Gullet Quarry: the one Chancer and me had walked beside only yesterday. With its steep-sided walls and deadly drop, it was the perfect place for suicide.
Suddenly Zach’s upbeat mood made horrible sense. He’d made a decision, as had Scarlet before him. To his mind, the ultimate choice would set him free, liberating him from responsibility and consequences. I shuddered at the thought that either, by accident or design, Zach had killed Drea, and this was his way out. As weird as it was, I still loved my brother despite his faults because I expected so much less of him than I did from my dad. It seemed impossible to think of my life without him.
A burst of hail against the windscreen made me jump. Please, don’t let me be too late, I shouted to the empty interior of my car, jamming my foot flat against the accelerator.
Aquaplaning around a bend, water gushing up on both sides of the tyres, I prayed. Prayed to reach him in time. Prayed to talk him out of what he had planned. Prayed for help. My mother’s mental state was in doubt at the best of times. With Scarlet’s death, she was clinging on by the tips of her fingers. If Zach took his own life, it would be like stamping on her hands until she let go and plunged over the edge into insanity.
I drove into what felt the eye of the storm and it took forever to get to the lane that led up to the car park.
Lightning bursts lit up the sky on the second of every second. When a long-horned cow ambled across the road, I pulled on the steering wheel, losing control and the car skidded off onto the flat verge, tipping up on two wheels. Fear ripping through me, I leant away, arms juddering with strain as tyres scrabbled and squealed, desperate to find purchase. In slow motion, the Fiat pitched back down with a greasy thud and slid back onto the tarmac.
On I drove until another flash of lightning stabbed the night sky and illuminated Zach’s campervan, side-on, like a barricade at a checkpoint. Slamming on the brakes, I screeched to a halt, jumped out and ran. Didn’t even take the car keys with me.
Rain drilled the ground in angry bursts and stung my face. Wind lifted the hem of my skirt, buffeting it around my waist. I didn’t care. Zach. I had to reach him. It was all that counted.
Flashing my torch around revealed that the camper was empty. Sodden and shivering, I slipped round to the front, pressed my hand against the metal. The engine ticked beneath a bonnet that remained warm despite the downpour. He couldn’t have gone far.
Buoyed with hope I had no right to feel, I took to my heels, and battled against a formidable sky that pulsed with wind and rage. For every step, I was driven back several paces.
Battling around the metal barrier, I passed the ice-cream kiosk, desolate and intimidated by the storm’s fury, until I drew level with a line of boulders and natural line of defence against vehicular access.
“Zach” I screamed. A marauding gust snatched and made off with my voice. The whole place seethed with dense dark shapes and skeleton trees, yawing and moaning.
Desperate, I ran towards the fence. Jamming the stubby end of the torch in my mouth, I shinned up and over the five-bar gate. Landing on the other side, my eyes struggled against the strobe effect of a lightning strike at mega voltage. Urgently, I raked the murderous walls of the quarry, scoping the peak for signs of my brother. At any second, I expected to see Zach teetering on the edge before tumbling into the night and oblivion.
By day, sluggish and inert, the stretch of water below roiled and boiled, spat and hissed; a living primal, vengeful thing, set to grab him. Surely, he hadn’t already jumped? And where the fuck were the emergency services? Was Zach in a queue of countless others waiting fruitlessly for help? On a destructive night like this there would be plenty of takers, and what about Chancer? Where was he?
Startled by the thought, I flashed the torch around, eyes scanning the bushes and trees, half-expecting something or someone to step out. Why wasn’t he here?
Swelling with fear, I recalled how furious he’d been the last time I saw him. I remembered his mouth twisting in disgust and anger. Chancer: a wife-beater. Chancer: a drug supplier. Chancer: oh my God, what if —?
My hand dropped, torchlight pooling on the ground closest to the edge. Bright colour flashed across my line of vision. I edged near, part of me in denial, the other sharp with panic. Squatting down, terror scythed straight though me for, on the ground, dumped in a heap, Zach’s Tropical shirt.
I scooped it up, briefly held it to my face, a heady mix of tobacco, booze and weed flooding my senses.
In despair, I clambered to my feet, threw curses at the water, howled Zach’s name into the depths. In films, he would step out of the shadows and it would all be okay and happy ever after, but this was no movie. This was real. This was …
Burning pain blazed across my shoulders, sending tremors along my ribs and spine. My arms flew wide, the torch flung from my grasp. Lifted off my feet with the force of the blow, I launched up, my arms splayed, and then down, falling and falling. Unable to save myself, I pitched headlong with a scream, and the taker of so many lives, opened its jaws and swallowed me whole.