‘You’re ok,’ Linus says, soothing.
Under the blood, Adam is covered in smoke marks and soot. He smells strongly of the acrid burning that Linus has just left behind.
‘You were at the house,’ Linus says slowly. ‘You were at the fire. How did you get here?’
‘Tunnel,’ Adam says. ‘Not my fault.’ His face is pale and sorry. ‘Not my fault.’
‘Let’s figure out all that later.’ Linus puts a shoulder under Adam’s and helps him up. His heart is chopping like an axe at what the man has just said. But people say all kinds of things when they’re hurt, Linus knows this, even after just a couple of years in the service. He doesn’t like the way the wound in Adam’s throat is opening and closing as he moves, leaking more blood. He takes his handkerchief from his pocket and ties it around Adam’s neck.
‘Hurry,’ Adam says. His voice is growing dryer and hoarser. ‘He’s coming.Tunnel.’ They hobble through the dawn forest, Linus trying to support Adam over the uneven ground. He has lost a lot of blood.
There will be time for questions later, Linus tells himself once more. Tunnel from where? He doesn’t want to think about it, or what parted Adam’s neck like a slit peach. Tunnel from where? Adam has lost a lot of blood.
Linus finds himself walking faster, almost carrying Adam on his shoulder. He thinks his way to the nearest road, which lies downslopea quarter of a mile away. If he aligns their path east and downhill, in line with the defile between the nearest two peaks, they should hit it soon.
They walk, both breathless. Adam seems almost unconscious at moments. Linus sets their course as true as he can but something isn’t right. His head is all messed up. He could have sworn he knew this place like his backyard, but now the trees and land all look the same and he can’t seem to figure out the compass points in relation to the sun. The peaks will not stay in place, they’re shifting each moment. Are they walking in circles?Shock, he tells himself.It’s just shock. But the feeling will not leave him – it’s not just that. The mountain is resisting. Adam now leans almost entirely on Linus. He has begun to make choking, sobbing sounds.
Linus looks behind them, uneasy. Under the noise of their progress he thinks he can detect a slight rustling. An animal in a bush, perhaps. Or the careful step of someone following them through the trees. Linus shakes his head to clear it. ‘We’re nearly at the road,’ he tells Adam, trying to keep his voice steady. Then he sees that it’s actually true. Below, through the trees, he sees asphalt.
Linus allows himself to breathe out. Nowhere is still a live scene so there will be traffic going to and fro – engines, police cars. Someone will pick them up. Adam will get help. The flush of relief is so strong that he starts forward, and Adam cries out in pain.
‘Sorry,’ Linus says, slowing. ‘We’re good now.’
‘No,’ Adam says. ‘He’s coming. I made the fire. Coming.’
‘What?’
Adam slumps and pulls Linus down with him, hard. He takes Linus’s head in his hands, seems to be trying to crack his head against a rock. Linus struggles. ‘No,’ he says, ‘No …’
Someone pulls Linus firmly upright. A man, a shape against the light. Adam grabs at their legs and Linus goes down but as he does, the man seizes Linus and cushions his fall. They roll down the hilltogether. Linus is aware of a pair of strong arms wrapped around him as if in love. They slide together through the leaf mould and dirt until they come to the foot of the hill. Linus’s cheek comes to rest on the road. It is already warming in the early sun.
‘Are you ok?’ asks a voice, one he knows intimately.
Linus grins and rubs his head and says, ‘I guess so,’ before taking it in – whose voice it is.
‘Mr Winham.’ Linus scrambles to his feet. There he is, real and tired, face fine-boned and weary. He sticks out a hand for Linus to shake and he takes it, expecting it to be marble or some other inhuman substance, because that is what Leaf Winham is – inhuman. He is made of celluloid and other people’s hopes. But the hand is just a hand, warm with a strong grip.
Blood leaks from Leaf Winham’s ear, crimson beads trace a path down his neck.
‘They think you’re dead,’ Linus says, blank. Then his breath catches. ‘You’re dead. So I’m dead.’ He feels like crying. He has never thought about dead people crying but it makes sense. It is death, after all.
‘You’re not dead,’ Leaf says. ‘We’re both ok. I promise.’
‘You’re bleeding.’ Linus is reasonably upset by this – the rich red trickle leaking from his ear.
‘Bleeding means you’re still alive,’ Leaf says, smiling. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Linus. Where’s Adam?’
‘He knocked himself out in the fall,’ Leaf rubs his forehead, weary. ‘He was trying to break your neck, I think. So I grabbed you.’
Linus looks uphill and sees Adam stretched out, fifteen feet away. He looks peaceful, face quiet at last. ‘Is he ok?’
‘Knocked out, but ok.’
‘He said he set the fire. Who is he?’
‘My cousin,’ Leaf says. ‘He’s sick. I take care of him sometimesbecause he hurts himself. Sometimes other people. He doesn’t mean to, but he does. I don’t like those locked-up places. He’s family. But this time he went too far. You saw what he did to his throat?’
