of the climbing rope spurs me on, energising my body and mind. Like a never-ending whirlpool, my thoughts constantly return to Andrea. I hope her backpack made it down the hill with her. She’ll have access to the high-energy snack bars we packed and the emergency foil blanket, plus drinking water. If she can get to all those things, she should be OK for at least twenty-four hours. Not for the first time this weekend, I find myself turning to religion as I offer a silent prayer that she will survive the night.
The energy rush is short-lived. After ten minutes, my body starts slowing down again. My walk turns to a slow plod as the terrain underfoot becomes heavier and boggier from the falling rain. I pull my rucksack round and take out my water bottle and one of the energy bars.
I need to think about how I will survive the night myself. Like Andrea, my backpack has a few emergency supplies, enough for one night. I don’t in all honesty think I’m going to reach the town before dark. Daylight is already fading, and with my vision blurring from sheer exhaustion, I know I can’t go on much longer.
I walk further into the forest and after a few minutes I notice that the trees are thinning out. Ahead, I can see daylight, albeit a dirty grey sort of hue.
I push a strand of hair from my face and blink as I look ahead. It’s a building. A stone building.
My pace quickens as I hurry towards it.
‘Please let someone be there,’ I mutter out loud to myself. As I draw closer, I can see the building is about the size of a double garage, built from traditional stone like the croft. The ground is uneven as the land falls away at a shallow angle. I can see a small window in what I assume is the rear of the property.
I make my way around to the other side and find a larger window and a door. It must be a bothy; there are hundreds of them dotted around Scotland, former dwellings of labourers now used by hikers in need of refuge.
The bothy consists of one room with a fireplace on the end wall. Lengths of wood have been fashioned into crude benches, rather like the sort you get at school. On the other side of the room are two wooden beds; like the benches, they take rustic to a whole new level. There are two grey, rather dusty blankets hanging across a length of rope which stretches like a washing line from one side of the wall to the other.
Basic would be the most flattering way to describe the bothy, but I’m not in a position to be fussy. This will make an ideal place to spend the night, protected from the elements.
I inspect the fireplace and can see ashen remains of a fire in the grate. On the side is a box of matches. When I pick it up, there are only a couple of matches inside and the box feels damp. There is a small pile of twigs on the floor, which someone has kindly left to dry out for kindling. I make a mental note to do the same before I leave. All I need now are some bigger pieces of wood to feed the fire once I’ve got it going.
Outside, I notice a small wood store. There isn’t a huge amount of wood, just a few fallen branches that have been collected from the forest floor, but it will save me the job of trying to find dry firewood.
I gather the wood in my arms and go inside. I eye the blankets hanging up. I suppose they’re better than nothing. I have a thermal-foil blanket in my rucksack and I can sleep on one of the blankets and drape the other over the foil. One underneath is worth two on top is what I tell the kids on the DoE weekends.
I set about making a fire and am rather pleased to discover a box of firelighters. Purist hikers would frown at the shortcut, but I have no qualms about using them. This isn’t some outdoor adventure to fuel an inner-city need to get in touch with nature, this is real-life survival. I consider for a moment that the smoke may give away my hiding place to Tris but decide, at this point, he’s probably returned to the croft. Besides, I’m cold, wet and tired. I need to keep warm to make it through the night.
I take off my jacket and remove the walkie-talkie from the pocket, standing it on the wooden bench. My fleece is a little damp around the cuffs and collar, so I take that off as well. Fortunately, my jumper and thermal long-sleeved T-shirt are both dry. Next, I take off my trousers and peel off the thermal leggings. They are both damp, as are my socks and shoes. The earth floor is cold on the soles of my feet; little bits of grit and dirt stick to my skin.
I move one of the benches in front of the fire and drape my clothes over it to dry and then rather dubiously, take one of the blankets down from the makeshift clothes line. Stale air wafts around the room as I move the blanket. Not relishing the thought of it on my bare skin, I take the emergency foil blanket from my rucksack and drape that over me first. I rummage in the side pocket of the rucksack and retrieve the small packet of white pills. I pop one into my hand, hesitate and then slide my fingernail across the foil of a second one. I swallow the guilt down with the tablets. These are exceptional circumstances and at least this way I’ll be able to get some sleep and be better prepared for tomorrow.
The fire is alight but it’s more of a smoulder than a raging burn and every now and then plumes of smoke billow down the chimney. I idly wonder when it was last swept. The upkeep of the bothies is down to volunteers and I guess those not so far off the beaten track are probably better maintained than this one. There seems to be a distinct lack of love here but, nevertheless, I’m grateful. Sleeping under the stars in the pouring rain is highly unappealing.
My stomach gives a little roll of angst as I think of Andrea. She’s stuck on the side of that embankment, exposed to the elements. I can only pray she’s managed to cover herself with the foil blanket. Perhaps the bushes above her on the embankment will offer some protection from the weather. I gulp down a hard ball of fear that tries to lodge itself in my throat.
‘I’m so sorry, Andrea,’ I whisper. ‘Please be safe. Please make it through the night. Please don’t think I’ve abandoned you.’
A scuffling noise outside makes me jump as fear shoots through me. I leap to my feet and rush to the window, peering out into the leaching light.
I’m not sure how far I’ve come from the croft and can only hope that Tris hasn’t been tracking me. As I moved through the forest, I constantly checked over my shoulder for any sign of him.
More for comfort than anything else, I pick up the penknife I laid out on the bench with my clothes. The long wooden handle is heavy in my palm and the steel blade nestles snugly in its slot. I open the four-inch blade, the polished metal reflecting the flickering flames of the fire. As long as I make sure it is always within easy reach, I will have something to defend myself with.
In all honesty, I’m not sure I have the nerve to use the knife on another human, but if my life depends on it, I hope my basic instinct to survive will take over.
I listen intently for any sound that would indicate someone moving around outside but all is quiet. Comforting myself with the thought that the noise I heard was probably a woodland inhabitant, I put the knife down beside me, making a conscious decision to leave the blade open. My stomach is rumbling and I need some food inside me before my body starts to close down to conserve energy and warmth. I have three cereal bars in my rucksack and an apple. I decide to go for the fruit first.
From the corner of my eye, I notice the little red light on the walkie-talkie flickering. A thread of fear laces its way through me. It can only mean one thing: Tris. Does that mean he’s within range? How far can these things tr
ansmit? I reach over, hesitating before touching the handset, the irrational notion that he will somehow know what I’m doing making me falter.
The red flashing light stops before I pick it up. Has he gone? Or was he there, waiting for me to reply?
Drawing the handset to me, I turn up the volume dial. There is silence.
And then Tris’s voice comes so loud out of the speaker, I almost drop the handset. I adjust the volume control again to a more natural level.
‘Hello, Carys, it’s me, Tris. I hope you’re OK. It’s silly of you to be hiding out there in the forest. I know that I’m not going to be able to change your mind, but I have someone here who might.’ There’s a pause but I remain silent. ‘Can you at least let me know you’re listening. Can you hear me? Over.’
Part of me is screaming not to reply to him, but another part, a more insistent part of my brain screams louder.
I depress the button to speak. ‘I can hear you.’
‘Good stuff. Right, I’m passing you over now.’
There’s a small silence and the next voice I hear takes my breath away.
‘Hello, Mum. It’s me, Alfie.’
Chapter 25
All tiredness, aches and pains are expelled as my whole body jolts into life. I jump to my feet, the blanket falling from my shoulders. My brain plays catch-up for a second as I process the fact that Alfie must be with Tris and I force myself to answer.
‘What are you doing here?’ I dispense with radio etiquette and the need to say ‘over’ each time.
‘I … er … didn’t fancy staying with Bradley any more.’
‘Why?’
‘We had an argument. I told him I was going to stay with a mate. I didn’t say who and he didn’t ask.’
‘How did you know where to come?’ Probably not the most pressing of questions, but I feel totally thrown by Alfie’s presence.
‘Ruby told me. It was all on Joanne’s laptop.’
