Outcast (The Darkeningstone Series Book 2) (17 page)

I peered over his shoulder and nodded at the boy. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Jake.” I licked my dry lips and tried a smile. “What’s your name?”

The boy’s eyes went even wider. He took a step back and that was when I saw the dog. It had been standing behind him, but now the boy reached down and touched its back. It was an odd-looking mongrel, not like any breed I’d ever seen. I nodded toward it. “Nice dog,” I said. “What’s its name?”

The boy looked down and then back at me. He thought for a moment and then he raised his eyebrows. He reached down and touched the dog’s back. “Nelda,” he said.

“Nelda,” I said. “Nice name.” The dog pricked its ears forward when I said its name. I looked back to the boy. “Do you think—do you think you could tell your friends to let go of me?” I asked. “I really don’t feel well.”

The boy put his hand to his mouth. He shook his head.

Oh great
.
He’s just as bad as the other guy
. I shook my head slowly. I’d thought I was getting through to the boy, but maybe he was simple, too. I looked at the men holding my arms. The man on my left just scowled, but the man on my right, the taller of the two, was studying my face. “Could you put me down?” I said. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

The man frowned. He titled his head to one side.

I opened my mouth to ask again, when suddenly the leader reached his hand toward my face. I flinched, but he didn’t hit me. Instead, he lifted my chin and pushed my face to one side. With his other hand, he plucked at the collar of my T-shirt.

My flesh crawled. “No,” I pleaded. “Not that.”

He took no notice. His rough hand groped around my neck. Then suddenly, he took his hands away, as though he’d been stung. He stood back and said something. Again, I couldn’t make out his words, but he sounded amazed.

I clamped my mouth shut; an outburst would only encourage them. But what could I do? I glared at the man.
Don’t just stand there, staring at me—say something
. But the silence stretched on and I could tell nothing from the man’s expression. Was he genuinely confused or was he just toying with me—enjoying my distress? I had no idea, but I couldn’t stand this silence a second longer. “Just let me go,” I said. I twisted my body, trying to pull my arms free. “Get your bloody hands off me and let me go.”

The leader waved his hand and, at last, they let go of me and stood back. “About bloody time,” I muttered. I took a breath. I was still unsteady on my feet, but I took a step back, keeping my eyes on the leader. I edged away. If I could just get beyond arm’s reach, I could make a run for it. I glanced over my shoulder, looking for a path, a way into the forest. There. It wasn’t perfect but it would have to do. I took another sideways step, and my foot knocked against my bag. Without thinking, I bent down to grab it by the straps, and then everything happened very quickly.

The boy shouted. He waved his arms at me, yelling for all he was worth.

I turned and ran, my feet pounding into the soft ground, but I didn’t even make it to the edge of the clearing. The men who’d been holding me hared after me. The taller of the two grabbed me by my shoulders and threw me to the ground. I fell forward and landed heavily on my front, but I didn’t waste a millisecond. I pushed off from the ground with my arms and started scrambling to my feet, but I was too slow, and the next thing I knew, they were both on me. I thrashed and kicked, but they grabbed my flailing arms and rolled me over, pinning me down flat on my back. I bared my teeth.
They’re never going to let me go
.
Never
.

The leader and the boy stood over me. I tried to kick out at the leader, but he sidestepped and moved closer. The boy was still waving his arms at me, and he kept saying the same couple of words over and over again.

The leader grunted and bent down. He reached toward my waist and I shut my eyes and yelled as loudly as I could. Every swear word I’d ever heard poured from my mouth in a burst of anger and frustration. He tugged at my belt. “No!” I screamed. “No, no, no!”

But then the leader stood up and stepped back. I stared up at him. In his hand, he held the flint knife.
Oh, god
. Of course it was theirs. Of course they’d think I’d stolen it. The leader said one word to the men holding me down. The short one leered at me and pulled back his fist. I opened my mouth to say something, anything. But I didn’t have time. His fist slammed into my eye, and my world flashed white.
Why?
Why did he have to hit the same eye again?
My body went limp, every muscle sagging and useless. I was beaten. I had no idea what these men wanted from me, and no idea what they’d do next. But whatever it was, there was nothing I could do to stop them. Nothing at all.

Chapter 15

2018

CALLY SILENCED HER RADIO ALARM as soon as it sounded. She sat up in bed and stretched.
Today’s the day
. Her first student protest. “My first civil disobedience,” she whispered. The words seemed strangely exotic, as though the protest march was an official ceremony. She smiled to herself. In a way, it was a rite of passage—her first act of defiance.
Let’s just hope it doesn’t turn out to be my first riot
. She threw back the covers and swung her legs to the floor. It was a cool morning and she grabbed her bathrobe and pulled it on, checking the belt was tied securely as she headed for her bedroom door. She sneaked downstairs to the kitchen. The house was quiet; everyone else was having a lie-in. Should she wake Gemma? Cally checked the kitchen clock.
No. Give her a few minutes longer
.

Cally ran her hands through her hair. She didn’t feel like eating breakfast. Still, she could always drink a cup of coffee. She put the kettle on and grabbed her mug from the wall cupboard. She tilted the mug to the light and peered into it suspiciously. Some of her housemates weren’t quite as careful with the washing up as she’d like. She’d found a flourishing colony of mould in a bowl once, and since then, when no one was looking, she tended to check the crockery. But her mug was fine. She was spooning in the instant coffee when the door opened and Gemma walked in, squinting into the light from the kitchen window.

“Oh, you’re up,” she said. “I thought I was going to give you a shout.”

Cally beamed at her. “I didn’t want to be late. Do you want a coffee?”

Gemma raised her eyebrows. “You do know it’s a march, not the golf club dinner and dance, right?”

“I know,” Cally said. “I was just…oh, never mind. Do you want this coffee or not?”

“Yeah, why not.” Gemma sat down at the kitchen table. “And stick a bit of toast in for me, will you? I shouldn’t have had that last glass of red last night.”

Cally smiled and shook her head. “You say that every Saturday.”

Gemma looked affronted. “That’s not true,” she said. “Sometimes I have white wine.”

They laughed. “I rest my case,” Cally said. She went to the bread bin. Now there, she really might find some horrors.

After breakfast, Cally made a beeline for the bathroom. In a house full of young women, you soon learned the art of tactical showering. She switched on the electric shower, and as she waited for the water to run warm, she checked her hair in the bathroom mirror. Did she really need to wash her hair this morning? It would be a lot quicker if she skipped it. She looked at her reflection and smiled. She was looking good. There was a gleam in her eyes that hadn’t been there for a while. It was great to be doing something different, breaking the rules. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t know what the day would bring. She felt alive. “I’ll show them,” she murmured. “I’ll show the bloody lot of them.” And she would, too.

She slipped out of her bathrobe, hung it on the back of the door and pulled her old T-shirt over her head. As she stepped under the warm water, her mind was already racing. There had to be a way to get her dissertation done in her own way. She just needed to use her imagination. And she was good at that. She was a problem-solver, a creative thinker. She reached for the shampoo and was already massaging it into her hair when she remembered she hadn’t meant to wash it at all. “Oh hell,” she muttered. But she couldn’t’ stop now. She’d have to dry it and brush it, too.

A knock at the door. “Are you nearly finished in there?”

“I won’t be long,” Cally called. She started rinsing the shampoo away. If she skipped the conditioner she’d be ready in ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.

***

Gemma was waiting for her in the kitchen. “Come on Your Ladyship,” she said. “I thought you wanted to get going.”

Cally smiled. She put on a posh voice. “One must always choose one’s clothes carefully when attending an act of civil disorder.”

“Yeah,” Gemma said. She extended her leg to show a bright red boot. “These may look like Doc Martens, but actually they’re from the La Croix
Urban Riot
collection.” She laughed and jumped to her feet. “Come on. We don’t want to miss the champagne and caviar.”

As they left the house, Cally took deep breaths of cool morning air. The street was quiet. Most houses still had all their curtains closed. The area was popular with students and the Saturday morning lie-in was a god-given right. As they walked along the street, Cally enjoyed the peace.
I must do this more often
, she thought. A morning walk would set her up for the rest of the day. Maybe she could even go for a run. She smiled to herself. No. That was going a bit far.

Gemma linked arms with her. “So, how does it feel to be a member of the awkward squad?”

Cally nodded. “Yeah. Good. It feels good.”

“That’s my girl.” Gemma grinned. A green bus trundled past them and Gemma let go of Cally’s arm. “That’s our bus. Come on, we might just make it.” She broke into a jog.

Cally chuckled and hurried after her. So she was going for a run after all.

For once, the bus driver was kind enough to see them running and wait for them. As they showed their passes, Cally made sure to give the man a smile. The seats were all taken, so they stood, holding onto the handrails, swaying as the bus lurched into motion.

Gemma smirked and nodded toward the driver. “I think you’ve made a friend there.”

“Oh please,” Cally said. “He’s probably about fifty.”

“Yeah, but think of the perks. Show him a good time and he’ll show you the world—well, as far as the ring road anyway.”

Cally laughed. “You’re wasted in law. You should be on the stage.”

“Yeah,” she said thoughtfully. “The seedy characters, the high drama, the strange men in wigs—just three reasons why I chose law.”

Cally cracked up and snorted with laughter. A few of the passengers glanced at her and frowned wearily. One middle-aged man smiled at Cally until his wife noticed and nudged him in the ribs. Cally turned to face the window. She had to look away from Gemma’s impish grin, or she’d burst out laughing again. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and watched the Saturday morning traffic crawl past. As the bus swung into a bus lane, a huge, black four-wheel drive car pulled up alongside. It was a Range Rover or a BMW, or something like that. A gas-guzzler. She hated them. What did they call them? That was it:
Chelsea Tractors
. This one even had the windows tinted black so you couldn’t see into it at all. Who did these people think they were? Cally shook her head. The bus lane branched away from the road and they left the car behind, stuck in a long queue of stationary traffic.
Serves him right
, Cally thought.
He should’ve taken the bus
.

Cally looked back at Gemma, but her friend was busy with her phone, tapping out a text message with her thumb. She watched her for a moment. Gemma was so together, so certain of everything she did. Cally had never really spent much time alone with Gemma. She’d always found her a bit brash. But now, she couldn’t help but admire her friend’s self-confidence.
I should make more of an effort—get her know her better
. Cally smiled to herself. Yes. Today would be good. She was certain of it.

“I should’ve taken the bus,” Andrew muttered. He checked the satnav for the fifteenth time then sat back and stared at the line of motionless traffic that stretched out in front of him for as far as he could see. He splayed his fingers out on the steering wheel and drummed a rapid rhythm on the faux leather. He’d woken up at the crack of dawn so he could get to Exeter in time to see the subject leave the house, and everything had gone according to plan. But his attempt to tail the bus from the comfort of his Range Rover was a miserable failure. He hadn’t considered the bus lanes and now the bus would easily beat him to the city centre.

He twisted in his seat and scanned the road behind him. If he drove in the bus lane would he get away with it? No. There were enforcement cameras. This was supposed to be covert surveillance and the Range Rover was a departmental car. It wouldn’t look too good if he was issued with a ticket on his first operation.

“Damn it.” He thumped the steering wheel with his palms.
I shouldn’t be here—I’m not a field agent
. But Crawford had insisted: Andrew was to follow the girl personally. Of course, there’d been no explanation—that wasn’t Crawford’s style—and Andrew had known better than to ask questions. If you wanted to get on in the office, you put your fears aside and did as you were told, or you sat safe in your cubicle and became part of the furniture. Now, Andrew wondered if he’d made the right choice.