BooksBarbecue
Back The Hollows
Chapters (77)
  1. Front Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Dedication
  5. PART I
  6. 1.
  7. 2.
  8. 3.
  9. 4.
  10. 5.
  11. 6.
  12. 7.
  13. 8.
  14. PART II
  15. 9.
  16. 10.
  17. 11.
  18. 12.
  19. 13.
  20. 14.
  21. 15.
  22. 16.
  23. 17.
  24. 18.
  25. 19.
  26. 20.
  27. 21.
  28. 22.
  29. 23.
  30. 24.
  31. 25.
  32. 26.
  33. 27.
  34. 28.
  35. 29.
  36. 30.
  37. 31.
  38. 32.
  39. 33.
  40. 34.
  41. 35.
  42. 36.
  43. PART III
  44. 37.
  45. 38.
  46. 39.
  47. 40.
  48. 41.
  49. 42.
  50. 43.
  51. 44.
  52. 45.
  53. 46.
  54. 47.
  55. 48.
  56. 49.
  57. 50.
  58. 51.
  59. 52.
  60. 53.
  61. 54.
  62. 55.
  63. 56.
  64. 57.
  65. 58.
  66. 59.
  67. 60.
  68. 61.
  69. 62.
  70. 63.
  71. 64.
  72. 65.
  73. PART IV
  74. 66.
  75. 67.
  76. 68.
  77. Acknowledgements

Then only the wind.

PART II

PART II

As the desolate weep

20th December

Sunrise: 0817 hrs

Sunset: 1550 hrs

7 hours, 32 minutes and 24 seconds of daylight

9.

9.

The last of the storm passed over Thursdale just before dawn. That was officially Jess’ watch – weak link or not, the girl was a Harper and she’d do her duty with the rest – but Liz was awake too, sitting in the kitchen while Jess dithered around upstairs. Someone with a brain needed to be there.

Even in the darkness, there was white: the snow had fallen thick and heavy, blanketing the grounds. Liz could see that through the chinks in the boards across the windows. You had to leave a gap to spy through, however tiny – better to see and know, however frightening the truth, than drive yourself half-mad imagining. Everything not touched by the snow was black.

Liz squinted through the gap in the boards until the black turned grey, then put the kettle on, brewed the biggest pot of tea she could find and let it stew. She filled a mug, added plentiful sugar and the smallest splash of milk, then drained half of it in a scalding gulp. When she looked again, the grey had turned silver.

Dawn, or near enough as made no difference. By the time Keira and the boys were ready the sun would be well up. There’d be a few hours of safety. Time enough. Liz nodded to herself, then stamped out into the hall. “Jess!”

The girl appeared on the landing, pistol in her hands. “Mum?”

“Point that fucking thing at the floor, I’ve told you. Get your brothers and Keira up. There’s work to be done.”

The freezing air was utterly clear; the tractors’ growls echoed off the peaks as they lumbered, one after the other, from the farm towards Spear Bank.

Heavy snowdrifts choked the road, but both vehicles were fitted with ploughs. The first, driven by Frank with Keira beside him, a shotgun broken across her knees, turned left along Spear Bank, rumbling towards Wakeman Farm and the hill road to Barsall. The second, driven by Dom Harper – simple or not, he had a sure touch with heavy machinery – turned right, towards the Bell.

Liz Harper, meanwhile, trudged through the snow with a walking-stick for balance and a piglet under her arm, puffing out clouds of breath. Thursdale was wide in the west and narrow in the east, and Liz was going eastward, through her fields to the thick woods at the tip of the wedge. Oak, beech and ash, bare black and naked in the snow. Barrow Woods.

Her stomach was tight and clenched; she didn’t scare easily, but she was this morning. It was one thing remembering the stories Nan had told her; believing them was another.