It’s my nightmare.
I can’t go into this place. It’s evil.
The pain lessens a bit, and I open my eyes and look through the gate.
There’s no one there.
Mia’s gone and I have to go after her.
Chapter 42: Adam
Breathe, breathe, breathe.
There’s been another rockfall, more serious this time. I’m crawling on my hands and knees with my torch in my mouth when I feel the vibration and, a second or so later, hear the noise. The boom of the explosion mixes with the rattle of falling stones dropping into water and onto me.
The whole lot could come down. I’d be buried here. I feel like I’m buried already – the air’s so full of dust it gets stuck in my throat. My chest’s heaving, I’m choking, desperate.
Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.
That’s what my mum taught me when it got too much for me, when the numbers were crowding in on me. I take the torch out of my mouth and cover the bottom of my face with my hand, trying to filter the crap out of the air.
In through your nose, out through your mouth.
The noise dies away. Now there’s just the noise of my breath, in and out, in and out, and the sound of my blood thudding in my ears.
Sarah and Mia must have done this, so I can, too.
I put the torch back in my mouth and press on, swishing my hands and knees through the freezing water. The beam of torchlight moves about as I crawl, bouncing crazily on the rock wall next to my face. It makes the whole place feel even smaller. All it picks out is a metre-wide circle of rock with a weaker circle outside that. Everything else looks blacker, almost like it don’t exist. A couple more minutes and then the bright circle of light isn’t near my ear any more, it’s way over to my right, and it’s picking up these weird shapes, like teeth sprouting up from the floor. Still on my hands and knees I grab the torch and shine it around. The ceiling’s five or six metres high and there are teeth there, too, growing down.
‘Christ!’
For a moment my mind plays tricks on me. I’m in a gigantic mouth and the jaws are closing. I try to hold the torch steady, concentrate the light on one of the weird shapes. It ain’t moving. It’s a cave, not a mouth, and I’ve got to get out of here.
I ease up onto my feet, glad to get out of the water. I can breathe in here. My chest heaves as I suck the air in. Something’s different here, not just the space. I can taste smoke on my tongue.
Now I’m upright and breathing, I can run again. Which way now? There’s a white mark on the wall. I start jogging, even though my knees are killing me. This has got to be it, hasn’t it? I gotta be near the way out.
And I am. Light filters in from an open entrance. I belt up to it and burst out into the real world again.
There’s a metal gate flat on the ground in front of me, like someone shoved it from inside and trampled it underfoot.
It’s difficult to work out where I am. It’s foggy – a cold, clinging sort of fog. There’s brambles all round where the tunnel comes out and then a field, a hillside. I can just make out some shapes below, buildings, a city. And leading down, three sets of footprints in the dew: two following a straight line, one made up of little feet, all over the place.
Sarah and Mia made it out.
But Saul is on their tail.
I set off down the hill at a run.
Chapter 43: Sarah
‘Mia! Mia!’
My voice reaches out into the fog, which flattens it, deadens it, kills it.
There’s no reply. Didn’t she hear or is she playing some kind of game?
I shove open the gate, stumble in and set off along the path Mia must have taken. For a few metres it’s gravel and trees and grass.
Then other shapes appear among the tree trunks, grey-black oblongs. Gravestones. A creature looms out of the fog, a huge bird or something. I can’t make it out for a moment, but as I get nearer I can see it’s not an animal and it’s not alive. It’s a winged figure, an angel on top of a pedestal.
I’ve got to find Mia and I’ve got to get her out of here.
The gravel crunches under my feet and I leave the path and walk through and round and over the graves.
I think of the camp we’ve just walked through, the filth of it. This is where most of those people will end up. How many have been buried here already? Does their sickness lurk in this turf? Does it hang in the droplets of fog that I’m breathing in now?
‘Mia!’
I spin round. Everywhere’s the same. Grey and black. Trees and stones.
The path leads uphill. I’m puffing now. The fog sticks in my throat and my lungs. It doesn’t seem to have enough oxygen in it. Oh, God, where’s Mia? I can’t do this. I’m too big, too slow, too tired.
Ahead of me, I catch a movement. Something darting behind a gravestone.
‘Mia, I can see you. Stay there. I’m coming.’
I struggle up the hill but when I get to the stone, she’s not there. Something low and dark flashes away from me, visible now and then between the grave markers. Quick and silent. A rat.
‘Mia! Mia, please, I’m frightened. Where are you?’
Further down the hill, back the way I’ve come, something’s moving in the mist. Was she down there all the time? Did I plough my way past her?
‘Mia?’
The shape disappears again, crouching low, ducking behind a tree. Then a thin voice reaches me.
‘I’m here, Mummy.’
High-pitched, child-like.
Mia?
My hormone-addled brain registers a child who needs a mum. It could be Mia. I want it to be Mia.
‘Mia?’
‘Mum-my.’ Two-tone, sing-song. A child calling out to its mother.
‘I’m here. I’m coming.’
I’m close to the spot where I saw the movement. It was too big to be another rat. I look right and left. Water drips from the branches onto the top of my head. A drop trickles down the nape of my neck and I shiver.
‘Where are you?’ I call out.
There’s no reply this time, but something scuffles behind a gravestone in front of me to my left. I walk forward, slowly, placing my feet softly on the ground, willing them not to make a noise. I draw level with the stone. There’s someone there, two feet sticking out, bigger than a child’s feet, in heavy leather boots.
One more step and I can see. Someone sitting on the ground, back against the stone, knees drawn up.
It’s not a child.
It’s a man.
He turns his head and looks at me. His eyes seem brighter, more piercing than ever. He starts to move his lips.
‘Mum-my!’
It chills the blood in my veins. He smiles, mocking me, and I understand now, the thing I can see in his eyes. Maybe it’s power, maybe it’s magic, but it’s something else too. There’s madness there.
‘Saul,’ I say.
He sits up, stretches out his legs.
‘Sarah,’ he says. ‘On your own?’
If he’s after Mia, I won’t let him get her.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘It’s just me.’
‘Where’s that lovely girl?’
Where is she? Keep still, Mia. Stay hidden, wherever you are.
‘She’s somewhere safe.’
He smiles again.
‘Somewhere I won’t find her?’
‘That’s right.’
He shakes his head.
‘Have you forgotten?’
‘Forgotten what?’
‘She’s chipped, Sarah.’ He moves his hand and flashes his torch into my eyes, laughing. ‘I can send up a couple of drones. I can look for her myself. If I want to.’
‘I’m not chipped. How did you know I was here?’
‘I wasn’t far behind, Sarah, and I had your lovely picture to help.’ He reaches into his pocket and brings out a piece of paper. ‘So helpful of you to draw me such a strong visual clue.’ He unfolds it. My note to Adam.
/> I curse Adrian in my head, and I’m cursing myself too. I was a fool to trust anyone.
‘What’s this all about, Saul?’
‘We’ve got business, you and me.’
He’s playing with the torch now, letting the beam pick out the words carved on the neighbouring stones.
Eliza Sansom, 1893–1911. Taken by angels.
Bernard McAllister, departed this world 19th February 1932. At peace.
Emily Barker, b. 1854. d. 1943. Much loved wife to Rupert, and mother to Violet and Isabel.
‘I’ve got no business with you, Saul.’ The ache spreads from my back to my stomach. Another contraction’s on its way. I don’t want him to see me like this. Hurting. Vulnerable. ‘I’m going,’ I say. ‘Don’t follow me.’
But I only manage a couple of steps before I’m gasping with the pain.
Saul springs to his feet. He’s next to me in a second, putting his arm round my shoulder. My skin crawls.
‘It’s coming, isn’t it?’ he whispers.
Breathe. Breathe. Keep breathing.
He’s gripping my arms through my coat, pinning them to my sides.
I can’t speak. I can’t move either.
The pain eases.
His face is close to mine. I can smell his sourness, see the stubble pinpricks on his jaw. He licks his lips, but misses a small bead of saliva at the corner of his mouth.
The images I see match the pictures in my head. It was Saul. Of course it was Saul.
He’s breathing almost as fast as I am.
‘Leave me alone,’ I say. ‘I’ll do this on my own.’
‘How long?’ he says. ‘How long will it be?’
My breathing’s back under control now, but his isn’t. He’s panting like a dog. The bead of saliva swells and bursts, trickling down the side of his chin. He doesn’t wipe it off.
‘Five minutes? Ten?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know. An hour maybe.’
‘An hour. An hour.’ His eyes flick from side to side. ‘I don’t know if I can wait that long.’ The tiny muscles in his face are alive, twitching, and this twitchiness seems to be racing through his whole body.
What does he mean?
‘Sarah,’ he says, ‘an hour is a long time. But I’m here. I’ll help you.’
I’m trapped; I’m in labour, I can’t run anywhere, I can’t fight him. I don’t want him here, but I can’t do a damned thing about it. This is how I felt at home, for years and years. Powerless. My power taken away by a man. Anger surges through me. I never wanted to feel like this again. That’s why I left home. I left everything; home, school, my brothers.
‘I don’t want your fucking help, Saul. I don’t want it and I don’t want you here. I want you to leave.’
Maddeningly, he smiles.
‘I’m staying, Sarah. And if that baby’s not here in an hour, I’ll cut it out of you.’
‘What?’
He reaches to his waist and draws a knife. The handle looks like some sort of bone or horn. The blade is long, maybe twenty centimetres, and slightly curved. It’s a hunting knife.
Please, please don’t …
I’ve done it before.
‘I’ve done it before,’ he says, running his index finger along the side of the blade, ‘but I like you, Sarah. I don’t want to hurt you. You believe me, don’t you?’
I don’t know what to say. His madness is written all over his face. I thought he was after Mia, but all the time he had me in his sights, or rather, my baby. Adam knew. That’s why he went for Saul when he touched my stomach. Oh God, Adam, where are you?
The ground’s dropping away all around me. Nothing’s solid. Nothing’s real. Nothing’s safe.
Another contraction starts. I gasp, and Saul puts his knife away and grips me again.
‘Get off me! Get off!’
He backs off.
‘Is it coming? Is it coming now?’
I can’t answer him. The pain’s got me again. I hold on to the nearest gravestone and concentrate on my breathing.
Saul’s pacing up and down, like a tiger in a cage. I wish he was in a cage. I’m scared of him, really scared.
‘New life, Sarah. New life.’
That’s all he says, over and over. New life. New life. What’s that got to do with him?
He’s still pacing.
Then he stops and looks directly at me.
‘I haven’t got time.’
And he reaches up to pull his scarf from round his neck.
‘Saul—?’
He springs forward and starts wrapping the scarf round my face. His fingers are in my mouth, forcing it open, stuffing material inside. I twist my head away from him.
‘No, Saul. No!’
I spit and cough, but the scarf’s there now and he’s pulling it tight behind my head.
‘Bite on it,’ he says. ‘Bite on it if you need to.’
He shoves me down onto the grass and draws his knife again.
I scramble with my legs, pushing myself away from him, scraping my back along the ground, but it’s hopeless. He catches me easily and sits on my legs.
‘Keep still,’ he says, ‘this’ll hurt less if you keep still.’
I’m twelve again. I’m seeing the emptiness in Dad’s eyes as he holds me down. They’re the same: Dad, Saul. I hate them. I hate them so much. I didn’t fight Dad – I was too scared of him – but I’m fighting now. Fighting for my life. Fighting for the life of my baby.
He comes at me with the knife and I try to grab the blade. I don’t feel the cuts. The pain’s blotted out by my anger. He pulls the knife from my fingers and comes at me again. Again I block him. He wrenches the blade away and throws it on the ground beside him. Then he scrabbles at his belt buckle and rips his belt out of his trousers. He grabs my wrists and, easing off my legs for a minute, takes them behind me, wraps his belt round them and ties it in a knot. Then he’s back on top of me and the knife’s back in his hand.
There’s nothing else I can do. The anger’s ebbing away now, leaving raw, naked terror in its place.
‘Please, Saul, please don’t.’
My words come out as muffled grunts, but he could read them in my eyes if he was looking. Only he’s not looking at my face. He’s pulled my top up and my joggers down, and he’s holding the knife to the bare skin of my stomach. He’s poised and ready and just for a moment everything is still, almost calm.
I think, he can’t really do this. It isn’t happening.
He stares as another contraction takes hold of me, watching as the skin on my belly tightens. It’s more painful lying down and I start to cry, tears trickling from the outside corners of my eyes and into my ears. The pain’s changing, or rather, there’s something else now, the desire to push. The need to push.
He doesn’t have to cut me. The baby’s coming anyway.
‘Saul! Get off me!’
The urgency in my grunts reaches him. He tugs at my gag, pulling it roughly down over my chin.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s coming, the baby’s coming now. Please, untie my hands. Let me get on with it.’
‘It’s quicker my way. Easier.’
‘No, no, it’s riskier. You might cut the baby. Let me do it my way. Untie me.’
‘I’m not untying you. Do you think I’m stupid?’
‘For Christ’s sake. What do you think I’m going to do? I’m in labour, you stupid bastard!’
Instinctively he raises his hand to slap me, but as he does so, I start breathing heavily, grunting and growling with the pain and the need to push. He stops, hand frozen in mid-air and stares, fascinated. He gets off my legs but he doesn’t move away. He stands, watching.
I was alone last time, and, God, I wish I was now. No, I wish Adam was here. This isn’t how it was meant to be. I can’t think about him. I can’t think about anything else.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. That’s all I can do now.
The baby’s crying. My baby.
&nbs
p; Saul’s holding the child. His hands are so covered in blood he could be wearing red gloves. Is it blood from the baby or blood from me?
‘A girl,’ he says, talking to himself. ‘A good, strong girl.’
She’s got her eyes tight shut, crying her head off.
I want to hold her. I need to.
My hands strain against the belt tying them together. The knot has loosened already and I wriggle one hand free, then the other. I’ve been lying on them so the feeling’s gone. I move my fingers, willing the life to come back into them.
I hold my arms forward.
‘Saul,’ I say, ‘let me hold her.’
He looks up then, startled, like he’d forgotten I was even there.
‘It’s better if you don’t,’ he says, ‘easier for you that way.’
And then he stands up and starts walking away.
I can’t believe it. This can’t be happening. I try to move but it’s impossible. I’m pinned to the ground with pain. There’s a lot of blood, more than when I had Mia. My stomach is still contracting.
‘Saul, what are doing? Where are you going?’ He doesn’t answer. ‘She needs me, Saul. She needs her mum. Don’t take her.’ I try to get to my feet, but the world turns red and then black behind my eyes and when I come to I’m lying face down. I look up and Saul’s thirty metres away. ‘Saul! Saul! Come back! Please!’
I’m on my hands and knees now, crawling across grass and leaves and gravel. And then another contraction stops me in my tracks. The afterbirth. I’d forgotten about that. The thing that nourished this baby. The thing my body doesn’t need any more. It’s coming out too. I can’t fight it. And now I know that I’ve got no chance of catching up with them.
Saul’s taking my baby and I can’t stop him. I rest my forehead down on the gravel. I’m too tired, too desperate even to cry.
Chapter 44: Adam
In the tunnel, I knew where Sarah and Mia had been. I was following in their tracks, even though I couldn’t see an actual trail. Out here, it suddenly strikes me that they could be anywhere. There’s a whole world out here. I don’t think they’d have stayed in the field but when I start to get into the city, I feel even more hopeless.
I try asking myself what they’d do. Find somewhere nearby to hide, or keep running? Look for a quiet corner, or go where there are people?