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Back No One Home Save as PDF
Chapters (109)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Praise for Tim Weaver
  4. Dedication
  5. Part One
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. Joline
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. The Motel
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. Part Two
  21. 13
  22. 14
  23. Caraca
  24. 15
  25. 16
  26. 17
  27. Late-Night Call
  28. 18
  29. 19
  30. 20
  31. Pioneer
  32. Part Three
  33. 21
  34. 22
  35. 23
  36. The Suicide: Part 1
  37. 24
  38. 25
  39. 26
  40. The Suicide: Part 2
  41. 27
  42. 28
  43. 29
  44. Clear: Part 1
  45. 30
  46. 31
  47. Clear: Part 2
  48. Part Four
  49. 32
  50. 33
  51. 34
  52. Monster
  53. 35
  54. 36
  55. 37
  56. Martina: Part 1
  57. Part Five
  58. 38
  59. 39
  60. 40
  61. Martina: Part 2
  62. 41
  63. 42
  64. 43
  65. Dead Ends
  66. 44
  67. Part Six
  68. 45
  69. 46
  70. 47
  71. The Photograph Album
  72. 48
  73. 49
  74. 50
  75. Empty
  76. Part Seven
  77. 51
  78. 52
  79. Retirement: Part 1
  80. 53
  81. 54
  82. 55
  83. 56
  84. Retirement: Part 2
  85. 57
  86. Part Eight
  87. 58
  88. 59
  89. 60
  90. 61
  91. 62
  92. Circle
  93. 63
  94. 64
  95. 65
  96. 66
  97. An Ending
  98. 67
  99. 68
  100. Part Nine
  101. 69
  102. Family
  103. 70
  104. Part Ten
  105. 71
  106. 72
  107. Author’s Note
  108. Acknowledgements
  109. THE BEGINNING

A second later, I hit something.

14

The deer seemed to come out of nowhere.

It was suddenly there, in front of us, frozen in the centre of the road. I had time to see its antlers, the black glint of its eyes, to watch its body begin to shift away from us – and then I slammed into it. The left-hand side of the Audi crunched against the rear flank of its body, the impact seeming to tremor through to the dashboard. The sound was horrific: the dull tear of metal, the hiss of a radiator, the terrible, prolonged squeal of the deer itself; and then the car hit a bank.

The airbags exploded out at us.

I wasn’t sure if I blacked out entirely – it felt like I could hear the car creaking and rasping around me the whole time – but when everything came back into focus, thirty seconds had passed and I could feel blood running from my nose and mouth. I looked across at Healy. He was conscious but dazed, staring out of the windscreen as it began to mist up. I touched a hand to his arm. ‘You all right?’

‘What the hell just happened?’ he muttered.

‘We hit a deer.’

I opened my door, undid my belt and got out, passing the broken body of the deer on the road, and then went around to Healy’s side. After sitting him down on a bump in the bank, I looked him over. He was worse off than me: there were two big cuts on the left-hand side of his face and he was holding his arm at the elbow, where it must have crunched against the door. He might even have been in shock: he was staring ahead, past the body of the deer, to the other side of the track.

I checked my phone, looking for a signal, but we had to be in a black spot. I wasn’t sure what I would have done even if I’d had any bars. Was I really going to call an ambulance? Doing that would endanger both of us. Healy had a fake passport identifying himself as Bryan Kennedy, but hospitals meant questions, and not just about who he was and how he’d got injured, but about why he didn’t have an NI number and didn’t exist on the system. Worse, it might mean hospital staff deciding to phone the police.

He looked up, his expression replicating everything I’d just been thinking. But one of the gashes on his face was bad. It would need to be treated – and ideally not out here on exposed moorland with the light drifting in and out. When the sun was shining, it was fine. When it went in, the temperature dropped like a stone.