Chapter 6

When Mark places a blindfold on me and guides me out to one of the waiting Land Rovers the following morning, my breakfast starts to churn in my stomach like a brick in a tumble dryer. Apprehension sizzles along my nerves. Suddenly this is horribly real and not a game.

In the back of the Land Rover, I can hear other people breathing and I'm sitting sandwiched between two other bodies. No one is speaking. I think being blindfolded does that to you. Makes you feel insular. In the dark it's like being a kid again, not sure of the rules and fearful that everyone else knows what they're doing and I don't. I clutch my rucksack protectively to me, as if it's a life vest. It has my things in there and, try as hard as I could last night and this morning, I couldn't bring myself to ditch everything. It might be a bit heavy, but I will carry everything in it to the ends of the earth.

The engine chugs into life and the radio on the dashboard blares into life, ironically with REM's ‘It's the End of the World As We Know It'. Nervous laughter titters in the back as off we go. Reliant on my sense of hearing, I strain my ears to listen for anything over and above the engine. I clench my fists on my knees, my eyes closed behind the blindfold. I have to take deep, even breaths because I want to snatch that fucker off my face. The muscles in my back are bunched as if I might spring into action like a leopard on its prey. I hate this. Absolutely hate it. Being at the mercy of someone else. I want to get out of the Land Rover. Right now. Panic is creeping over me, strangling ivy, wrapping its way around me with insidious tendrils of self-doubt.

I hold in a sob, but it shakes my body.

‘Lydia?' It's Tom's voice. He's right beside me. ‘You okay?' he whispers.

‘Mm.' My voice, tight with tension is croaky. ‘Don't like the blindfold,' I murmur back, sounding childlike.

I feel his hand fumble across my thigh to take mine. ‘Shame,' he murmurs in a smoky voice full of sex and sin. ‘I've heard it can be a lot of fun.'

Despite his words, his hand gives mine a reassuring squeeze and I splutter out a laugh. ‘I don't believe you just said that.'

‘Took your mind off things, didn't it? They should provide silk blindfolds, holds a better association than kidnap victim. What do you reckon?'

‘That you have a dirty mind,' I say.

‘Filthy,' he agrees somewhere near my ear at a volume that only I can hear. ‘But you already knew that.'

My heart thunks in my chest. It makes me feel odd and extremely grateful that we can't see each other. And that in another hour we won't see each other again until … who knows. Back at work? Back at Mannerdale Hall?

I don't say anything, but I relax back into the seat, grateful for the reassuring presence of his hand around mine.

A little while later, the Land Rover has clearly come off road and we're bumping along a very uneven track. The engine whines and the gears crunch as they're taken down.

‘Right, first stop. Everyone get out. If we touch you on the shoulder you're to stay put. This is your team drop-off.'

We scramble awkwardly out. My legs are a little shaky and I can't decide if I'm dreading or looking forward to the touch on the arm. Tansy has been strangely quiet throughout the journey but she's probably as nervous as I am. I'm glad that I've been teamed up with someone I feel so comfortable with.

Five minutes later, we're told to get back into the car. There's a little more space now and I've no idea who I'm sitting next to but it's not Tom. I don't know how I know that, but I do. I seem to have some kind of ESP where he's concerned. Maybe he was one of the ones we've just dropped off.

We make another drop and then the third drop is mine. I feel my rucksack dumped next to me. I put a hand on it to reassure myself.

‘Wait until you can't hear the engine any longer and then take the blindfolds off,' instructs Mark. ‘The clock starts ticking now. You've got an hour and a half before the hunters set off. They don't have your precise location, just a radius of fifteen miles. Best of luck. You're going to need it.'

The door slams and the Land Rover rumbles away. It's a relief to be out in the fresh air, released from the tense atmosphere inside the four-wheel-drive.

The sound of the engine dies away and I rip off my blindfold, blinking into watery daylight. It's a cloudy day with ominous black clouds gathering. I turn round to find that Tansy has grown half a foot and is now looking disturbingly masculine.

He takes off his blindfold and we stare at each other.

He has a filthy mind and I already know thatis all that goes through my head.

‘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.

‘What are the chances of a local bus coming in the next hour?' asks Tom, his mouth twisting cynically.

I look hopefully down at the ribbon of road curling around the hillside. ‘Good?'

He gives me a withering look. ‘Seriously? You've never lived in the country, have you?'

I stiffen. So I don't know stuff like this. So what? Just as I'm about to tell him where to go, I'm distracted by an unfamiliar buzzing noise. After his last comment I'm not going to mention it, the sound probably belongs to some giant country wasp I'm not aware of, but it's getting louder. One of those tinny irritating sounds that after a while drills through your head. The sound carries across the big open field.

‘Fuck!' says Tom. ‘They're using a bloody drone.' He grabs my arm. ‘Run before they see us.'