‘Lydia.’ Tom looks round as if there might be someone else but no, there’s just the two of us. ‘Where’s Rory?’
‘I’ve got a horrible feeling he’s with Tansy.’
He looks down the track in the direction we assume the Land Rover left. ‘Do you think they’ll come back when they realise they’ve made a mistake?’
‘Can we afford to wait and find out?’ I ask. ‘Expect the unexpected.’
‘You think?’
I shrug. ‘No idea but … if we need to get out of here in an hour and a half, we can’t waste time.’
‘You’re right.’
‘I think that’s the first thing we’ve ever agreed on,’ I say.
He gives me a you’re-kidding-me look. And I remember quite a few things we agreed on.
‘Since then,’ I say tartly. ‘And you’re finally remembering that, are you?’
‘Which way?’ he asks, ignoring my question. ‘Have you got the compass?’
‘No. Tansy’s got that. I’ve got the map.’
‘Not much good if we don’t know where we are,’ he says. ‘Please tell me you have the emergency phone.’
‘Check,’ I say. I hitch my rucksack onto my back. The phone is in the top pocket, within easy reach.
‘I guess we can worry about where we are later. We need to make a move otherwise it’ll be over before it starts.’
‘Right. Which way?’ I say, echoing his question back to him.
I stand still and listen. The wind is whipping through the pine forest beside us. There’s no way I want to set foot in there, too dark and sinister. The other way is open moorland and its downhill. We’re being hunted by super-fit humans and I am not super-fit.
‘That way,’ I point. ‘Easier and quicker.’
‘And more obvious. For those very reasons.’
‘What do you suggest then?’
‘That way.’ He points to the slope and the trees. ‘Harder to spot us than if we’re out in the open.’
He has a point, although going uphill is going to slow us down but then so is arguing, so I start plodding towards the trees. We walk in silence, the eerie quiet of the pine forest disquieting. The layer of needles deadens our footsteps as we tramp up the hill. My rucksack is already cutting into my shoulders and I wonder if we should have abandoned any of our duplicate gear. Too late now; it would leave a clue as to which direction we’ve taken.
The wind whispers around us, high above, branches rubbing against each other with the occasional crack and screech. It’s like all those flipping horror films. Spooked, I keep glancing back over my shoulder.
It takes an hour and a half to reach the top of the hill and when we look back it doesn’t seem as if we’ve come very far. The landscape has opened out and there are miles after miles of drystone walls, spotted with lichen and moss, skirting and bisecting rolling green fields. I guess they have them all over the country, apart from the part of Essex I grew up in. I find them comforting, a sign of civilisation, proof that this place isn’t entirely uninhabited, although the only buildings I can see are derelict, with sagging roofs and scattered stones around the crumbling walls.
I’m used to cars, roads and houses everywhere. Not this open, sweeping, dramatic countryside. Except, in some ways, it does feel familiar. As a child I was a voracious reader, inhaling the fictional adventures of other children who escaped adult influence. I lost myself in the worlds of Swallows and Amazons, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and The House at World’s End – the ancient classics were the only books in the house. They lived in a box in the spare room containing the remnants of the life of my grandmother. My heart hurts just a little as I think of her and the sad remains of what was once her home. It reminds me that’s why I’m here. I heft the rucksack higher, the straps feeling like they’re grinding their way into my shoulders and wearing away the bones.
I focus on my surroundings to take my mind off the increasing weight on my back. In some places barbed wire stretches along parallel to the walls, tufted with wool fibres like spring blossom. For some reason I collect some and stuff it into my pocket. You never know when things will come in useful. My pockets are always full of potential rainy day necessities. As a child I collected things to take them out and pore over them later, perhaps because I had so little to call my own.
There’s a path that we can follow that offers a magnificent view down through the whole valley. It’s also a bit easier going, after the earlier constant weaving through trees. Fear keeps me turning my head and looking back the way we’ve come.
‘Shit. Look!’ Tom points down the valley and far, far in the distance, moving at speed along a road sandwiched between drystone walls, is one of the familiar orange Land Rovers.
It’s miles away but even so my legs turn into pudding. I’ve lost the ability to lift one after the other. Visceral fear pinches my lungs, making my breath shallow and ineffectual. I am full-on terrified. My heart is racing so fast I can feel it pounding in my ears and I’m worried they might explode. Tom is already striding ahead, picking up the pace. He’s leaving me. Fight or flight. I always thought I’d put up a fight. I’m horrified by how pathetic I’ve turned out to be. I’m not even capable of flight.
‘Fuck’s sake, Lydia. What are you doing?’ Tom shouts over his shoulder at me. ‘They probably have no idea we’re here but if they’ve got binoculars we don’t want them spotting us straightaway.’
I stare at him, my mouth opening and closing as I try to frame words – anything, sensible or stupid. Nothing comes out.
‘Jesus.’ He stops, gives me a you-must-be-fucking-kidding glare and then stomps towards me.
He waves a hand in front of my face. ‘We have to move.’ I nod with all the animation of a zombie. ‘Now!’ he barks in frustration, before cupping my elbow and frogmarching me along. ‘Don’t look back.’
I nod dumbly.
‘Once we get over the top, they won’t be able to see us.’
‘Unuh.’ My panicked brain is full of images of slavering dogs pulling at choker chains barely held back by their handlers, chasing us down.
‘Come on.’ The peremptory order cuts through my fog and I snap back into sense. My heart is still thudding like the hooves of a racehorse on the turf at Epsom but I’ve regained control of my limbs.
Breathless, we breach the top of the hill. The pain in my chest, spreading from rib to rib, eases at the sight below us. Civilization or something close to. There’s a viewing point car park about quarter of a mile ahead with several tour buses, and what looks like a café and a bus stop.
We both stop to catch our breath and relax a little, now that we’re at least out of view. With a groan I lower my rucksack from my aching back. I’m exhausted already.
