The blade was cold against her neck, the chokehold of Lukas Hall’s arm constricting her airway, making every breath an effort.
But Cora was battling more than this.
The whispers she’d followed to the stick den were now screams from the knife, rage and intense injustice converging in a cacophony of noise. She tried to mute the multiple versions of Lukas’ voice, but fear and the sheer force of his unspoken thoughts prevented her.
In the rare moments when they ebbed a little, she attempted to coax the young man to let go. Appealing to him on the baby’s behalf did no good, Lukas insisting Amelie wanted to be part of The Game. Reminding him of Mattie’s charge to look after Amelie only strengthened his argument.
At the next juncture, she tried again.
‘The rain’s getting worse,’ she managed, her voice thin and strained against the pressure. ‘It isn’t good to be sitting here in wet clothes.’
‘My den is a good shelter,’ Lukas responded. ‘I built it that way.’
‘But Amelie needs dry clothes. And a change.’
Lukas paused, as if considering the strength of the unmistakable smell coming from the sling. ‘Mattie will change her when she finds us.’
‘What if she doesn’t? What if…?’ Cora began, the rest of the words squeezed unspoken from her. ‘Lukas…’ she managed to croak, ‘…please… You’re hurting me…’
‘Good.’ His voice was sharp against her ear as the screamed thoughts rose behind it.
So, instead of speaking, Cora chose to listen.
They had it coming.
I just made it happen.
Mattie couldn’t see it through. But I did.
I’m The Power now, not them.
They’ll see me now.
See me now, bastards!
‘They’ll see you now,’ Cora repeated slowly, pain threatening every word.
The screams ebbed for a breath.
‘Because you’re the power. Not them.’
Another ebb. The blade slackened a little at her throat.
Lukas didn’t reply. But the sudden quickening of his breath registered a hit.
Cora waited a while before she spoke again.
Push and pull back – Tris Noakes’ favourite phrase for approaching sensitive subjects with the children and young people under their care. ‘Like a game. Advance and retreat, like a fencing volley.’
The memory of her colleague’s decidedly public-school analogy gave Cora a glimpse of lightness amid the fear. Only Tris Noakes could think swordplay was a universally understood example to choose.
She wished he was here now, advising her, supporting her attempts to connect with Lukas. She wished anyone could be with her, in this dark, abandoned wilderness. All contact with Drew Ellis had been lost when Lukas had knocked her down, her mobile lying useless somewhere in the surrounding undergrowth. Even if Rob Minshull was on his way – or nearby – he couldn’t contact her.
Ellis was somewhere out beyond the stick den, but since Cora had been held by Lukas, she’d seen no sign of him. She hoped he was safe: the courage he’d shown by racing out to Evernam Woods alone to find her was considerable. He’d done it for her: if she found a way out from this place, he would be the first person she would thank.
As for Minshull… she didn’t know what to think.
Did he even know yet? Would he try to reach her?
Cora bit back tears as she resumed her study of the multitudinous assertions of her captor.
As she did so, Amelie Kemp awoke and started to cry.