The trees were dark and huddled close together. Thick shadows between the trunks made it hard to see into the copse. Tom looked up at the branches of the pines, which swayed and whispered against one another in the early morning breeze, and made a decision.

‘Right, I’m gonna do a quick check around the area,’ he said. ‘He might just have wandered off for a piss or something.’ He glanced down at Matt. ‘You stay here.’

‘Fuck that, I’m coming with you.’ Matt disappeared back into the flap of the tent before Tom could object. ‘Give me two minutes.’

‘Don’t hang about.’ Tom’s feeling of unease was getting worse. His stomach was now churning like it sometimes did before a big football game or a test at school, but it was nastier than that somehow, it was nastier because it wasn’t just the nerves that were making Tom keen to get moving. It was the guilt, too.

He’s gone and run off because of you, whispered a voice in Tom’s head. Because of what you did. You’ll go into those trees but you won’t find him there. Oh no. The next time you see Gary will be two tors down the line at the bottom of some ravine.

Tom shook the thought off. It was all ridiculous, of course. He knew that. Gary would probably come wandering out of those trees or round the corner of the tor any minute now; he’d have been taking a shit or maybe he’d have wandered off with the intention of leaving and then come back after realising what a stupid idea going off on his own would be. Either way, it wouldn’t matter. Tom would run up to him and tell him he was sorry and that he’d been a dick and that would be that.

A gust of wind blew through the camp and Tom rubbed his arms to keep warm, trying to ignore the part of him – the big part of him, actually – that didn’t believe Gary was going to come walking back at all. If his friend had bothered packing up all his stuff and taking it with him, then he was obviously determined and more stubborn than Tom had given him credit for.

And what about that scream you heard? whispered the voice. Don’t forget about that. Maybe he fell down in the dark and cracked his skull open on a rock. Maybe he’s lying out there on the moor somewhere even now, bleeding and semi-conscious and unable to talk. Or maybe –and here’s a really good one –maybe something else got to him. Maybe he left his tent last night and—

‘Are we going then, or what?’ Tom was jerked out of his daydream. He turned to see Matt climbing out of the tent, now dressed in a fleece, walking trousers and boots.