And stared into the small, narrow recess in the wall of the tunnel. It was covered in blankets—the walls of the recess, the floor. They were all incredibly dirty and damp, and there was a bunch of them at the far end with two pillows. A makeshift bed. To the side of the “bed” was a crop of cardboard—three pieces positioned like a house of cards. It looked like someone was trying to make a sort of table structure. Under it were empty boxes of food—cereals, ready meals, packets of crisps, all so waterlogged they had sort of fused together to create a mush of rubbish.

Robin looked around at the shelter in disgust. Something glinted on the ground and he picked it up, almost unthinking.

It was a cat collar. The disc said MITTONS. And as he regarded it, his torch bobbed over to something else. A small mound of something, a dull red. He didn’t know what he was looking at, until he retched. He doubled over and retched a few more times but nothing came out. When he had recovered, he looked again at the thing in the corner. It was a dead cat carcass—half-consumed and the rest of the flesh festering and moldy. He turned away—a disgusting smell filling his nostrils as though it was waiting to shock him. His eyes stung and he blinked away the sensation of the smell attacking him. He wiped his eyes and looked down, his gaze falling on something else.

There was a piece of clothing on the floor, lying on the blankets. It looked cleaner than the rest of the shelter—and therefore newer. It was a purple hoodie—looked like a girl’s. He picked it up, turned it over in his hands. His eyes widened as he saw writing emblazoned on the back.

UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH.

He instantly understood who this hoodie belonged to—it was Rachel Claypath’s. It had to be. But what did this mean?

He heard footsteps behind him. Someone coming up the tunnel to meet him.

Sally.

He turned. “I’ve found something.” No one was there. He shone the torch down the tunnel. No one.

He looked the other way.

And saw only the rock flying toward his face. His forehead erupted in pain, and his legs slipped out from under him.

He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Chapter Thirty-Four

“Do you see them too?”

The voice drifted to him, and he tried to grab the words as they flew in front of his face.

He wafted in and out of the world, or maybe it wafted in and out of him.

“Or are you one of them?”