Ferryman

by Claire McFall

  “And?”

  “Well, the train only crashed an hour north of Glasgow. There is nowhere in this part of Scotland that you could start from, walk as far as we have and find nothing.”

  He looked at Dylan, evaluating her shrewdly. “What’s your point?” he asked.

  “My point is that we must be walking round in circles. If you really knew where you were going, we’d have got there by now.” Dylan hitched her hands on her hips, ready to argue, but to her surprise Tristan’s face looked almost relieved. That confused her. “We can’t just keep going,” she continued.

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  “Yes, my better idea was to stay at the train tunnel, where someone would have found us.”

  Again he smiled. The concern from this morning had long since disappeared and the arrogant, mocking Tristan was back.

  “Too late now,” he snickered, and turned and walked onwards. Dylan looked at his back with disbelief. He was so rude and presumptuous, it was unbelievable.

  “No, Tristan, I’m serious. Stop!” She tried to add a ring of authority to her voice, but it sounded almost desperate even to her own ears.

  Even from ten metres away she could hear his sigh of impatience.

  “I want to go back.”

  He turned to face her again and she could tell that it was only with great difficulty that he was keeping his calm expression under control. “No.”

  She gaped at him, astonished. Who the hell did he think he was? He was a teenage boy, not her mother. She couldn’t believe he thought he could boss her about like this. She took her hands from her hips, folded her arms across her chest and set her feet, bracing herself for a fight.

  “What do you mean, no? You don’t get to just decide where I go. Nobody put you in charge. You are just as lost as me. I want to go back.” She enunciated each syllable in the final sentence, as if the force of her words could make it so.

  “You can’t go back, Dylan. It’s gone.”

  Mystified by his words, Dylan frowned and pushed her lips together into a thin line. “What are you talking about? What’s gone?” His cryptic sentences were beginning to get on her nerves.

  “Nothing, okay? It’s nothing.” He shook his head and seemed to be struggling to find the right words. “Look, trust me.” His eyes burned into hers. “We’ve come this far. It would take just as long to go and find the tunnel again. I do know where I’m going. I promise.”

  Dylan shifted from foot to foot, undecided. She desperately wanted to go back to the site of the crash, certain that someone in charge, someone who could fix this, would be there. On the other hand, she would never be able to find it alone and she was terrified of being deserted in the wilderness. He seemed to sense her uncertainty. He walked back towards her, coming uncomfortably close, bending his knees so that they were at eye-level. She wanted to step backwards, but she was frozen like a rabbit in headlights. Echoes stirred in Dylan’s memory, but then he was looking right at her, far too near, and she lost her train of thought.

  “We need to go this way,” he whispered, hypnotically. “You have to come with me.”

  He looked intently at her, watched as her pupils dilated to almost obscure the green, then smiled a satisfied smile.

  “Come on,” he ordered.

  Without thinking about it, Dylan’s feet obeyed.

  Trudge, trudge, trudge. They continued over boggy marshland that seemed, somehow, to be always uphill. Dylan’s legs were screaming and her trainers had long since given up staying dry. Every step she took was accompanied by a cold squelch in her shoes. Her flared jeans had soaked up the water almost to her knees and they were dragging with every pace.

  Tristan, however, was unfazed by her dark looks and grumbling. He kept up the pace ruthlessly, always staying a metre or so ahead of her, silent and determined. Occasionally, if she stumbled, he would whip his head round, but as soon as he ascertained that she was fine, he would continue to march resolutely onward.

  Dylan began to feel more and more uncomfortable. The silence between them was like a brick wall, totally impenetrable. It almost felt like he resented being stuck with her, like she was an inconvenient little sister he’d reluctantly promised to babysit. There was nothing to do but take on the role and traipse along after him; the sulky little girl who wasn’t getting her way. Dylan was far too intimidated to try and confront him about his unfriendly, almost hostile, behaviour. She tucked her chin into her jumper and sighed. Looking down at the long grass, trying in vain to pick out the holes and oddly shaped clumps that longed to trip her, she muttered miserably under her breath and continued to plod in Tristan’s wake.

  At the peak of yet another hill he finally paused. “Do you need to rest for a bit?”

  Dylan looked up, a little disorientated from lumbering with her head down for so long.

  “Yeah, that’d be good.” She felt the need to whisper after the prolonged silence, but the wind that whipped around them snatched her words from the air as soon as they left her mouth. He seemed to understand though, because he ambled over to a large rock that protruded from the grass and heather, and arranged himself nonchalantly against it. He stared out across the landscape, as if on sentry duty.

  Dylan didn’t have the energy to look for a suitable dry spot. She sank to the ground where she stood. Almost instantly the wet grass seeped through her jacket and then her seat, but her shoes and jeans were already so cold and soggy that she barely registered the change. She was too tired to think, too tired to argue. Robbed of spirit, she was ready to blindly follow wherever Tristan chose to lead her. Perhaps that had been his plan all along, she thought blackly.

  It was odd; somewhere at the back of her mind she knew that there were several things wrong. There was the fact that they had walked for the best part of two days and not met anybody, the fact that she hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since the crash yet she didn’t feel hungry or thirsty, and finally – most frightening of all – the fact that she hadn’t spoken to her mum or dad for forty-eight hours and they had no idea where she was or that she was all right. Somehow these thoughts stayed at the back of her head, nagging her, but only vaguely; gentle tugs on the tail of a charging stallion. She couldn’t focus on them.

  Suddenly Tristan looked in her direction, and she was too absorbed in her thoughts to look away in time.

  “What?” he asked.

  Dylan bit her lip, wondering which of a million questions to put to him first. He was very hard to talk to, and he hadn’t asked her one single question about herself. Wasn’t he at all curious? The only conclusion Dylan could come up with was that he’d rather she wasn’t there. He probably wished that he’d started walking as soon as he’d left the tunnel, instead of waiting to see if anyone else would appear. Dylan wasn’t sure if that wouldn’t have been better for her, too. She could have stayed by the tunnel mouth, and if nobody had come, then eventually she would have persuaded herself to go back through the tunnel and out the other side. By now she would have been home again and fighting with Joan about making another trip to Aberdeen.

  A distant howl erupted somewhere to her left. It was high-pitched, mournful, like an animal in pain. The noise seemed to echo off the surrounding hills, giving it an eerie, unearthly quality. It made her shiver.

  “What was that?” she asked Tristan.

  He shrugged, apparently unconcerned. “Just an animal. They introduced some wolves here a while back. Don’t worry,” he added with a small smile, looking at her nervous expression. “There are plenty of deer around here for them to eat. They aren’t going to bother about you.”

  He looked up at the darkening sky. It had melted into late afternoon without Dylan really noticing. Surely they hadn’t walked for that long? She folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself for warmth. The wind seemed suddenly stronger. Swirling around her, it tugged stray strands of hair across her face, making them dance in front of her eyes like rippling shadows. She tried to brush them aside, but her reaching
fingers found nothing but air.

  Tristan pushed off from the rock he was leaning against, his eyes searching the oncoming night. “All the same, we should get a move on,” he said. “We don’t want to be stuck on the top of a hill when it gets dark.”

  It really had got very dark in a ridiculously short space of time. Dylan found it hard to see as they made their way down the hill. This side of the peak was covered in gravel that skidded out from under her feet and rocks that were slick with recent rain. She tried to pick her way, shuffling forward a small step at a time, keeping one foot firmly on the ground whilst she felt her way along the ground hesitantly with the other. It was very slow going and she could feel Tristan’s impatience. Still, he dropped back to walk by her side, the arm closest to her half extended, ready to grab her if she fell, and that was comforting. Above the wind and the sound of her breathing, occasionally she caught the faint baying of wild animals prowling in the night.

  “Stop.” Tristan flung his arm out in front of Dylan. Shocked by his abrupt halt, she turned to gaze at him, wide-eyed. Taking in his stance, she felt a nudge of apprehension thrill through her. He was standing stock still, absolutely alert. Every muscle in his body was tense, ready for action. His eyes were focused intently on something ahead, darting in small, quick movements as he scanned the scene in front of them. His eyebrows were pulled down over his eyes, his mouth set in a grim line. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

  Chapter Seven

  “What is it?” Dylan squinted in the direction he was looking, but could see nothing out of the ordinary through the gloom. She could just make out the shape of hills in the distance, and the track that they were descending. Though she stared fixedly for a long moment, nothing moved. She was about to open her mouth to ask what he had seen when he held up his hand, motioning for quiet.

  He put his finger to his lips.

  Dylan closed her mouth and looked at him attentively, watching his reactions. He was still frozen, his eyes searching the darkness. Dylan glanced once more in the direction of his gaze, but still couldn’t see what had caused Tristan’s response. His tension was infectious, though, and she felt her stomach tightening. Her heart started to beat faster and she had to concentrate on inhaling through her nose to keep her breathing under control.

  Tristan continued to stare keenly forward for another moment, then turned to look at her. For a short while his eyes glowed vividly, like blue flames. Dylan gasped quietly, but the next second they were as black as coals in the night and she was left wondering whether she had imagined it.

  The wind seemed to pick up as they stood there, whipping around them. The noise rushed in Dylan’s ears, but above it she thought she detected a faint howling. The same animal noises they had heard earlier. Tristan had said that they were nothing to worry about, but his rigid posture told her otherwise.

  “Wolves?” she mouthed, too frightened to speak. He nodded. Dylan looked back at the landscape in front of them, searching the black grasses for the silhouettes. It was still empty.

  “What are we going to do?” she whispered. Anxiety had pushed her unconsciously closer to him, seeking protection, and she was able to murmur into his ear.

  “There’s a derelict wooden cabin at the bottom of this hill.” His words were whispered too, but fervent. “We need to reach it. We’re going to have to go a little faster, Dylan.”

  “But where are they?” she whispered back.

  “It doesn’t matter right now; we just have to move.”

  His words frightened Dylan. She scanned the dark, half hoping that the danger would reveal itself, half hoping that it would not. She could see nothing, but the darkness was thickening somehow. Even the ground at her feet was now just a black shadow. If she tried to go faster she would fall, possibly taking Tristan down with her.

  “Tristan, I can’t see,” she mumbled, fear making her voice catch.

  “I’ve got you,” he said, and the certainty in his voice gave her courage, warmed the chill in her chest. He reached for her hand, fingers curling around hers and then gripped it tightly. Dylan realised with a start that this was the first time they had touched. She was nearly glad that it was dark. Despite the horror of the moment, she felt almost jittery from the contact. His hand was very warm, and the hold he took on her fingers was strong. Immediately she felt safer. His confidence was obvious in every word, every movement. It gave her confidence, too.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  He led the way forward at a much faster pace. Dylan tried to keep up, but the darkness was thick and she could no longer see the rocks or clumps of grass, and so she tripped and stumbled often, already unbalanced from descending such a steep incline. Her trainers were old and the treads on them were worn. At one point she put her foot down heavily on a patch of gravel and it slid right out from under her. Her other foot tried to find purchase on the ground but it hit the hill at an awkward angle. Forced to put her full weight on it, the muscles in her ankle wobbled and strained, trying to hold her upright. She felt a sharp pain as the joint twisted under her. With a whimper, she felt herself falling, her leg buckling, but Tristan’s hand kept a firm grip on hers and he tensed his arm, yanking her to a halt and stopping the back of her head smacking against the cold ground. At that moment he seemed to be impossibly strong. With just one arm he pulled her back upright, almost lifting her off the ground before settling her back on her feet. In the next second he was urging her forward again.

  “Almost there,” he said, slightly breathless.

  Looking forward, Dylan thought she could make out the faint outline of a building not far ahead. It was, as Tristan had said, a wooden cabin. As they moved closer the details began to appear. This place had a door still intact, with two glass windows on either side. The roof was a steep apex with a little slightly lopsided chimney poking out at one end. They would reach it in just a couple of minutes with the pace Tristan was setting.

  The ground levelled out and Dylan felt more comfortable trying to stride forward. Her ankle throbbed with every step, but she was sure that it was only twisted, not sprained. Tristan pressed on faster, encouraging her into an uneven jog.

  “You’re doing great, Dylan, keep going,” he told her.

  The animal wailing was getting louder, closer. It was now a constant, interweaving orchestra of noise. Dylan couldn’t guess how many creatures were circling them. She still hadn’t caught even a glimpse of a wolf, though her eyes darted left and right, scanning the area around them. Still, they were almost there now. They would make it. She was glad that the cabin looked a lot sturdier than the tumbledown cottage that they had been forced to sleep in the night before. There would have been nowhere to hide, no way to keep them out. They were so close now that Dylan could almost make out the reflection of her frightened face in the windowpane.

  That was when she felt it. It began as a chill around her heart, and then her breath seemed to freeze in her lungs. In the dark she couldn’t see them; she could merely make out the movement in the air, shadows upon shadows. They whirled before her and she felt the air stir against her skin as they snaked around her. Testing, tasting the air.

  These were not wolves.

  “They’re here.” Tristan’s voice was full of dread, and so quiet that the words seemed not to be for her ears. Nonetheless Dylan heard them, and they scared her more than anything else. There was something odd about the way he spoke. It was as if he had known these creatures were coming, as if he knew what they were. What secrets was he keeping from her?

  Something rushed past her. Although she yanked her head back quickly enough to snap her jaw shut, the thing slashed across her face, causing a burning across the bridge of her nose and her cheek. She wiped her hand roughly across her skin and felt wetness there. She was bleeding.

  “Tristan, what’s happening?” she shrieked, casting her voice above the wind and the howling, which was rising in a frightening crescendo, interspersed with hisses and screams. The ice in her chest made it pain
ful to breath.

  Out of the gloom in front of her a shadow appeared, heading straight for her. She didn’t have time to react, to step sideways out of its path, or even brace herself. But the impact she was waiting for never came. Amazingly, the shadow seemed to pass right through her. She wasn’t sure if she imagined it, but it felt like a frozen arrow passing through her body. Dropping Tristan’s hand, she grabbed her middle, expecting to find a wound, or hole, but her jumper was completely intact.

  “Dylan, no! Don’t let go of me!”

  She felt fingers reaching for her, and searched the air for his hand, but came up empty. Then suddenly she was grabbed by what felt like hundreds of hands, that seemed to have no more substance than smoke. They were strong though, and through the sheer force of their numbers she felt them pulling her downward, even though there was nowhere to go. Instinctively she flailed with her arms, trying to knock them away, but her hands found nothing in the air. What was going on? These were not animals or birds. She stopped moving and felt the substanceless things return immediately. How could she fight something she couldn’t touch? Under the combined strength of the creatures, her legs collapsed and she sank to the ground.

  “Dylan!”

  Although he was standing right next to her, Tristan’s voice seemed very far away. It barely registered over the sound of jubilant snarling and shrieking. The things were swarming all over her now. She could feel them on her arms, her legs, across her stomach, even on her face. Everywhere they touched her burned like frosted metal on bare skin. More and more of them were passing through her body, chilling her bones. There was no adrenaline in her fear. Instead, terror weakened her. She had no power to battle on, to struggle against the unbeatable.

  “Tristan,” she whispered. “Help.”

  Her voice had less strength than a murmur. She felt weak all over, as if something had drained her of energy. It was hard to refuse the weight of the coaxing hands. Down, down, down, towards the ground, then, astonishingly, past it. The dirt and rock did not seem as solid as it should. Dylan felt she could slip through it as if it was liquid.