“Have you seen how deliberately shaped it is? This isn’t just a random natural slate chip…” Duncan’s attention was concentrated on the slate.
“Duncan, we need some light, fella - We’re digging here,” Harry said, when Duncan failed to answer.
Continuing to ignore Harry, Duncan reached up to the slate. It was wedged stiffly between the wall and the support beam.
“I think it’s got writing on it…”
Despite the tension it was under, he pulled until it came free. A loud structural groan echoed through the tunnel. Kate and Harry jumped up and stepped away from the hole in the direction of the shop. Duncan sprang backwards towards the pub.
“What did you do, Duncan?” Kate screamed in terror.
“I just pulled this out…” he replied, sliding the slate in his pocket. He shone the light around the tunnel looking for damage. “I think it’s going to be alright,” he announced confidently, yet they all remained frozen, where they stood.
“I hope-”
As Harry began, bricks started crumbling from the wall. It collapsed quickly, knocking the support beam from its anchor point. Dirt and rubble fell instantly from the ceiling as both walls imploded around them.
Duncan awoke to the sound of Kate and Harry shouting his name. Blinking his eyes open, he tried to roll onto his side. His legs were buried, but not too deeply. His hands reached out and began to move the rubble until he had cleared enough to free himself. Staggering clumsily to his feet he noticed a floor-to-ceiling pile of rubble blocking the tunnel.
“Kate, help me move this!” Duncan heard Harry shout, from somewhere on the other side of the huge pile. Scrambling for his flashlight, he realized he wasn’t seriously injured.
“What happened?” Duncan shouted, trying to re-orientate himself.
“Oh, thank God!” Kate cried. “Duncan! Are you hurt?!”
“No. Are you two alright?” Shouting made him feel dizzy and he slumped back onto the floor with a painful groan.
“Yeah, we’re fine, fella! You don’t sound too good. Just sit tight, we’re coming to get you,” comforted Harry. With these words, Duncan closed his eyes and let sleep take him. He drifted, confused and detached, yet vaguely aware.
“This one here, Kate!” Harry shouted. “I can’t lift it on my own…”
“Together on three… One…Two…Three!” Both let out a strained grunt with an abrupt and sudden finish.
“No hope, Harry, we can’t lift it.” Kate cried.
It was Kate’s words that finally pulled Duncan from unconsciousness.
“Go around, through the shop…” Duncan said, with as much volume as he could squeeze from his lungs.
“We tried that, the door to the shop is bolted from the shop side. Unless we can get though this, we’re stuck here.” Harry replied.
Stumbling to his feet, Duncan reached for his flashlight. He scanned the remaining support beams again. The collapse was isolated to just one section, so the pathway to the pub door was clear. He turned back to tell them when he noticed a beam of light from one of the flashlights shining through a hole in the rubble.
“There’s a hole!” Duncan shouted, fumbling toward it. Before he could reach it Harry’s face poked through.
“How you feeling, kiddo?”
Harry’s warm words of concern shook Duncan from his daze and concentrated his mind.
“My leg hurts, but other than that, I’m fine. How long have we been here?”
“You look like you’ve hurt your head quite badly too…You were out of it about half an hour, I think,” Harry responded, as Duncan felt the partially dried blood down the side of his face.
“The others should know something’s wrong by now, surely,” mused Duncan.
“That’s my thinking. Hopefully, your Pa will send someone soon.”
“There’s no need. The path to the pub is clear. I’ll come round through the other side and let you out.”
“What about the crystal…?” asked Harry.
Duncan stood back to get a good view of the huge pile of debris separating them.
“If we can’t get to it then neither can the Dark Circle.”
“Well it’s your call, fella.”
“I’m going to come and get you. Shouldn’t take me more than a few minutes to get down Stonegate to the shop.”
Duncan turned around and began hobbling his way toward the pub. A loud bell rang from the shop end of the tunnel.
“Thank God! Duncan, come back! Someone’s come for us!” Kate yelled.
A wave of relief fell over Duncan as he turned around and limped his way back to the wall of rubble. Making his way closer to the gap he heard a scream from Kate and two loud popping sounds. Alarmed, he attempted to advance quicker, only to collapse under his injured leg. He frantically crawled towards the dirt heap. Reaching out and closing his hands around the edge of a protruding brick he pulled himself up enough to peer though the hole. Duncan’s body froze as his eyes fell upon Kate, slumped just a few feet from the wall, oozing blood from an ugly wound in her chest. The sudden movement of Harry’s body hitting the floor drew Duncan’s attention.
“No… Wait…” Harry wept.
Two more popping sounds accompanied by sharp flashes came from a figure standing over Harry. The figure slowly bent to his haunches and placed his hand on Harry’s chest.
“You appear to be dying, Sir,” he whispered.
An involuntary, choked cry escaped Duncan’s mouth. The discarded flashlights faintly illuminated the man as he stood, turned and raised the gun toward Duncan. In that instance the rubble in front of Duncan’s face parted in one sharp movement, as if giant hands had swept it away. The man and Duncan stood face to face looking at each other through the hole in the rubble. Duncan, crouched, exposed and vulnerable before the figure. The right side of the man’s face was partially obscured by a thick lock of twisted hair that had freed itself from a thong. Duncan gasped as recognition of the man’s features struck. It was his Pa; the same broad build, the same untidy coiled hair. The figure held the gun steadily as Duncan blinked hard in disbelief, squinting desperately against the darkness. His heart pounded, his mind raced and he choked as he tried to call out. Unexpectedly the man lowered the gun to the floor, and in a burst of flames, was gone.
So many questions raced through his mind. He scrambled to his feet and then limped hurriedly toward the pub. Pausing outside the entrance, he broke down and sobbed like a child in his mother’s arms. The face of his father filled his thoughts. Anger enveloped him, twisted him, tore at the core of his very being. Suddenly, as if dragged from quicksand by an unseen force, he straightened himself and took two deliberate deep breaths. He had to get to Harry and Kate.
Staggering out of the pub he walked into the plant pot and slipped on the ice covered paving slabs in the courtyard. Grabbing at the flimsy branches of the Rhododendron plant he fell against the whitewashed wall of the building. He stared down the alley towards the cobbled street of Stonegate. His thoughts filled with the man. Could it be Simon? Was it his Pa who had threatened his life and killed their friends? Rational thought should have prevailed, but the figure was so similar in the dimly lit tunnel. Dragging himself from the support of the wall he staggered down the alley and into the street.
“You alright, buddy?” A passerby asked, gesturing to Duncan’s bloody head.
“I’m fine,” Duncan barked, steadying himself against an old brick wall. Seconds later he pushed himself away, forcing himself to walk quicker, away from prying eyes. With so many thoughts darting through his mind, he hadn’t realized that he had already reached the shop. He blinked in the early morning light and reached out to try the door. It was locked, and there were no signs of forced entry.
“Of course, he used a crystal…” Duncan whispered to himself.
With one swift shoulder charge, he smashed open the door. Proceeding through the shop and to the entrance of the tunnel, Duncan braced himself. The door was closed. He lifted his h
and turned the handle. It swung gently open to reveal the long tunnel in which his friends lay, the sound of the bell sounding faintly from the other end of the tunnel. He entered the damp, faintly lit space and stood for a second, scanning the path. He prayed that he had imagined the whole thing, but then his eyes rested on the blood-soaked bodies. He had no doubt that Kate was dead. Walking slowly toward her, he heard a wet gurgling cough and swung toward the sound. Harry’s crumpled and broken body lay in a pool of his blood.
Duncan fell to his knees beside him.
“Harry?” he sobbed, blinking away the tears.
“Hey, fella…”
“I’m so sorry…”
“His eye, Duncan… His eye…” Harry struggled to talk as blood poured from his mouth.
“What about his eye, Harry?”
Harry choked on a bloody cough as he tried to answer.
“It’s OK. It’s not that bad, really. You’re going to be alright.”
Duncan placed his hand on Harry’s chest near the two oozing bullet wounds.
“Don’t… Don’t spin me stories, fella… I know it’s bad.”
“No, really, Harry…” Duncan couldn’t get his words out as he began to sob, “We’ll get you patched up in no time. Don’t worry…”
“I’m not worried…” Harry forced a smile, took one last rasping breath and closed his eyes forever, leaving the tunnel in total silence.
Shaking, Duncan staggered to his feet and made his way over to Kate. Her body lay messily slumped against the debris. He cast his eyes to the side of the tunnel, to the specific way in which the rubble had moved itself against the walls and blinked hard. He couldn’t be sure, couldn’t explain how bricks and beams, that had been too heavy for Kate and Harry to lift, could have moved themselves in the pile of rubble in which they had fallen, parted like the Red Sea and left a round hole through the obstruction in the tunnel. Trembling he lifted Kate’s body and rested her next to Harry. For a moment he stood, tears streaming down his face, trying to understand how it had happened.
“Look after her,” he whispered; choking back a sob and casting one last look at his friends before turning back toward the shop door.
Reaching for his mobile phone on the passenger seat of the van Duncan ran his finger over Eilidh’s name. His hands were shaking so much that the name blurred. He pressed the green button and drew the phone to his ear. It rang.
“Eilidh,” he cried, through a stuttering sob. “Where’s my Pa?”
“He’s here, Duncan. Why? What’s happened?” she asked.
“It’s Harry and Kate…” the words caught in his throat, he cried uncontrollably, unable to continue the call. He dropped the phone and noticed for the first time the blood on his hands, shirt and coat. Retching, he slid the key into the ignition. The van’s engine roared to life beneath him. His stomach twisted; anger and deep sadness dragged his mind into a tortured hell as he pulled up at Tesco. How was he going to break the news?
“Where the hell have you been, lad?!” Simon roared, as his son fell out of the white van. Duncan ignored his father and bowed his head against the window of the van. “My God, what happened?” Simon exclaimed, noticing the blood stains on his son’s shirt. “Where’s Kate and Harry?”
“You should know!” Duncan shouted. “You were there weren’t you?”
Swinging around to face his father he raised both his hands and pushed him aggressively away.
“What are you talking about, man? What’s happened?” Simon said, taking a step backwards.
“Simon, leave him,” cried Eilidh, running towards the two men.
“Try and calm down, lad. Tell us what happened…”
“Simon!” Eilidh screamed, “Go.”
He threw his arms in the air with a gesture of irritation and confusion before turning his back on Duncan and Eilidh.
“What happened, Duncan?” Eilidh said, suddenly lowering her tone and softening her voice.
Duncan erupted into tears, crumpling before her eyes and laying his head on her shoulder.
“They’re dead… Kate and Harry… they’ve been killed.”
Eilidh began to cry and then stopped, suddenly drawing herself away from Duncan and regaining her composure.
“How?” she asked.
“I think… I think it was Pa…” he sobbed.
“That’s not possible. Simon’s never left the lorry.”
“He was there… It looked like him.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of it, but your father’s not involved.”
“What’s happened? Where are Kate and Harry?” Rose asked, already tearing up.
“Rose, can I talk to you in private?”
Rose nodded obligingly and swiftly climbed from the lorry and walked to one side with Eilidh.
Simon, having calmed down, ventured over to Duncan and embraced him.
“I’m sorry, Pa…” Duncan sobbed. Simon patted him on the back as they hugged.
“It is fine, lad. Are you alright?”
“Yes… But he looked so much like you…”
All conversation was interrupted by Rose’s anguished cries from a distance. Everyone turned to see Eilidh holding Rose as she sobbed uncontrollably. Eilidh approached the group, her arm protectively supporting Rose.
“May I have everyone’s attention please?” Eilidh shouted, above the confused murmurings. Everyone turned to look at her, falling immediately silent. “I have some bad news…” she bowed her head, finding difficulty in what was to be said. “There’s been a dreadful accident… Kate and Harry are no longer with us.” She paused for a moment as everyone stood in somber silence, tears on so many faces. “We have lost two very loyal friends today… Their commitment to us means that we can never forget them. We must remember their sacrifice; but more importantly, we must understand - we must know!-” Eilidh shouted, with more passion than she had ever felt. “We must know that their sacrifice has made our journey more important than ever… We must carry on. We must succeed… Because we cannot let their deaths be in vain.” Looking to the crowd of faces she noticed most were silently sobbing. “They were friends to all of us… You are not alone in your pain,” Eilidh turned to Rose and squeezed her hand tighter. “We will get each other through this,” she paused again and took a deep breath.
“I never told him I loved him,” she whispered.
“You didn’t need to,” Eilidh said gently, “he knew.”
“Take me back?” Rose pleaded.
“We can’t do that.”
“I need to see them. Please?”
“The Dark Circle will kill you,” Eilidh said simply.
“I’ve lost everything. I don’t care if they do.”
“I care, and you will tomorrow. Now let’s go,” Eilidh said.
Rose’s stomach heaved and twisted. She gasped a rasping breath as her throat contracted. Graham was in front of her, holding her against him, whispering reassuring words of comfort, but she didn’t hear them, couldn’t hear them. Her heart pounded and her mind raced with the thought of what she had lost. Her best friend, the girl she had grown up with; the man she had loved and trusted - but had never had the chance to know as her father. It didn’t make any difference that she had never called him Daddy. She had sat on his knee as a three year old and he had sung to her as his daughter. He had taught her nursery rhymes, played little piggies with her toes, taken her to the park and bought her ice-cream. He was the man in the background, the man who was always there, the man she hadn’t known she loved – until now.
“I love you Daddy,” she breathed.
******
CHAPTER 22
Heading North from York on the A1 - 21st December, Modern Day
A tiny meow of a cry echoed from the old wooden drawer on the floor of the lorry. Rose wiped her cheeks and rubbed her bloodshot eyes before lifting the baby from the makeshift crib and rocking him gently in her arms.
“I think he needs feeding,” she said, in an automated tone.
/> “I’ve got the bottles and the formula cartons,” Grace said, reaching for the box of sterile bottles. “Jen, would you open one of those cartons for me, please?”
Her daughter nodded and reached for the trays of ready-made formula.
“Do I just rip the top?”
Grace nodded. “I’ll hold the bottle and you can pour. The warmer’s there in that bag beside you.”
“I’m on it,” Graham said, extracting the device from a heavy duty Morrisons bag.
“It’s good to go; its plugged in and the inverter is switched on,” Grace said, holding the bottle steady whilst her daughter poured the thick creamy liquid from the carton.
Graham flicked the switch and a red light appeared immediately on the front of the warmer before reaching across and taking the filled bottle off Grace.
“I think the light goes green when it’s ready,” Grace said, neatly folding the empty milk carton. “Anyone got an empty plastic bag we can use for rubbish?”
There was a rustle of activity whilst Rose fumbled with one hand in her bag. “Here, will this do?” she asked, holding up a small green nappy disposal bag.
“That’ll do fine. What were you doing with a nappy bag?” Grace asked.
“I keep used make-up wipes in them,” Rose replied, pulling the child closer to her.
“I think your bottle’s done,” Graham announced, leaning over Rose to reach the bottle.
Amber lifted her head and looked expectantly up at Graham.
“I know you can smell the milk, Amber, but it’s not for you,” he said, shaking the bottle gently and then tilting it to empty a few drops of milk onto the back of his hand. “That’s fine,” he said, handing the bottle to Rose.
As the smell of milk reached the baby it fought wildly for the teat, before catching it between its gums. He sucked so hard that within seconds of it entering his mouth he had inverted the rubber teat.
“Damn,” Rose said, trying to loosen the cap of the bottle with one hand in an attempt to loosen the teat.
“Give it here,” Graham said, taking the bottle from her.