Night rolled over Blackmoor in a series of heavier shades of grey.
Tom felt as though a mist was rolling in, making him squint to see clearly, but it was just the darkening clouds. Like they were too heavy for the sky and were coming in to rest on land. He had spent the whole day on the moor and found the environment unwelcoming. Unnerving, even. Like the place was almost sentient and didn’t want anyone to walk on it, only suffered those who came onto it if they departed quickly. Rocky outcrops loomed over them like menacing ancient gods as the darkness thickened. The woods and forests thrust spiked leafless branches against the sky while their dark, black hearts were ready to absorb any unwary travellers and never let them go.
He shivered from more than just cold.
Then shook his head. He was imagining things. He had been penned in for so long, the open space was in danger of making him agoraphobic. Considering his claustrophobia he might have found that amusing. But not right now.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ said the first officer, who Tom had discovered was called Ray. ‘Aren’t they back yet?’
‘Coming down now,’ said the second, who had revealed himself to be called Tony. ‘Look, over there. You can see the torches.’
On the rocky hill ahead of them Cunningham and his party were returning. Cunningham, Tom noticed, was at the back of the pack now. Dragging his feet like the reluctant kid on the school trip.
With nothing else to do, they watched the party until they were there in front of them.
Ray crossed to the lead detective. ‘Any luck?’
The detective shook her head. ‘Nah. A few false alarms, but he’s having trouble remembering anything.’ A roll of the eyes to accompany her words told them what she thought of the whole enterprise. ‘It all looks different now, apparently.’
‘What, this all used to be fields?’ said Tony, laughing at his own joke in case no one else did.
The detective smiled politely. ‘Forensics took some readings, a couple of maybes but nothing positive. Going to be a long haul.’ She looked between the two of them to Tom. ‘Think of the overtime.’
Tom said nothing. There were things he wanted to ask her, one professional to another, but he refrained. He knew how it would have sounded. And knew she wouldn’t have answered him.
‘Right, then,’ said Ray. ‘Back inside for you.’
‘And his mate,’ said Tony. ‘Here he comes now.’
Cunningham was escorted over to the two officers. He was beaming, almost manic. Buzzing with excitement.
‘You had fun?’ asked Tom, deadpan.
Cunningham nodded.
‘Found anything?’
‘Not yet, but it’s just good to be back out here. Makes you feel alive, doesn’t it? Like it’s speaking to you, telling you secrets.’ He nodded to himself, hearing something no one else was. ‘I’ll find them tomorrow. Tomorrow. The moor’ll not let me go without them. It wants to help.’
Tom didn’t look at the two officers. He didn’t need to, to know what they would be thinking.
‘Come on then,’ said Tony, ‘sooner we can get you two back, sooner we can knock off.’
Cunningham and Tom climbed into the back of the minibus. Ray took his position behind the steering wheel, Tony next to him. He started the engine, the radio blaring at the same time. Kiss FM.
‘Few bangers to make the trip go better,’ said Ray and drove off.
Tom closed his eyes.
And opened them pretty soon. There was some kind of commotion going on.
Ray and Tony were shouting, swearing. Tom saw headlights outside the bus, coming up alongside. Looked like a motorbike. Whichever way they went, the bike was still there.
‘What the fuck’s going on?’ said Tony.
Tom knew immediately what was happening. They were being attacked. He jumped forwards in his seat. ‘Keep driving,’ he shouted. ‘Put your foot down.’
Tony turned back to him, fear at the situation mixed with anger at Tom’s interference. ‘Just fucking sit down, you. We’ll deal with this.’
‘You haven’t even got a gun,’ said Tom.
The biker had come alongside them. Ray had tried to shake him off but he was keeping pace with them.
As Tom looked out of the window, the biker drew alongside the driver and, holding the speeding bike with one hand, produced a handgun, an automatic.
‘Get out of the way!’ he shouted, but to no effect.
The biker fired. Glass shattered and the top of Ray’s head decorated the ceiling of the bus. Tony just stared, too scared to move.
The bus sped up, began to weave all over the road.
‘Get his foot off the accelerator!’ Tom shouted.
Tony didn’t move.
‘Get his . . .’
Tom leaned forwards over the front seat, ignored the blood and pulled Ray’s body back. He took the dead man’s hands off the steering wheel, replaced them with his own. Tried to wrestle the bus back under control.
‘Get your foot on the brake,’ Tom shouted at Tony but the guard didn’t respond. ‘Get your foot on the brake!’ Still no response.
Tom looked ahead through the windscreen. Away from the direct illumination of the bus’s beams everything else was pitch black. He didn’t know if he was on flat land or on the blind brow of a hill with an oncoming vehicle out of sight. But he would have to take a chance.
Keeping his right hand on the wheel he reached down for the handbrake with his left, pulled it as hard as he could.
Tyres squealing, the bus skidded into a turn. Tom held on to the steering wheel with both hands. Concentrated. Ignored the smoke, the smell of burning rubber and electrics. Just held on tight as the bus gradually came to rest in the opposite direction it had been heading.
He sat back, breathed a sigh of relief.
But it was shortlived. Headlights outside told him the biker was back.
‘Get out,’ he shouted to Tony, but again the man didn’t move.
He looked at Cunningham who had curled up into a foetal ball and was reciting a prayer to himself.
The biker pulled to a standstill, got off the bike, leaving the engine turning over. He came round to the back of the bus, ready to open the doors.
Tom got there before him. He slammed open the door, knocking the gun from the biker’s hand, smashing his knuckles in the process. He didn’t stop to think, just fell back into his training.
He had the element of surprise but, he knew, not for long. He kicked at the biker, aiming for his face, but only connecting with his helmet. The kick jarred him though, knocked him off balance. Tom pressed on, punching him in the stomach – once – twice – then another kick to his groin. The biker folded.
Tom looked quickly round. Assessed the situation as fast as he could.
He should find out who his assailant was, get that helmet off him. But that would slow him down. And he might get the better of him this time.
So as the biker began to come round again, search for his gun, Tom noticed his bike was standing there, still running. He made straight for it, hauled himself onto it and, without thinking or looking back, roared away into the night.