But then fingers brushed his own, enwrapping his hand, starting to pull him in a different direction. He glanced up from the gloomy depths, saw a face he recognized, that of his father. He felt the fingers drag him up towards the light.
Then he opened his eyes.
He was face down in a huge pile of snow and rock, debris all around him, the rough upturned earth and ice tumbling away as he struggled to his feet. At first he had no idea where he was, then it all came back to him and he spun round, expecting to see a horde of burning pursuers rushing at him.
But where once there had been the forbidding entrance to the caves beyond, now there was only a huge, broken wall of rock. Snow had fallen from above, huge waves of it, and it had swept Charlie away from the tunnels, washed him further down the slope.
He spat into the snow, looked down at his fingers and realized that he was no longer holding Hanna’s hand.
Panic filled his world and he scrambled about madly, searching, digging. Something caught his eye, metres away, a flash of colour amidst the monotone, and he staggered over and grabbed the back of a coat, pulling it and its owner up to the surface. Tara’s eyes fluttered open weakly, and she shook her head and coughed.
“I didn’t want to, but he made me. I never would have—”
Charlie turned away and searched the snow, desperate now, turning his head this way and that.
“Hanna! Hanna!”
Above their heads, the snowfall had faded to just a trickle, and a weak winter sun started to fight its way through the clouds.
Chapter Forty-six
Although it was almost three weeks since what had happened in the mountains, there was still a handful of reporters at the airport. Some of them were camped out, waiting to speak to the parents of the teenagers who had died. Others lurked by the doors, ready to pounce on the daily flood of investigators and forensics experts, to try to glean whatever fragment of new story they could.
A stream of tired faces flowed in a slow procession from the exit ramp of the plane that had just landed, and the remaining reporters moved as a pack in their direction. From the arrivals section of the airport came the flashing of bulbs, and a babble of questions, an attempt to scavenge the last of whatever flesh could still be found on the bare bones of the story.
But tucked away in the corner of the airport’s small bar, nobody noticed the young couple who sat at a low table, two steaming cups of coffee clouding the air in front of them. They had been deliberately kept as far away from the press as they could by investigators and Austrian police. The newspaper reports that detailed what had happened in the mountains to the north had been allowed to reveal that there had been survivors, but prohibited from naming or numbering them because of their age, and the severity of what they had been through.
The girl had black hair, hanging loose about her face, the shaven stubble at the sides just starting to grow back in a short, downy fuzz. If you looked closely, you could still see traces of bruising, around one eye, and pale, fading scars from what she had endured, but they would heal, over time. Her head was resting on the shoulder of a handsome but tired-looking teenager with scruffy, dishevelled brown hair. Occasionally, warily, one or both of them would glance up at somebody or other who passed, but they looked and acted no different from any other young couple, students perhaps, their bodies nestled together, their fingers linked.
The paper on the table in front of them was in German, but a few minutes earlier the girl had translated the headline for her companion – 44 FEARED DEAD IN ALPS INFERNO TRAGEDY.
The girl had relayed the rest of the story quietly, in English, pausing every now and again to register her disbelief. Then she had slumped against the sofa, her head laid comfortably on the boy’s shoulder. After a while, her foot slid out on to the nearby table and pushed the newspaper on to the floor.
“I can’t believe what’s happened. I can’t believe they’ve got away with what they’ve done. What they’ve been doing for years.”
Hanna felt Charlie grip her fingers more tightly. The bandage had come off her hand days ago, but the stitches that were still in her arm and her chest caught and pulled if she moved too quickly.
“They haven’t. They have to live with themselves, live with what they’ve done. It’s over. For good this time. Because of you.”
Hanna lifted a finger to her teeth and bit at the rough nail there. “But no one believes us. After all we’ve said, everything that’s up there. No one believes a word of it.”
Charlie nodded resignedly and the two of them leaned back, eyes closed, listening to the jets that came and went beyond the glass outside. It hadn’t snowed for days now and Hanna wondered if what they had been through had exhausted what was left of winter, and banished the storms for the rest of the year. Almost unconsciously, she reached up and touched the tiny talisman at her neck, pushing its edges into the skin of her chest.
A plane started to warm up on a runway in the distance, its engines whirring gently, and Hanna looked across at Charlie. “What time is your flight?”
Charlie checked his battered Nixon watch, the glass face more scuffed than ever. “Not for a few hours, not until tonight. Are you bored?”
Hanna shook her head gently. “Never again.”
She turned to watch a plane take off, back lights blinking against the grey sky, and she felt a wave of displeasure, like a nasty taste in her mouth.
“And Tara?”
Charlie shrugged. “I’ve got a feeling that she’s gone already. Now that they’ve decided to stop questioning us every day, I think she’s gone home, taken an earlier flight. I’ve barely seen her, barely spoken to her since they arrived to take us off the mountain.”
Hanna sighed. “You know, if not for her, we’d have almost certainly died in there. Her awful screaming. I don’t like to admit this, but I think she saved me a second time.”
Charlie shook his head in disagreement. “We’d have died a long time before without you. All of us. Anyway, she told me Nico made her go back, she said he wouldn’t stay in the hut, and more than anything she didn’t want to be alone. If anyone saved us, it was Nico. He was brave in the end, braver than anyone.”
Hanna realized that she’d never get a chance to thank Nico for what he’d done, not now, and she felt a flicker of regret. She bent down and retrieved the paper, staring again at the headline there. “What do you think Tara told them?”
Charlie shook his head. “I don’t know. It was like, whenever I spoke to any of the investigators, they’d already written off what I was about to say. But if I were in their place, I guess I wouldn’t have believed it either. Much easier to believe that a fire swept through half of the village, burning it to the ground, killing everyone while they slept.”
Hanna bit at her bottom lip and pushed the paper away. “Somehow, I don’t think Tara told them the truth.”
Another plane lifted into the sky, and Charlie pushed back his hoodie for a moment and watched it fade into the distance. He turned to Hanna and looked her in the eyes. “Are you sure you won’t come?”
Hanna took a weary breath. “I want to. You know I really want to. But I need to spend some time with my parents. They’ve been through enough already, first Jon, then thinking I was dead, then finding out I wasn’t. And if no one else believes me, then at least I can tell them the truth.”
She absently touched the dolphin around her neck once more. “But I’ll be here, when you’re finished. How long, do you think?”
“A few days, a week at the most. There’s nothing there for me, not now, but I have to say goodbye. My gran, she barely knows me any more, but I have to go back one last time.”
Hanna reached up and stroked his face, then leaned forwards and brushed her lips against his. “I’m here for you. I’ll be here waiting. And you’re sure? About coming back to the mountains with me? Are you sure it’s what you want us to do?”
Hanna smiled, picturing the thick snow melting to reveal the lush grass underneath. “
The summer will be beautiful. But the winters can be hard.”
Charlie nodded and took her hand. Over his shoulder another plane took off, soaring into the distance, the future ahead.
“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”
Epilogue
At thirty-three thousand feet, Tara felt almost alone again for the first time in weeks. Alone, except for the quiet, amiable voice that seemed to now reside somewhere at the back of her head, whispering to her, guiding her through the way ahead like a secret, unseen confidante.
The voice’s name was Sabine.
It had been Sabine’s idea to not tell the police and interviewers the whole story, and to go along with the tale put forward by the remaining villagers that it had been a fire, sweeping through the deserted streets, taking the lives of most of the students, forcing the few who survived to take refuge in the church above the village. While Tara and the others had gone on Hanna’s mad expedition to the caves, a handful of the villagers had crept out, setting fire to the Panoramic Hotel and the surrounding shops, hiding whatever evidence they could, and that had made Tara’s story so much easier to swallow.
The thing that used to be Ryan had bitten Tara as she had made her way out into the light. It was only a graze, the teeth of the creature digging into her wrist, before Nico had sacrificed himself to save her. Tara hadn’t realized it at the time, but as she scrambled for the light she heard her new friend’s voice in her head, guiding her, looking out for her, whispering ways for Tara to get all the things she wanted, things that she had lost in the past but deserved to have again.
The other survivors would have told a different story, Tara suspected, one that more closely resembled what had really happened, but it had been easy for her to subtly discredit the seeds of any story they might have told, Sabine guiding her all the time, getting stronger, more sure, more able to help Tara do what was right. As for the others, Sabine reassured her that Hanna’s time would come, soon enough, and she would suffer for the way she had treated them both, for the things she had done.
A passing flight attendant glanced at Tara and her mother, sleeping by the window, and offered Tara a drink from the trolley. Tara thought for a moment, then ordered a glass of champagne. The attendant hesitated, internally assessing the girl’s age, but Tara felt Sabine move to the front of her mind, bending the attendant’s will to her own. A moment later a fizzing glass of champagne appeared on Tara’s table. The woman opened her mouth again to ask for the payment, but another nudge from Sabine banished that idea, too.
It was as if Tara’s silent friend could bring people round to her way of thinking, just by a look, by the power of her will. It didn’t work on everyone, of course, only the weaker minds. But those it didn’t work on were soon disarmed by the tears and hysterics of the traumatized teenage girl, who had been through hell at the top of an isolated mountain.
Tara sat back in her chair, closed her eyes, and heard Sabine start to whisper at her afresh. Outside the plane’s tiny window the sun started to set, and Tara felt the voice grow stronger, more assertive, the way it did as night-time came.
For now, the voice whispered, the daylight wasn’t a problem. Once Sabine grew stronger, they would need to find a new home, dark, hidden. Somewhere grand and luxurious, somewhere they could be safe, where those that followed them, those that Sabine made join them, could hide from the light, but there was time for that, later.
Things were going to be different now, Sabine promised, and soon Tara was going to get all the things she had ever dreamed of: opulence, jewels, servants who did what she asked, people who would give their lives just to do her bidding.
Before long, Tara would get her revenge on all those that had ridiculed her, mocked her, made her life a misery since her family’s money had run out. Soon, people would fall to their knees before her.
Soon.
Acknowledgements
Firstly thanks to Mum and Dad, who hopefully now realize that all those hours spent reading me comics by my bedside lamp and dealing with my horror and fantasy obsessions have finally paid off. Huge thanks to Polly Nolan for finding me in the slush pile and taking a gamble on me, and to the whole of the Stripes team for being an absolute joy to work with, particularly Katie and Charlie, and Mattie, who made editing Whiteout a pleasure and saved the world from my awful grammar. I feel privileged to have such a fantastic cover going out into the world with my novel, so huge thanks to Stripes designer Pip Johnson for the stunning artwork. Thanks to Jo Beamish, without whom I’d never have been invited on the trip to Austria that inspired this novel. Thanks also to Giles Potter, Rachel Newman and Aelred Down for letting me steal their teacher names, and to Nicholino ‘Lino’ Meloscia for letting me borrow his Christian name and his film knowledge. And last but not least, thanks to my wife and best friend, Rachel, for setting off with me on this amazing journey.
Prologue
“What would you do with a million pounds?”
There was something important behind Lizzie’s question; I could tell by the way she kept twisting her short dark hair into knots as she showed us into her room. She was a ball of condensed energy, all excitement.
“You bring us up here for a quiz, Lizzie?” Grady asked as he dumped himself on to a beanbag. His knees almost hit his ears and he grinned. Grady could be a bit odd, but his smile was infectious and Lizzie grinned back.
I leaned my skateboard against the doorway, took a Coke from the six-pack Grady handed me from his bag and passed the rest around. Carmen had already made herself at home and was lying on the bed. She downed half of her can before Lizzie opened hers. My brother, Will, eyed his before taking it, as if wondering what Grady would want from him later if he accepted.
Lizzie was still running her fingers through her pixie-cut. I remembered the row three years earlier when she first wanted the style. Her mum had forbidden it, so Lizzie had hacked off her long plaits with nail scissors.
“I thought we were heading into town?” I said.
“I need to show you something first. Take a seat – it’ll take a while to load.” She switched on her computer, but remained standing.
As the monitor flickered into life, I looked around her room. The last time I’d been in here, the walls had been pastel pink and we’d spent whole days playing Legend of Zelda on her Wii. Now the walls were a light blue-grey, the posters had morphed from Justin Bieber into Nina Simone, and there was a pile of climbing gear in one corner. But it was the same desk; I ran my finger over our initials carved into the right-hand side and smiled. The bed was the same too: plain white ironwork, decorated with home-made paper birds and butterflies wired on to the joins. I sank my feet into the rug, remembering the feel of the wool on my stomach, the controller in my hand and Lizzie beside me.
“What happened to your mum’s ‘no boys’ rule?” Will slid into the chair by the desk. The way his hair was always hanging over his eyes drove me insane, but girls liked it, apparently.
“Seeing as I’ll be at uni in a few months, Mum got reasonable.” Lizzie didn’t take her eyes off the screen.
“I’m so glad it’s summer. I mean, those exams nearly killed me!” Grady took a sip of his Coke and sighed. “Hey, have you heard about the Coca-Cola conspiracy?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Did you know that Coke is the main cause of the US obesity epidemic? These cans contain, like, over forty milligrams of sodium. That makes you even thirstier, so you drink more. It’s why there’s so much sugar in it – to hide the salt.”
I pointed at the Coke. “So, you don’t want it?”
“It’s all about making informed choices, Ben. I can have a glass of water after.” Grady burped.
Carmen laughed. “You are funny, Grady.”
Will looked sideways at Carmen, then away.
“OK, ready!” Lizzie turned her monitor so the rest of us could view the display and pointed to a spinning logo. “Check this out.”
Carmen rubbed absentmindedly at the blue kestrel tattooed on the inside
of her wrist. “What’s the Gold Foundation?”
“It’s run by Marcus Gold,” Grady jumped in. “The multibillionaire. He owns half of Silicon Valley, runs all those charities, has that airline – Goldstar.” He took a deep breath and carried on. “He’s rumoured to be part of Yale’s Skull and Bones society. He’s definitely a Freemason and probably one of the guys behind 9/11, he—”
“The only people behind 9/11 were the terrorists.” Lizzie frowned at him.
Grady sighed. “If you’d ever read the information I send you—”
I kicked his beanbag. “We’re never going to take anything written by David Icke seriously, Grady. He thought he was the Son of God. Give it up.”
“Guys.” Lizzie grabbed her mouse and scrolled down the page. “Look!”
Grady rolled off his beanbag and moved closer to the screen. “A million pounds each!”
“That’s what it says.” Lizzie nodded excitedly.
Will frowned. “Why is Gold offering so much money?”
“He’s a philanthropist,” Lizzie said. Grady snorted loudly but she ignored him. “See here, it says he wants to give bright, proactive teens a push in life. The winners get investment advice to help them make the best of their prize money.”
“Well … we don’t have to take the advice,” Grady said thoughtfully. “There’s a lot I could do with a million pounds.”
Carmen began to skim-read the text. “It says we have to fill in a load of assessment forms.”
“But what’s the competition?” Will put his hands behind his head. “What do we have to do?”
“The teams that pass the assessment stage go into a lottery. Ten teams get chosen and they’re flown out to a remote island owned by Gold, where there’ll be tests of endurance and intelligence.” Lizzie could barely suppress her excitement. “It sounds like orienteering and puzzle-solving along with a bit of geocaching, rock climbing … that kind of thing.”
Whiteout Page 20
