Chapter 24 Elin

24

Elin

Parque Nacional, Portugal, October 2021

‘I'm heading down to camp now.'

Elin's eyes snap open. It takes a moment for Isaac to come into focus, already dressed, a thin blue waterproof jacket pulled over jeans.

‘What time is it?' Her voice is still thick with sleep.

‘Just past one. You can bail if you want.' He smiles, his eyes tired, creased at the corners. ‘One of those ideas that sounds okay until you're being forcibly ejected from your bed in the middle of the night.'

Hauling herself upright, she smothers a yawn. ‘No, I'm coming … Need a pick-me-up, though. Any coffee going?'

Isaac smiles and reaches behind him to the counter, pushing a steaming mug into her hand.

‘Thanks.' She takes one sip, then another, immediately feeling the welcome jolt from the caffeine.

But as her tiredness starts to dissipate, it's quickly replaced by something else: trepidation.

*

The night swallows them whole as they pick past the camp to the woodland behind. Head torch off, Isaac's nothing more than sounds – the heavy pull of his breath, branches breaking beneath his feet.

By the time they reach the trees, he's already pushing forwards, but Elin's eyes dart to the camp.

It's silent, still, the vans nothing more than outlines. Her gaze moves left to the broken shell of Bridie's van. Smoke, still lacing the air, catches at the back of her throat.

‘Elin?' Isaac's voice breaks her train of thought.

‘I'm coming.' Flicking on her head torch, she pushes armfuls of foliage away as she follows him through the trees. Thick swaths of night collapse and fold under the beam. The forest floor appears in jerky, lurid bursts: leaf litter and pine needles. Weed and bramble.

‘Where do you want to start?' She stops beside him.

‘Here. I reckon we work left to right, not much deeper into the forest than this. Can't imagine debris will have gone much further.' Isaac reaches down, picking up a piece of plastic. ‘Bits of the van littered all around here.'

Elin focuses her head torch: the angular piece of plastic has been deformed into a molten dome at the end. Unidentifiable.

Metre by metre, they pick their way through the undergrowth. It's heavy going, the light from their torches unreliable, absorbed by the trees, a careless angle of the head.

‘Found anything?' Isaac spins around, the light from his head torch momentarily blinding her.

She blinks. ‘No, only stuff from the van. Metal, plastic. A few bits of burnt paper, but that's about it. I—' She stops.

A noise.

Not the scuttling and scurrying of animals, something louder, more deliberate. A rustling of branches.

Elin listens. The noise sounds out again. Louder this time .

Her thoughts shift to the scene from earlier.

Ned. The dull thud of the shovel hitting dirt.

Sweat pricking beneath her underarms, Elin forces herself to turn.

The beam from her head torch bounces around the underbrush, conjuring up shapes and shadows.

No one there, nothing she can see, anyway, but still, she feels something, that inexplicable sense that eyes are on her.

A sixth sense.

She'd read up on it once, came away disappointed. The research concluded that the feeling that someone's staring at you is just a fail-safe. We're hardwired, as humans, to think someone is looking at us when we can't see them, even with no evidence to back it up.

A safety mechanism. Nothing more.

Still, she finds her voice. ‘You hear that?'

‘What?' Isaac turns.

‘Sounds like we've got company.'

His eyes scour the space around them before he shakes his head. ‘Can't see anything … this time of night, probably animals.'

Elin hesitates. Silence again. Nothing apart from the sound of Isaac moving next to her, a distant birdcall.

Breathing out, she forces the thought away as they shift right, reaching the next section of ground. Less debris here, which made sense from the position of the van.

A few feet on, something catches her eye; a rough path in the underbrush that's left the surrounding plants and ferns trampled and broken.

She beckons Isaac over. ‘Someone's made a track. Nowhere to go from here, is there?'

‘Nowhere the proper path wouldn't take you.' He screws up his face as he looks up and down the track. ‘Maybe someone prefers a back route out. Doesn't want to be seen leaving camp.'

Elin nods, chilled, not sure why she finds the idea so discomforting. Perhaps because it implies that someone had felt the need to escape, that the hostility she'd felt didn't only extend to strangers, but people inside the camp as well.

The next ten minutes yield nothing except more metal. Part of a child's stripy onesie. Toiletries. Soft furnishings. Kitchenware.

Isaac's movements are getting louder, messier. Frustration setting in.

‘Look,' she says, walking over. ‘This was a good idea, but we knew it was a long shot. They've probably already got rid of anything obvious.'

‘You're right.' He kicks at the dirt. ‘I just wanted to feel like I've turned over every stone.'

‘And you have. Penn won't expect any more than that.'

Nodding, Isaac looks around him once more. ‘Yeah, let's call it a night.'

Head torches off, they skirt the perimeter of the camp, keeping close to the tree line.

They've just gone past the first van when Isaac comes to an abrupt stop a few feet from the rear door.

‘Thought we agreed we weren't going to get close?'

‘I've seen something.' Dropping to his knees, Isaac flicks his head torch on again. ‘Keep an eye out …' He peers at something out of her sight line before shuffling forwards, straining up to reach past the wheel of the van.

Elin tenses, her eyes crawling up the side of the van to the blank hole of the window above. Ned's van? If Isaac turns suddenly, his head torch will be right on the window.

Several agonisingly slow minutes pass.

Scouring the area around them, Elin is conscious of every sound he's making, every flicker of the beam. Beyond them, the woodland is an enigma, only the first row of trees visible from the dim light of Isaac's head torch.

Anyone could be out there. Watching.

Another long minute passes. All she can hear now is the thud of the pulse in her ears.

She's about to say something – hurry him up – when there's a loud rustling .

‘Found something.' Isaac stands up, holding a clear plastic bag. Steadying the head torch, he trains it on the exterior.

‘A hard drive.' Elin shoots another look at the window above. ‘Okay, but we can't justify taking random stuff. That could be anything.'

‘I'd have said the same if I hadn't seen these.' Pulling out a small cardboard wallet from the bag, Isaac passes it to her, his expression grim. ‘There are photographs in here. Photographs of Kier.'