Polly cups her face for a moment and swallows a lump in her throat. ‘We need to go. We need to drive to an area with a signal so we can call the police.’
‘What about Elis?’ Jessie cries. ‘We can’t just leave him here!’
‘That’s exactly what we have to do.’
‘But it seems wrong. Shouldn’t we cover him up or something?’
‘We can’t tamper with him. This is a crime scene.’ Polly’s surprised to hear these words pass her lips. It doesn’t sound like something she would say. But this isn’t a situation she ever thought she would be faced with. Is this a crime scene, really? Maybe it could have been an accident. Although that doesn’t seem remotely possible. Suicide? Elis seemed a bit down for the last few days, but she’s never heard of anyone taking their own life by a cut to the throat. Polly scans the ground around his body. But there is no knife, or any sharp instrument anywhere to be seen. It’s obvious that Elis has been—
‘Reubyn? Are you filming?’ Jessie’s spluttered words break through Polly’s thoughts.
Reubyn lowers his phone sheepishly, but Polly notices it is still pointing towards Elis. Towards the crime scene. ‘I thought it might be important to document this,’ he says. ‘For the police. You know, evidence.’
Polly’s about to scold him for being insensitive, but she bites her tongue. Reubyn’s right. Elis has been murdered – that much is pretty bloody obvious. Despite how impossible that might seem. And they’re the only ones out here in this forest. Which means ... Polly swallows another lump of nothing, and it lands nauseously in her gut. She shudders. Is that even possible? Of course it is. People are capable of shocking, terrible things. Especially men. The only one she can immediately rule out as a suspect is Miles. Her brother isn’t capable of doing something like this. But one of them is. And Polly feels that rising dread, the feeling that accompanies her in dark alleys and empty train carriages. She’s not safe.
‘We need to go,’ she repeats. She grabs Miles by the arm, and sets off, leading them back towards the bus. She walks as briskly as she can on the slippery path. It’s becoming difficult to see the ground clearly. It wasn’t a bright day to begin with, and now, with heavy clouds and treetops forming a double barrier to the sun, daylight is fading fast. ‘Come on,’ she says, yanking at Miles’s wrist. Her heartrate is increasing with every step. Doomy scenarios compete for her attention. What if it was George? What if whoever killed Elis is still armed with a knife? With each dire thought, her pace increases. She’s hurrying now, almost jogging. What if the bus doesn’t start? Polly starts running. What if they’re stuck here? What if—
Polly’s foot slips from under her, and her ankle twists as she falls. She yelps as she hits the path. A hot rush of pain shoots toher ankle, and she lets out an animal noise – somewhere between a growl and a scream. A sound of pain and fear.
Miles and George help Polly up the stairs into the bus and sit her down on the bench.
‘Here,’ Jessie says, placing two white pills and a glass in front of her. ‘These should help. I take them for period pain.’
Polly swallows them with a sip of water and thanks Jessie. Reubyn is the last to enter the bus, and he closes the door behind him in a manner that is oafishly slow, given their predicament. ‘Come on,’ Polly says, glaring at him. ‘Hurry up.’
Reubyn lumbers through into the front seat and fastens his seat belt. Polly waits for the sound of the bus starting up. The warm chug of the engine. She’s become so gloom-ridden that she’s almost convinced herself the bus isn’t going to start. But it will. And when it does, it will provide pure relief, like a first gulp of air after being held underwater. She watches Reubyn as he reaches for the ignition, and, somehow, deep down, she knows that she’s right to be pessimistic. She knows it before the initial look of confusion takes over Reubyn’s face when the engine doesn’t roar to life. She knows it before he starts muttering, loud enough that they can all hear. Not every word is audible, but, in among the expletives, the key ones are. Somehow, she knew it already. Thingscanget worse. Theyaregetting worse. They’re in anightmare.
Reubyn looks over his shoulder, a dumb expression on his face, like he’s forgotten how to drive. He clicks off his seat belt. ‘I don’t understand. I tested it. I started the engine last night and it was fine. Now nothing works.’
For a moment they all just glare at him, stunned. Then everyone shouts over each other. How the hell is this possible?Is he sure it won’t start?You bloody idiot, Reubyn. The bus echoes with chaotic noise: shouting, cursing.
Reubyn gets out of his seat and approaches them with his hands raised submissively. They continue their outburst, a firing squad of questions, but after a minute or so, they stop, and once again the only sound is the rain drilling at the metal shell of the bus. If they were in a state of shock before, now the mood is ramping up into panic. And panic is no good in a situation like this; they need tothink. Jessie is making a strange keening sound, and her body shakes as if hypothermic. Even Faith has lost her composure, raking her fingers through her braids and muttering to herself.
‘Does anyone here know anything about mechanics?’ Polly says, breaking their grim silence.
‘Enough to know that you can’t revive a battery without a source of electricity,’ George replies. ‘So, I’d say we’re buggered, unless you know how to harness the power of rain.’
Polly narrows her eyes at him. If there’s ever a good a time for his smartarse quips, this isn’t it. Her stare lingers on George, and she feels her suspicion of him deepen. He was furious at Elis last night, calling him every name under the sun. Come to think of it, George has been awful to him for pretty much the whole trip. Maybe there was an underlying reason for this animosity that she didn’t know about.
‘Someone needs to go find some signal,’ Jessie says, snapping Polly from her train of thought.
‘Is that a good idea?’ George replies. ‘It’s getting dark.’
‘That’s why it needs to benow.’
George stands and peers out of the window. ‘There’s probably about ten minutes of daylight left. It must be five miles at least to the nearest house.’
‘So?We can’t stay here.’
‘Someone’s just been murdered. And you want to nominate someone to walk five miles through a remote forest in the dark?’
‘It might not be so far as that,’ Jessie says. Her voice is unsure, desperate. ‘Maybe on some higher ground, there might be some signal.’
‘I’m sorry to be the one to point out the obvious,’ George says, ‘but Elis went out searching for a signal. And look what happened tohim.’
‘How do you know he was searching for a signal?’ Faith asks. Her voice is measured, but there is a detectable coldness to her question. It’s accusatory.
George shrugs. ‘I don’t.’ He points at Jessie. ‘That washertheory. I’m just saying it isn’t safe to go wandering around out there right now. Jessie saw some random bloke out at the bird hide before, and now Elis is’ – he pauses, trying to find the right words – ‘in almost exactly the same spot.’
