Chapters (31)
- Synopsis
- What Reviewers Say About Cari Hunter’s Work
- By the Author
- Acknowledgments
- Dedication
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-one
- Chapter Twenty-two
- Epilogue
- About the Author
- Books Available from Bold Strokes Books
- BOLDSTROKESBOOKS.COM
“Where’s the ambulance?” he said, peering beyond her into the darkness.
“I’m it.” She passed him her torch and yanked the boot open, collecting as much equipment as they could carry between them. “Grab this. And this. Sling that on your shoulder, it’s easier.” She studied him as she spoke. He looked familiar, although she couldn’t place his face.
“You’re the little dog lady,” he said, neatly solving the head-scratcher as she slammed the boot shut. He dropped one of the bags she’d given him and snatched it up again before it could topple into a puddle. “From earlier in the Vale. I was with my mate.”
“Ah, that’s right,” she said, realising he was one of the homeless lads and feeling marginally safer. He’d seemed harmless that afternoon and still seemed harmless now, his expression tight with fear and worry. A smell of damp earth and stale beer rolled off him, but his clumsiness was probably due to nerves rather than intoxication.
They set off together, skirting potholes and puddles as they left the lane and entered the wood, the torchlight bouncing around to pick out tall pines and deciduous trees still barren after winter.
“How far?” she asked, already out of puff beneath her burden and struggling to match his pace.
“Dunno, miss. A mile or so? It’s hard to say.”
“Okay.” She tried to distinguish landmarks, anything she could use to describe the route and guide people in, but all she saw was the forest looming above her and the quagmire coating the ground. If there was a path, it had long ago been hidden by leaf litter. Twenty minutes later, with no sign of them closing in on their destination, she voiced Ryan and requested he mobilise Mountain Rescue, though she had no idea where to send them.
“Get them to Ellery, at least,” she said, attempting to keep the strain from her voice. “I’ll send someone back for them.” Her feet slid sideways, and she lost her grip on her radio, Ryan’s affirmative muffled by the mud.
The man stooped and retrieved it for her. “Not far now,” he told her.
“Cheers. What’s your name? I’m Jem.”