He laughs, then raises both his palms in a ‘you got me’ gesture. ‘Well, they do come from some sort of natural resource. You’re welcome to one, but, well . . . they’re not like M&M’s, you know. I’m not sure of your tolerance.’
She blows out a breath, readying herself, then slowly lifts the left leg of her shorts. She tries to roll it up, but her leg has swollen so much she can barely move the fabric.
‘Holy shit!’ Scott recoils from her as he takes it in.
Her skin is roasting hot, sticky with sweat and something else that she doesn’t even want to think about. A pale, gummy trail oozes from the wound towards her knee. The site of the snakebite is even redder, almost purple, a thick welt with a yellowing crust around the two puncture marks that seem to have swollen wide open.
Scott’s voice comes out in a choked whisper. ‘I thought you said it didn’t bite you?’
‘I lied. I think I was in some sort of denial. Besides, I didn’t want to make a fuss.’
‘Make a fuss? For Pete’s sake, Brenda. They would’ve sent help for you, like they did for Giles. You need medical attention. You might need an antivenin – do you even know what kind of snake it was?’
She shakes her head slowly. Having the breeze on her leg feels good, and she doesn’t want to roll her shorts back down. ‘I thought it was just an adder, maybe, or a grass snake – not that I really know anything about them. Snakes in general, I mean. I hate them. I can’t even look at a picture of one without feeling like I’m going to have a panic attack. But it had this weird white mouth – I couldn’t stop staring at it. It was sort of mesmerising.’
‘That doesn’t sound much like a harmless grass snake,’ Scott says. ‘Jeez, if you’d gotten help sooner, it’d be nothing but a memory by now. But that’ – he points at her leg – ‘that does not look good.’ He turns round, looking here and there, as if trying to find somewhere for them to sit. There’s a raised, flat rock. Behind it, a couple of crates that look like they’ve been abandoned for some time. They’re peppered with bits of moss and spatterings of bird droppings. He shifts one of them and the lid slides off. ‘Well, what d’ya know?’ He takes out a bottle of water, offers it to Brenda, then takes out another for himself. He flips off the cap and drinks greedily. ‘This stuff is gooooood. I can’t work out what’s in it, but did you notice that James never drank any of his? No alcohol either. No prizes for guessing what his big dark secret might involve.’
Brenda takes a sip. ‘You think this water is drugged? And that James is a recovering addict?’
‘No such thing, in my book. You’re either addicted or you ain’t. I’m the latter of the two. I know what I like, but I know I don’t need it. I just like it. All that vitamin stuff I sell to those yoga-hippies and alpha-moms? Total B-S.’ He takes another swig, then reaches into the deep pocket in his shorts – this time pulling out a small plastic bag. He holds it up, shakes it. It’s full of different-coloured, different-shaped pills. ‘So . . . I got uppers, downers, sleepers, jiggers and holee shit that’s good’ers. Looking at you though, I think you might need some combination therapy.’
‘Anything. Please. I just need to get rid of this pain.’
‘Okey-dokey,’ Scott says, digging around in the bag. He hands her a pink capsule and a small round yellow pill. ‘Knock yourself out. Literally.’
‘Don’t we need to keep going . . . and get to the house?’
He shakes his head. Pops a red capsule in his mouth and washes it down with the rest of his water. ‘Don’t worry about that. My mate Mark will find us. I promise.’
Brenda sucks in a breath, lets it out slowly. If the snakebite is going to kill her, she might as well float off on a high.
Amelia
Amelia is glad to have some time alone. She’s not a person who gets stressed very often, but the collective tension of the group is starting to get to her, and those last few, horrific minutes there with Lucy in that hellish burned-out cottage had been too intense. She taps her tracker, willing it to tell her where to go next, and hoping that wherever it leads will give her a chance to pull herself together. What happened with Lucy had pushed her to the brink, and she’s glad that Lucy has run off on her own. It was all from Lucy’s own memory, but the shock had been clear on her face. Amelia would need time to come to terms with what had just been shared, and Lucy would need to do the same. Just like Tiggy, Amelia can’t quite believe that Lucy is a monster. There had to be a reason why she set fire to someone’s house – a house where there was at least one person inside. She doesn’t even want to think about the kid’s bedroom. But something drove Lucy to do what she did, and until she knows what it is, she will reserve judgement.
She heads down into a dip along the coastal path, a narrow, winding track lined with parched bracken and occasional thorny fronds of wild brambles. It doesn’t appear that any of the others have gone this way. The sandy path is damp in parts, but there are no footprints.
She pauses for a moment to take in the view. To her right, the vast ocean is dark and impenetrable, nothing visible for miles. The water is calm for now, the waves undulating gently. The path becomes steeper again as she climbs out from the dip, and she feels the burn in her calves as she presses on. There’s barely a sound, except for the high-pitched screech of a kittiwake nearby, circling and swooping – letting her know that there’s a nest and to keep her distance.
Just as she’s feeling she must be getting close to the headland, she rounds a sharp bend and the remains of a lighthouse come into view. Previously hidden from her due to the angle of the path and the undulating terrain, she stops to take it in. The walls are still painted white in places, but most of it has flaked off. They’re broken and crumbled, but there is still a light on top – presumably it doesn’t work. She walks closer and then the path disappears completely and she’s walking over dense brush that has not seen other footsteps in a long while.
The sea breeze makes her shiver, and she hugs her arms around herself. Am I supposed to be here?
It’s not safe, that’s for sure. But nothing has been cordoned off. There’s nothing to stop her exploring.
She’s glad to have found her own place of quiet.
She skirts around the lighthouse and takes a few steps closer to the edge, keeping her weight on her heels, leaning back towards the safety and shelter of the building as she peers down at the sharp drop below. She’d thought it strange at first that the lighthouse would be hidden from view from the rest of the island, not perched on the highest point but in the dip behind. But seeing these rocks, it makes sense. Huge Jurassic boulders are piled precariously together, the erosion of the sea creating sharp, rugged lines further below. A boat hitting these rocks would stand no chance at all.
As she steps even closer to the edge, a strange feeling flits over her. Déjà vu – although she knows she hasn’t been here before. She would remember it, she’s sure. And yet there is something familiar about it.
She hunkers down to peer at the rocks, and through the gaps she can see the waves crashing, their white foam spraying high. And further out, past this cacophony and the quieter sea beyond, she can see something else.