Cal didn’t know why he’d even come out here. He hadn’t been thinking straight, and suddenly it seemed the most insane idea in the world. He’d just wanted to clear his head, get away from all the crap, try to think straight.
The thing was, he knew he’d never been the smart one. He’d never been a leader or had wanted to be. He just did what he was told, and sometimes he didn’t even do that.
Archie was the leader. That was the point. They all looked up to Archie. He was the one with brains. He was the one who told them what to do. He knew what he was about. They could rely on Archie.
Except now, it seemed, they maybe couldn’t. Unexpectedly, the Archie they’d come to rely on appeared to be almost as lost as they were. He tried to hide it at first. He’d maintained the same tough-guy act, ordering them about, telling them it was all under control.
But it hadn’t felt the same. It hadn’t been convincing. Somehow it had been obvious that, beneath that thin shell of bravado, there’d been nothing. Cal hadn’t expressed it to himself like that, of course. But he’d exchanged a look with young Franny, and it had been clear that they were both thinking the same. He doesn’t know what to do. He hasn’t a scooby.
Cal hadn’t wanted to believe that. He wanted to think that Archie had anticipated all this. That he had some plan up his sleeve to do with whatever was going on.
But the more he listened, the more Cal knew Archie was simply out of his depth. There was lots of bland reassurance, lots of insistence that it was all ‘in hand’, that it might all be coincidence, that it was no more than had been expected anyway. In other words, a lot of bollocks that didn’t really make any sense. Every word Archie spoke had just confirmed to Cal that he was as confused as the rest of them.
He wondered if it was the same at the other sites. He imagined it was probably worse. After all, it was their people who’d gone missing. They’d be in even more of a panic, and they’d probably have realised straightaway that Archie didn’t know what was going on.
Cal had always been a worrier. He’d always been one to expect the worst, and usually his expectations had been fulfilled. Even at the best of times he was prone to find himself pacing up and down, contemplating how soon it would be before the next bad thing happened. Not long, usually.
Over the last few days, since the meeting, he’d been in a state little short of panic. He’d even found himself gasping for breath, feeling as if he’d been struck hard in the stomach, unable even to contemplate what might happen next.
The trouble was that they were out on a limb here anyway. He knew that. He’d spent most of his adult life on the edge of things, making a living where and how he could, usually doing stuff that was at best semi-legal. This was the biggest thing he’d ever been involved in. He was doing okay out of it, better than he’d ever done before. But he’d known all the time that if it went tits up, it was likely to take him and everyone else down with it. He wouldn’t be able just to slip away, quietly disappear, like he had so often before. This time, there were just too many people with a finger in the pie.
That was what really worried him about all this. He had no idea how tangled all this really was, who might be involved. He was a tiny, tiny cog in a wheel that was beyond his imagining. He’d assumed that Archie was much closer to the centre, had the ear of whoever it was that really mattered. But the last few days had shown him that Archie was almost certainly a small fry too. A rung or two above Cal, but no more. Whatever limited power he might have had was clearly slipping rapidly away from him.
Back at the hotel, he’d found himself succumbing to another of the panic attacks, as these same thoughts came running and rerunning through his brain. He’d been curled on one of the lounge sofas, clutching his stomach as if he were about to vomit. Franny had poked his head round the door once and stared at him with what he’d taken as a mixture of pity and contempt.
After that, Cal had just wanted to get out of the place. If he was going to be sick, he wanted to do it somewhere in the open air, somewhere away from everyone, where there was no risk of anyone seeing or hearing him. Mostly, though, he just wanted to breathe in the fresh air, escape from that stale miasma of damp and furniture polish.
Archie had told them not to leave the building. It had been the usual mishmash of contradictory nonsense. There’s no danger, nothing to be worried about. But don’t go outside if you can avoid it, well, just because.
Anyway, fuck Archie. He wasn’t going to help them.
He’d slammed the front door behind him and stormed off down the path, then turned left towards the woodland that led down to the firth. This was where he’d come before when he’d wanted to get away. When he’d had enough of Franny’s jibes or the oppressive atmosphere of the building. He thought of it as his own place, since he’d never seen anyone else down here.
There were no other buildings around until you reached the edge of the village half a mile or so away. On a winter’s afternoon, the place was silent apart from the occasional chirrup of birdsong. Cal pushed his way through the trees, stomping through the damp undergrowth, until he caught a glimpse of the water ahead of him.
At first, he felt a little better, soothed by the silence and the chilled, clear air. It was only when he reached the edge of the woodland and was looking out over the water that he realised quite how late it was. He still hadn’t quite come to grips with the winter up here. He couldn’t believe that the sun set in what felt like the middle of the afternoon.
Now, it was very low behind him, the trees casting long dark shadows out across the firth. The tide was in and there was something eerie about the deep mauve of the water under the clear, darkening sky. He shivered, and he knew immediately that the cause was more than simply the sharp breeze cutting in from the sea.
He turned, peering into the gloom, suddenly conscious of how dark the woods had grown even in the last few minutes. It felt as if the last few dregs of light were being sucked from the air.
Somewhere to his right, he thought he heard movement. A bird, or some small woodland animal.
Nothing to be concerned about, he told himself.
Archie had warned them. Not to leave the building. Not to go out on their own. Not to take any risks.
Archie knew fuck all. That was clear now.
But maybe Archie had at least been right about this.
Cal could sense the panic rising again. He could feel someone breathing on his neck, and he swung round, realising immediately that he was being an idiot. There were only a few metres between him and the water’s edge, and there was no one there.
Shit. He was losing it.
It was time to get back, he thought. He’d walk slowly through the woods. He wouldn’t panic, but would force himself to stay calm. He would take one step, and then another, then another, until he was back at the hotel. It was no more than a few hundred metres. Nothing could happen.
He took the first steps into the trees, his ears straining for any sound of movement other than the crunch of his own footsteps. After a few more steps, he stopped, still listening, sure that he had heard something. He looked around him, but there was no sign of any movement beyond the faint stirring of the leaves in the breeze.
The sun had gone now, and the twilight was already thickening. Somewhere ahead, he could see a distant glimmering of lights. The hotel. No distance at all.
Behind him a twig cracked.
The panic hit him without warning, almost like someone thrusting a hand hard against his back. Suddenly he was running, his feet stumbling through the thick grass, branches and leaves whipping his face.
Something, someone, was behind him, he was sure. Keeping pace with him, almost within reach of him. Not daring to look back, he pounded towards the edge of the woods, his eyes fixed on the welcoming lights, which somehow seemed further away than before.
He could hear the footsteps crunching behind him, almost as if they were echoes of his own. He tried to increase his pace, desperately wanting to lose whatever was tailing him. Now, he was only a few metres from the edge of the wood.
Then he tripped, his foot catching on the uneven ground, his weight and exhaustion pulling him forward. He landed face down, the breath knocked from his body, and he felt as if he had no strength to rise and continue.
He closed his eyes, his face pressed to the wet ground, waiting for whatever it was to catch up with him and do whatever it wanted to do.
Then he realised there was only silence.
He lay, not daring to open his eyes. The only sound he could hear was the rasping of his own breath.
Then a soft voice, somewhere ahead of him, said, ‘Hello.’