Tristan turned left just at the boundary of the stones and headed towards a small building off in the distance. Dylan didn’t even bother to ask, but followed dutifully after him. As they drew closer, she realised it was a windowless shed with an apex roof covered in tarpaulin that looked ripped in several places. Tristan reached the wooden building several steps before her, and she saw him round one corner and appraise two huge doors that took up most of the wall. They didn’t seem to be padlocked, but Dylan couldn’t see any kind of handle or knob to open it. Unsurprisingly, within a second of reaching the doors, Tristan had both open wide, revealing what was hidden within.
“You are kidding,” Dylan blurted, looking with horror.
It was a small dinghy, if you could call it that, made of roughly hewn wood. It had once been painted in white with red and blue trim, but that had long since faded; only a few resilient flakes hung on to commemorate the jaunty glory of its youth. It stood on a small wheeled trolley which had a coil of frayed rope attached to the front. Tristan grabbed hold of the rope with both hands and heaved. The boat scraped forward a little with a loud groan from the trailer’s rusty wheels. He turned and lifted the rope over his shoulder, pulling forward. Slowly the boat rolled out of the shed. In the light of day it looked even less water-worthy than in the gloom of the boatshed. The wood was rotten in places, and some of the planks were split down their entire length.
“You expect me to get in this thing?” Dylan complained.
“Yes,” was the brief and, Dylan was pleased to detect, slightly breathless answer.
Tristan manoeuvred the trolley down the pebbles and straight to the water’s edge. “Hop in,” he said, holding his arm out in the direction of the boat.
Dylan looked extremely dubious. “It’s still attached to the trolley.”
He rolled his eyes. “We won’t exactly be coming back this way. I’m just going to push it till the boat floats and comes away from it. You can wait till we’re waist deep in water to get in, if you want to.”
Dylan frowned and pursed her lips, but approached the edge of the water. Now that she was up close to it, she noticed something odd about the lake. The water was black, not the kind of black that you would associate with water at night or under a heavy kind of cloud, but as if the water was made of tar – only much more fluid. She wanted to run her hand through it and see what it felt like, but she didn’t dare. Still, Tristan was planning to wade out into it, so it couldn’t be anything too poisonous. That thought comforted her as she prepared to set herself afloat on the strange lake.
Putting one foot on the trolley wheel, she grabbed hold of the back of the tiny boat and heaved her other leg over the side. Her momentum carried her forward and she almost smacked face first into the little wooden bench, her hand saving her just in time and sending jarring tremors up into her shoulder. She righted herself with as much dignity as she could muster and tried to find a comfortable way to perch on the one seat. She had no idea where Tristan was planning to sit. Or how he would steer. Or, yet more importantly, how he planned to make this little boat actually move.
As soon as Tristan saw that she was safely balanced and upright, he began to push the boat further into the water. It was heavier with her sitting in it, and his muscles strained with the effort. The black water was freezing cold and unseen things tangled at his ankles, dragging each foot forward so that it became a momentous effort. At last he felt the boat lift away from the trolley and bob on the surface. Using the frame of the trolley to lift himself slightly out of the water, he jumped lightly into the boat. The movement made the vessel rock violently, and his swinging legs sprayed Dylan with icy droplets. She screeched and grabbed hold of both sides of the little dinghy, screwing up her eyes and turning her face away from the showery assault.
“Watch it!” she shrieked.
“Sorry,” he said, grinning and not sounding sorry at all. He plonked himself down on another bench that Dylan was sure had not been there a second ago.
They stared at each other for a moment; one face annoyed, the other amused. The craft swayed gently on the lightly lapping waves and the wind was calm. It would have been extremely pleasant with the sun directly overhead radiating warmth, were it not for the ominous, dark water beneath them.
Chapter Eighteen
“Well, this is nice,” Dylan said sarcastically, to break the silence and hopefully jolt Tristan into action.
“Yeah.” He sighed, looking out across the lake.
Maybe direct questioning would give a better result, she thought. “Tristan, how are we supposed to get to the other side?”
“We row,” he said simply. He reached under Dylan’s bench, causing her to yank her legs quickly to the side, and retrieved two battered-looking oars. Dylan was positive this time – they had not been there when she’d clambered into the boat. He stuck an oar into each of the rowlocks on the side of the boat – where the hell had they come from? – and lowered them towards the dark waves. They sliced through and Tristan began to row slowly, using one oar at first until he’d turned the boat round, and then powerfully with both arms. He had removed his jumper before he’d climbed into the boat and the T-shirt he wore revealed his impressive physique. He handled the dinghy confidently, hands clenched in fists around the handles, their grip firm and strong. With effortless strokes, he pulled them through the water.
Dylan stared at the way his muscles bunched and strained as he rowed, the movement pulling the thin cotton of his T-shirt tight against his chest. She felt her cheeks grow hot, and a strange urge to fidget made it hard to sit still. She swallowed, then glanced up to see him watching her. Mortified to be caught ogling, she dropped her gaze to the oars, slicing through the rippling surface of the lake.
Watching the smooth, circular motion of the paddle, Dylan had a horrible thought. “You’re not expecting me to take a turn, are you?”
He snorted. “No, I would like to get there before the end of time, if you don’t mind.”
Dylan raised her eyebrows, but as she was getting what she wanted, she didn’t argue further. Instead she stared out across the water. The hill they had just descended appeared to be the centre of a horseshoe of peaks that circled half of the lake. They curled inwards providing a measure of protection from the weather. Maybe that was why the water was so calm, the swell barely rocking the tiny boat. The landscape in the direction they were heading, however, was empty. It was as if the world just fell away. It was quite disconcerting.
Although Tristan was rowing fairly slowly, his powerful strokes were moving them quickly across the lake and Dylan could barely see the shore that they’d pushed off from. The opposite side was still not in sight either, and she experienced a momentary feeling of fear. What if the battered little boat started taking on water? Dylan wasn’t sure she would be able to make it to shore; she wasn’t a confident swimmer at all. Her mother had forced her to take lessons as a small child, but as soon as she was old enough to be aware of the fact that she had a body, she had refused point blank to keep going. It wasn’t that she was embarrassed about her poor ability, but the fifteen-metre walk from the changing room – unisex, no less – to the pool, three-quarters naked, was humiliating.
There was also the thought of having to dive into that water. Here in the centre, it was just as black and Dylan could see nothing below the surface. There was no way to tell how deep it was or what might lurk beneath. Hanging her arm over the side, she let her fingertips trail through the water. Within seconds, her fingers felt pained from the freezing chill of the water. The air temperature was lovely; the water shouldn’t have been so cold. It was unnatural. It also felt, oddly, slightly thicker than water. Not quite the consistency of oil, but somewhere in between. Yes, a sinking boat would definitely be a bad thing.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Tristan commented, pulling her out of her thoughts.
“What?” she asked.
He nodded towards the hand that still rippled the surface of the lake
. “That.”
Instantly, Dylan yanked her hand away and examined it closely, as if she expected it to have turned black like the water, or a fingertip to be missing. Of course it was fine.
“Why not?”
He gave her a steady look. “Better safe than sorry,” he finally said. “You never know what’s hiding under there.”
Dylan gulped and put both hands firmly in her lap, but she couldn’t help leaning slightly over the side and peering into the waves. It was pointless, though; she could see nothing. Still, she continued to gaze, slightly mesmerised by the undulation of the water. The only sound was the gentle splash of the oars rhythmically breaking the surface.
Tristan watched her watching the waves. Her eyes were wide, catching the light sparkling on the surface, but really seeing nothing. Her face looked peaceful, forehead unlined with a slight smile playing softly across her lips. Her hands were now jammed between her knees, and the pose made him grin to himself, although the grin quickly faded. She was right to listen to him; there were things lurking here that belonged in her nightmares. Creatures of the deep more at home in a science fiction or fantasy novel. Still, her mood was calm, and so the weather matched accordingly. At this pace they would be safely across and out of danger long before dark. To the safe house. He couldn’t bring himself to think any further ahead than that.
“How long?” Dylan murmured softly.
He stared at her, confused.
“Till we get there,” she clarified.
“To the safe house?” Please let that be the question, he thought, panicking.
“Till we reach the end.” She looked up at that point and her eyes bored into him.
He found that he couldn’t lie. “Tomorrow,” he croaked.
Tomorrow. So soon. One more night, then he would have to let her go and never see her again. His throat constricted at the thought. Ordinarily, this lake crossing was the best part of the journey. Ordinarily, he longed to be free of whatever soul burdened him, desperate to get away from the whining, complaining and self-pity. Not this time. It would be agony to watch her go where she deserved, but where he could never follow. He watched Dylan’s eyes widen as she took in his words. They seemed to shimmer slightly and he wondered for one brief, euphoric but painful moment, whether they held tears. He looked away, concentrating on where he was going. He couldn’t stand to see her face any more. His fingers trembled slightly, and he tightened his grip on the oars as he pulled them closer to goodbye.
Dylan’s own mind was whirling. She was terrified of taking the next step. Tristan could give her no idea of what might lie in wait for her; he had never gone beyond the wasteland. The tiny amount of religious teaching that she had been subjected to told her that she was going on to a better place, but who knew whether that was true or not? She could be walking into anything – heaven, hell, or perhaps just an eternity of nothingness. And she would have to make that walk – was it a walk? – alone. Tristan had told her that he could not go with her. At some point she was going to have to continue the journey by herself.
The little waves of the lake began to grow, jostling the boat gently. Tristan frowned slightly and increased the tempo of his rowing.
Dylan was too deep in her thoughts for the change to register. It was not merely that she would have to go on alone, but that she would have to leave Tristan. The thought caused a deep pain in her chest and tears to pool in her eyes. He had become her protector, her comfort, her friend. There were also other feelings, longings to be close to him. She felt constantly hyper-aware of him. A simple word had the ability to send her stomach erupting in butterflies, or drown her in a mire of self-doubt and sadness. At the back of her mind she wondered if this was his doing, if he was playing with her emotions to keep her under control and make his life easier, but something deep down told her it was real, and that was what she trusted.
She couldn’t imagine not being with him now. It felt much longer than a few days that they had been each other’s constant companion. She stared at him, drinking in the image of his face, trying to memorise every detail. Despair clouded her thoughts, and the sky seemed instantly to darken. A biting wind whipped up, stirring her hair and pulling at the jumper she wore. Dylan didn’t notice; she was lost in her pain. Tristan, however, glanced nervously at the sky and rowed even more briskly. He wanted to get across the lake without incident; he knew Dylan was nervous of the water. But Dylan’s emotions were working against him. The boat bobbed unevenly as the wind whisked up waves of deep troughs and white-capped peaks.
“Dylan! Dylan, look at me!” he ordered.
She jumped slightly and focused her eyes on him. It was as if she was coming back to him from a long way away.
“You have to calm down, Dylan. Look at the weather.” By now he was almost shouting over the wind. Dylan nodded at his words, but he wasn’t sure that they had actually registered. They hadn’t. She was looking at him, but all she saw in front of her eyes was him walking away from her, leaving her standing in a world of fear and uncertainty. Inside she screamed for him, begged him to come back, but he simply bowed his head and trudged on. Tomorrow he would leave her. Nothing else mattered.
The oars were useless in Tristan’s hands. The lake was so choppy now that he couldn’t row any more, and they were being tossed about at the mercy of the waves. Spray reared up and coated both of them in an icy shower. Beneath the surface, the water seemed to be writhing, through the turbulence of the weather or the awakening of unknown things it was impossible to tell for sure.
“Dylan, hold on to the side!” Tristan commanded.
She didn’t look up, still lost in her thoughts. By now the tiny craft was heaving wildly and Tristan was grasping the wooden sides with both of his hands. Dylan sat incredibly still, somehow unaffected by the weather, as if she had detached herself entirely from this world.
A strong gust tore through them both, pushing them violently to the side. Tristan tightened his grasp, but the rotten planks splintered and broke. The piece he was holding on to came away entirely in his hand. Losing his anchoring hold unbalanced Tristan and he crashed against the opposite side of the boat. The added weight in the choppy water disturbed the delicate equilibrium the dinghy had been maintaining in the waves. Tristan experienced a sudden weightlessness, accompanied by a sense of horror, but he was powerless to stop the boat from capsizing, and the black waves rushed to meet them.
Tristan threw himself clear, worried that the boat would come down on top of them, and dived into the water. It was freezing cold and dark. Even just below the surface, he couldn’t see the sky above him. The current twisted and pulled at him, muddling his senses. He kicked blindly in the direction that he hoped was up, and seconds later broke the surface. He bobbed there for a moment, whipping his head from side to side, searching. The boat floated upside down beside him, and he darted round it to check the other side, a growing feeling of panic exploding within him. He could not lose her; not here, not to the churning waters of the lake.
“Dylan!” he screamed.
There was no reply, and no sign of her on the surface.
Treading water, he tried to search beneath him with his eyes, but it was impossible. He had no choice but to dive once more.
Dylan was lost. Hitting the water had shocked her out of her temporary paralysis, but she had been totally unprepared for the impact, and the cold of the water had made her gasp. Water had poured into her mouth and nose immediately. Instinct had shut down her windpipe before the liquid could pour into her lungs and choke her. She blew out the water and clamped her lips shut, but her lungs were already burning, desperate for air. Dylan tried to tell herself that her body wasn’t real, didn’t need to breathe. It didn’t matter; her lungs continued to scream at her. She opened her eyes, which had closed of their own accord when she’d entered the lake. She could see nothing. The water stung her eyes but she forced them to stay open, hoping desperately to see the sky, or Tristan’s face appear in front of her.
&nbs
p; Stormy currents pummelled her from every angle, spinning her round. She had no idea which way was up, so she swam blindly under water, hoping for a miracle. Every pull of her arm and kick of her leg was a monumental effort. The weight of her clothing dragged, and her limbs were burning.
Something rippled past her abdomen. She pulled her stomach in, expelling more precious air in the process. The thing slid along her arm, curling around it as if testing to see what it was. Another thing swam past her face, the rough texture of it scraping against her cheek. Dylan panicked and flailed wildly under the water, swatting sightlessly at invisible things. Suddenly the water became alive with writhing creatures. Terror filled her. This is it, she thought. The end.
She had always been afraid of drowning, had had nightmares about it all through her childhood. Another reason to avoid the swimming pool. The cold and lack of air weakened her, but fear kept her arms and legs fighting her unknown attackers. The need to breathe was building. Her lips were jammed together as tightly as she could hold them, but every nerve demanded she inhale.
Something grabbed at her hair, pulling, and the jolt and surprise caused her to forget momentarily about the need to keep her mouth closed. It dropped open and her lungs gratefully inhaled. Toxic water flooded down into her lungs. They convulsed and tried to draw in air, making Dylan cough and choke. More of the foul liquid inundated her throat and her eyes bulged in horror. Her ears popped, protesting at the depth of the water. The quick pain was replaced by a sharp ringing. A last-gasp scream appeared on her face as she began to pass out. The last thing she was aware of was one of the creatures grabbing her leg and yanking her down, down, deeper into the lake.
Chapter Nineteen
For the second time, Tristan broke up through the surface of the water. He heaved Dylan up and pulled her head onto his shoulder, keeping it above the waves. Her eyes were closed and her face lifeless. Relief tangled with anxiety inside him. He had been so lucky to find her in the inky water, his fingertips just brushing the hem of her jeans. Not even waiting to right her, he had grabbed a firm hold and swum back up. But he feared he was too late. Was she truly gone?
Ferryman Page 14
