‘No. I’m not doing it.’
‘My God, Lucy, are you OK?’ Amelia takes a few steps towards her. ‘What’s happening? Tell me . . .’
The vibration increases until Lucy feels her whole body shake. The noise is too loud. She grabs hold of the tracker.
‘Don’t!’ Amelia cries. ‘You’ll make it worse.’
‘Go inside the house, Lucy.’ The voice is more insistent now.
She tries to ignore it, but she can’t. Her teeth rattle. She lurches forward through the doorway and falls to her knees – and with that, the vibration stops.
‘Well done, Lucy,’ the voice says. ‘Now enjoy the show.’
Amelia is in the doorway, staring at her in horror. But she’s not staring quite at her; she’s staring above her, at the projection, which has soundlessly started to play, projected from Amelia’s wrist-tracker for them both to see.
‘Why . . .’ Lucy says. ‘Why is it only coming out via your tracker?’
‘I guess they want us to watch it together,’ Amelia says. ‘Maybe it’s something about me . . .’
But, of course, it isn’t about Amelia.
It was only a matter of time before this happened. Lucy watches as the camera view shows things through her eyes. She knows this because she recognises the glass door that she’s opening, which leads into a large modern house. Her hand on the door handle is encased in a black glove, and she can hear breathing – her own breathing – as it comes out in icy puffs in the darkness.
She remembers how cold it was that night. Remembers how she hesitated, giving herself one last chance to stop.
The camera view rotates as Lucy turns round, checking behind her, taking in the thick copse of trees and the heavy clouds hanging low in the darkening sky. As she turns back, her face, her whole body – and what she is carrying in one hand – are briefly reflected in the glass of the door.
Amelia gasps.
‘No,’ Lucy says weakly. ‘This isn’t real. It’s not me.’
The projection carries on. She walks slowly through the house, looking at the floor as she pours out the contents of the petrol can, making a long, thin snake. She stops at the foot of the stairs and the view tilts upwards, then back down as her foot is carefully placed on the first stair. A pause. Silence, but for the light sound of her breathing. The view tilts upwards again. Up, up to the top. Then another pause as the view rotates slowly to the left, before pausing again. More breathing. Then the carpeted floor of the landing, the petrol still flowing in a steady stream from the can. The view tilts up again. Straight ahead, there’s a partially open door and, visible through the doorway, the corner of a white blanket hanging off the end of a bed.
Her gloved hand comes into shot as she pushes the door open wider. The sound of breathing is louder, more ragged. Then it stops, and the faint sound of snoring comes from inside the room.
‘No,’ Lucy whimpers now, shaking her head as she sits curled up on the floor of the ruined cottage. ‘No.’
Amelia stands motionless, watching. ‘It’s only another trick,’ she says quietly. ‘Just like Tiggy and Giles.’
Lucy jumps to her feet as Lucy on-screen moves away from the door, the camera swivelling round as she makes her way back down the landing, past another door – with a pink teddy bear engraved on it, along with the words Milly’s Room. She hesitates. Her breathing stops for a moment. Then the camera shows the staircase, the image moving quickly as she hurries back down the stairs.
Lucy in the ruin turns away from the screen, but another screen appears, then another and another, whichever way she turns. ‘I can’t watch this,’ she says, just as Lucy on-screen steps outside the front door, the camera turning for a final glance up the stairs. Her breath coming out in a gentle wheeze. The view tilts down again, to her gloved hand rummaging in a pocket. She pulls out a box of matches.
Amelia staggers backwards, out through the ruin’s doorway.
There’s a whoomph, followed by the sound of crackling as Lucy runs out of the ruined cottage, while Lucy on-screen stares at the house, her vision fixed on the roaring flames.
Brenda
T - 6
Brenda and Scott make it up the hill and onto a flat plain. Scott lets go of her and limps across to the edge, but there is no barrier of any kind so he leans over for a quick careful look down, then steps back. Brenda follows close behind. They’re on top of steep cliffs. It looks like they’ve made it to the other end of the island, but it’s a long way down to the sea. She hopes they don’t have to go down there. The pain in her thigh is extreme now. It feels stiff and difficult to move. She daren’t touch it – the last time her hand brushed against her shorts the pain was excruciating, radiating all the way through her leg. She takes another small step closer to the edge and stands awkwardly beside Scott, trying to peer down at the sea without risking being blown off the edge by one of the frequent squalls. The waves crash into the rocks, and the movement is mesmerising. Hypnotic. She steps back before she loses her balance.
‘I feel like we’re at the end of the world,’ she says. ‘There’s nothing ahead. I’ve no idea where we are.’
Scott points to the left, the opposite side from the cliff path they’ve just climbed. ‘There’s land over there, in the distance. Another island, maybe.’
‘Or the mainland?’ Brenda feels a prickle of hope, but when she turns to look at where he’s pointing it slides away into nothing. She nods. ‘No, you’re right. Another island. A bit bigger than this one, do you think? Maybe we should start a fire or something.’
‘Smoke signals?’ Scott laughs. ‘Oh, hang on.’ He takes his phone out of his pocket and holds it up towards her. ‘Got a message. Remember I sent that WhatsApp earlier? Didn’t really think it would go through. I must’ve picked up that Wi-Fi Tiggy mentioned.’
‘Who did you send a message to? Are they coming to help us?’
He grins, rocks back on his heels. ‘You betcha. I messaged my mate Mark. He’s one of those people who always knows a way to get out of a bind, if you catch my drift.’
She doesn’t really, but she doesn’t care either. Scott’s mate could be a Russian spy for all she cares. Her own phone is in her handbag on the plane, and she’s no idea of anyone’s number – so if Scott has some sort of ‘fixer’ in his contacts, then good. She hopes he can come soon though, because the pain in her leg is starting to make her feel sick.
‘I’m hoping he can somehow find us with GPS, you know, with us having no idea where we are . . .’ His voice trails off, as if he’s just realised this.
What’s the point in asking for help if no one knows where to find you?
Brenda swallows. ‘Listen, I don’t normally take anything myself – I mean, I never get sick. But I don’t suppose you have any painkillers on you? I thought I saw you taking something when we first started out.’
‘They aren’t painkillers,’ he snaps. ‘What I mean is . . . they aren’t your usual over-the-counter type of things. I, um . . .’
‘I thought you were a health guru. I assumed you’d have some sort of herbal remedy.’