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Chapters (65)
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  65. Acknowledgements

‘Bravo! I was so completely immersed in Dark Pines and Tuva is a brilliant protagonist. This HAS to be a TV series!’

Nina Pottell, Prima magazine

‘Will Dean’s impressive debut shows that Nordic noir can be mastered by a Brit.’

The Times

ALSO BY WILL DEAN

Dark Pines

Red Snow

Black River

The Last Thing to Burn

For all the English teachers. I know it’s not always easy but we appreciate you. For helping young people fall in love with stories and language. For your enthusiasm and heart. Your dedication. And for introducing fiction to the kids who need it most. Thank you.

1

I slam my foot on the brakes and come to a halt a metre behind the black car.

My Hilux shakes on its axels.

Thick fog.

My seatbelt digs in. The 4x4 in front has its hazard lights flashing. Wisps of fog drift between my bonnet and its rear end, illuminated by my headlights. Is the driver in trouble? I open my window a crack and mist pours in like smoke billowing around a closed door. Why would you stop your car on this hillside road? It hasn’t broken down, the exhaust fumes are drifting out into the forest air.

I switch on my hazard lights and that’s when I hear the scream.

Then another scream. Fainter. Or perhaps just an echo.

My head jolts to the left, to the dense pines hidden by the fog. Sweat starts to drip down my back. I check my phone. Good reception. Another scream, this one weaker: lost to the mists.

Did the driver in front leave the relative safety of their car to wander through the trees?

As I open my door to get out, the 4x4 in front jerks back and its rear lights shine bright in my face. I fall onto wet ground, my hands sinking into leaf sludge. Are they reversing into me? I scramble to my feet.

‘Hey!’ I yell.

The black car has rolled back a little because of the steepness of Visberg hill, that’s all. More like a mountain than a hill. Almost a cliff. The car gains traction and its tyres squeal as it accelerates hard and disappears uphill into the murk.

My heart’s thumping.

Cold air and exhaust fumes.

‘Help me,’ says a woman’s voice. Someone in the forest.

I climb back into my Hilux and pull over, half on the road, half off, and switch on my hazards. I don’t know this hillside forest, I have not stepped into its trees before. But I must check on this screaming woman. How can I not?

‘Hello?’ I shout out.

Nothing.

Chill around the back of my neck.

I jump a ditch that’s October-full of stagnant brown water, and enter the treeline. One tree deep. Three trees deep. Five.

‘Hello? Are you okay?

She screams again. No answer, just a guttural plea.