The truck judders as it leaves the asphalt. This feels all kinds of wrong. You don’t drive along a train track, it’s just not a good idea. The rails are rusted and the wooden sleepers are starting to rot down. I drive at 10kph, careful not to wreck my tyres on the rails.

The trees thicken either side of me. The sky is truly dark here, even with my headlights on full beam. It’s like navigating through an inkwell.

The metal studs in my tyres crunch each time they hit the steel tracks.

I turn on my radio but it’s all white noise. I’m too far from civilisation. Too far from antennas and other people.

There are flashes of crimson-red up ahead. Wet, glossy, red spheres gleaming in my lights. Funghi. The evil Disney toadstools. Fly agaric. They manage to look delicious and lethal at the same time. Like toffee apples with crisp, red caramel on the outside, each white dot a pristine cyanide pill.

Emil, with watches? Is that what she whispered? It was difficult to hear her. Does Hans Wimmer have something to do with this?

A car up ahead.

Parked.

And an abandoned train-carriage next to the car on a piece of siding.

It’s Julia’s green Renault; the driver’s side door is wide open.

I slow down.

I stop my Hilux.

My phone has reception even here, thank God. Julia’s called the police but I’ll call them again as soon as I know her location. I take my stungun and my knife from my bag.

I open my truck door but stay inside. Have to be careful. Take my time. Slow is smooth and smooth is fast. The noise from the forest is immense. The branches whip this way and that in the gale-force winds. Sounds like a furious ocean.

I step down onto the tracks. I’m parked right on them, like a suicide waiting to happen. This feels like a bad rollercoaster-nightmare or a virtual-reality video game I can’t switch off. One of David’s specialist VR games but the headset is locked securely onto my head.

No sign of anyone.

I leave my truck door open and walk toward the Renault. My heart’s beating so hard I can feel it. The wind chills my nose and moves my hair over my eyes.

My Hilux headlights illuminate the scene in harsh, white light. The green Renault and the abandoned, rusted, train cargo-carriage with graffiti all over its solid sides.

I get to Julia’s car.

Her keys are on the ground, half submerged in mud.

Shit.

The police are on their way. They’ll be here soon. I’ll have back-up anytime now, back-up with guns and training.

I hold out my stungun in front of me like a dagger.

I’m trying to listen out for her whispering, but the wind makes my aids whistle and squeak. The feedback is unbearable.