He moved closer to a large boulder that would provide shelter, took his space blanket from his backpack and settled to sleep. Everything would be okay, he told himself. They’d get Clare to the hospital. She’d recover and they’d go home to Michelle, where they’d stare at one another, shake their heads and marvel at the madness of the hike. He’d go to work, turn the earth, plant flowers and come home with dirty hands. Michelle would slip her high heels on every morning and head to court. Clare would recover and come to Sunday lunch with Angus and Linda. They’d joke, laugh and life would go on. They’d be a family and everything would be okay.

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Six

“Did you notice the claw prints on the tree?” whispered Clare.

“Claw prints?” said Faye, surprised by how lucid the girl sounded.

After accidentally falling asleep for a short time the previous evening, Faye had forced herself to stay awake throughout the night. She’d pulled herself into a sitting position, pushed her lower back against a knobbly branch to help keep herself alert and listened to Clare’s wheezing and moaning. At times, when the girl’s chest rattled like a biscuit tin of buttons during an earthquake, Faye wished she’d kept the faith she knew briefly as a child when her aunt had convinced her God would look over her if she believed and prayed enough. How helpful it would be to believe all would be well.

Instead, as if playing a movie in her head, she recalled what she’d learned about first aid at school, going through the seven steps of CPR. She needed to be ready, and listened for the tell-tale clue of a change in breathing pattern. A hospice nurse caring for Veronica during her last days had told Faye how, when approaching death, a person’s breathing rate changed from a normal rhythm to a pattern of several rapid breaths, followed by a period of no breathing. Although Clare’s breathing was shallow and irregular, it didn’t stop. But for much of the night, Faye was uncertain whether the girl was asleep or swimming in painful semi-consciousness. By the time the first signs of morning glowed lightly across the horizon, Faye felt weak from exhaustion and after being taut with worry for so many hours.

“Halfway up the tree,” said Clare, her eyes still closed and her mouth barely moving. “Leopards stand on their hind legs and scratch to clean their claws—only on certain trees, which they return to time and again—also to spread their scent and mark their territory.”

“Leopards? Territory?” Faye glanced outside to where the morning light seemed to creep through the trees towards them. “You’re kidding?”