She thinks about the voice earlier on, telling her about the snake and the mouse, and she thinks about the serpents in the Bible – always representing something bad. Evil. Is this a message? Was the earlier voice giving her some sort of warning?
Her greatest fear, of course – as was starkly laid out in the visitor centre for all to see. They’ve orchestrated this, somehow. Her mind tries to take her back to that afternoon in the woods as a child, when the snake had wrapped itself around her . . . but how could they know about that? She’s still struggling to believe that the technology linked to the tracker can dredge up real memories. It’s incredible, if it’s true. But if it’s a game, it’s a cruel one.
She holds her breath, her body frozen stiff as the snake slithers over her foot and begins to wind itself upwards, slowly coiling its way around her bare leg.
Lucy
Lucy steps back, stumbling over a rock and landing on her behind. The thud gives her a jolt, but she doesn’t cry out. She just wants to be as far away as she can from any of this weirdness.
James drops the bones on the ground. He’s flushed from running and lets out a long sigh, then sucks in a deep breath. ‘There was a whole pile of them . . . under a bush. I saw something white sticking out, and I’ – he pauses, takes another deep breath – ‘I thought maybe it was a branch. You know, when you see them bleached white from the salt and the sun? I was thinking it might be something we could use . . .’
His voice trails off.
Amelia clears her throat. ‘I’m guessing they’re animal bones. Probably a sheep or something. They’re stripped clean. Could’ve been there for years.’
Lucy jumps up from the rock. ‘A sheep? What, are you a veterinary expert now too?’ She steps over Scott, who has woken up and is staring at them all in horror, as if he’s forgotten who they are and where he is. She nudges one of the bones with her foot. ‘These look too long to come from an animal. They look like thigh bones—’
‘Forensic anthropologist, are you?’ Amelia says. She’s smiling.
‘Touché,’ Lucy says. She doesn’t bother to explain her reasoning, but she’s watched enough true crime programmes on TV to know what human bones look like. Bit of a coincidence though. James just happening to stumble over them like that.
James crouches down beside Scott. ‘How you doing, mate?’
Scott groans. ‘I think maybe I can stand, if you can all help me? I don’t want to be a burden. We need to get down to the bay, right?’
James and Amelia glance at each other. Lucy doesn’t know what their look means. They seem to have buddied up without her noticing. Great. This means she’s stuck with Scott, does it? Although that might not be a bad thing. She thinks about the angles. Scott’s line of business is one that must be very popular with celebrities. It’s been a while since she’s had a scoop on any big star from the US.
Scott tries to sit up, wincing as his foot flops over from its unnatural position.
‘You know,’ Amelia says, gently lifting his foot and leaning in to inspect it, ‘I think maybe it’s just a bad sprain. Can we take your shoe off so I can have a proper look?’
Scott nods. His face is pained, but Lucy thinks he might be putting it on a bit now. If the pain was that bad, he’d have squealed like a pig when Amelia lifted it. Lucy’s not denying it was a bad fall, and it’s obviously caused him some serious discomfort, but she can’t be bothered with people who milk their situations for sympathy.
She’s covered too many stories like that. Celeb does something bad, with no thought to the consequences. Celeb gets caught out. Celeb goes on TV and gives interviews, crying and begging for forgiveness. Not just celebs, either. Her ex had tried the same crap, but she’s become immune to it. The more time she spends as a gossip columnist, the greater her lack of sympathy, and empathy. Hazard of the job. And the longer people try to manipulate you, the harsher a cynic you become.
Sometimes she has to remind herself why she got into the job. She’d had a perfectly nice life in Edinburgh, but the city is small and that meant opportunities for exciting news were limited. London gave her that, but it hardened her too.
Maybe Scott’s not such a bad lad. Full of crap, maybe, but not bad. She should use this time away from the city to try and take advantage of the things she used to enjoy. Fresh air and friends being just two of them. She used to be a good laugh too. Jesus, Lucy . . . what happened to you?
Amelia has Scott’s shoe and sock off now, and his foot is exposed in all its glory. A purple bruise is already beginning to flower. But there are no protruding bones, thankfully. That kind of thing is fine on TV shows, but she’s not sure she could stomach it in real life. Looks like he wasn’t putting it on after all.
‘Can you wiggle your toes, Scott?’ Amelia is asking.
Scott stares down at his foot as if he doesn’t recognise it. Lucy looks at his face. His eyes. The pupils are dilated. Does shock do that? Or is it because of that water he’s been guzzling? It doesn’t seem to have had much effect on her, except making her overthink her life choices. She looks at his foot and sees his big toe move, just a little. Then the other toes.
‘Well done,’ Amelia says. ‘I think you’re going to be OK. I mean, it will be really tender for a while, and you’ll have some fantastic bruising. But I think we can carry on. What do you think?’
‘Can I have some more water?’
His voice is a little slurred, and something pings into Lucy’s memory from earlier on. When they picked up their backpacks Scott had taken his water out immediately, and he’d turned away from them all. Something from his pocket . . . him looking around furtively. And then he’d screwed the cap back on and put the water in his bag. He hadn’t drunk any of it. She looks again at his eyes, and at the vaguely blank expression on his face. Nutraceuticals? Is that what he calls them?
He’s spiked his own drink.
Interesting, she thinks. She pulls out her bottle from her bag and takes a swig. There’s something in this water, for sure, but it’s probably electrolytes and vitamins – like they put in sports drinks – to keep them well hydrated in this heat. Maybe a bit too much caffeine, or that guarana stuff to keep them going. That’s why it’s only one bottle – because it’s some sort of smart water. Tiggy had blethered on about minerals of some sort, hadn’t she?
Speak of the devil.
‘Guys . . . Oh my God, I’m so glad I found you!’ Tiggy comes bounding down the hill like a puppy, a big grin plastered on her face. But there’s something not right. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her hair mussed. She stops. Looks down at Scott, who now has his sock and shoe back on and is propped up against a large rock. ‘What happened?’
James says, ‘Scott tripped, and—’
‘Oh my God, are these bones? Where did you find bones?’
‘James brought them to us,’ Lucy says. ‘I think he’s trying to freak us out.’ She wants to deflect. Maybe they are just sheep bones.
‘Where’s your man anyway?’ James says. ‘Did you have a nice time?’
With that, Tiggy bursts into tears. ‘I . . . I . . .’ She glances around. ‘I thought he’d have caught up with you before me.’