The Last Resort(52)

‘I didn’t see that happen . . .’ Amelia says.

‘I know you didn’t. Because I didn’t look at my arm when it happened. So you didn’t see that part. It’s evidence, isn’t it? It’s my constant reminder. I can cover my arm up with long sleeves, but I can’t cover up the fact that it itches every night, and sometimes it still bleeds.’

‘Are you going to tell us what happened that night?’

Lucy nods. ‘I think I have to. I think that’s the only way for us to end the game.’ She’s about to say more when a loud crack of thunder sounds overhead. They all look up at the sky as the sun fades out as though someone has turned a dimmer switch.

‘I agree,’ James says. ‘But first, I think we need to find Scott and Brenda . . . then we need to get to the big house before we’re caught in the storm.’





Brenda

Brenda’s head is pounding, but the pain in her leg has gone. She daren’t look at it again, knowing it can only be getting worse – but at least for now, she can’t feel it. She sits up, rubs her eyes. ‘How long were we asleep?’ The light has faded, the sky a dark purple. She’s propped up against the plastic crate that Scott found. It’s still only the two of them. At the top of the hill near the tip of the island. ‘Scott? Wake up. I think it’s going to rain.’ She pokes him with a finger in the ribs and he groans. ‘Scott?’

‘All right, all right.’ He pulls himself up into a sitting position, glances around. ‘Where are we? Where is everyone?’

Brenda is beginning to feel more awake, and as well as her head, her body has started to tingle with pins and needles, her muscles straining to get back into position after she’s been slumped for however long. ‘What time is it?’ she says, louder.

The holographic text starts to scroll. ‘It is T minus 3. Thank you for using this service.’

‘Three hours to go,’ she mutters. ‘Three hours until what, though?’

‘Huh?’ Scott looks confused.

‘I think we need to get going. Can you give me something for my head?’

He drags the bag out of his pocket, his movements seemingly in slow motion. He digs about and finds a red-and-white capsule. ‘Pain at the base of your skull, as if someone has whacked you with an axe?’

She nods.

‘This’ll sort it. Might make you drowsy again though.’

Brenda laughs, but the sound seems alien to her. ‘Drowsy? We’ve been asleep for two hours.’

‘That’s one way to avoid this crap. Right?’

She pops the pill with a long swig of water, then shoves her backpack behind her as a cushion and lies back against the plastic crate. ‘Maybe we could just stay here a bit longer.’

‘Mmm-hmm.’ Scott is looking at his phone. ‘Well, I had a reply from Mark. Only, I don’t know if it’s actually from him.’ He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at it. His earlier neat styling is long gone.

‘Oh?’ Brenda tries to be interested but she feels herself drifting off again. ‘What makes you say that?’ She’s trying to remember who Mark is, and wonders if it’s relevant. If she gets out of this alive, she’s definitely going to be making more use of pharmaceuticals in the future. She’s always been put off, seeing the obvious effects of coke on the workaholic players that do her bidding, and she’d assumed that anything else was for neurotics and fools. But what Scott has given her has been a revelation. Numb the pain, doze off, treat the side effects with something else. It’s easy to see how addiction can creep in.

Scott pauses. ‘Might be a stupid thing, but it’s the fact that he’s replied to me using my name. He never calls me Scott, or Scottie or anything like that. He calls me “Doodle”, as in “Yankee Doodle”. He thinks it’s hilarious.’

Brenda sits up straighter. ‘Well, that’s interesting. What did he say though – in response to your call for help?’

‘“Don’t worry, Scott. Everything is under control.”’

‘That doesn’t sound like the sort of response you were looking for, does it?’

He shakes his head. ‘He’s a man of few words at times, but this . . . well, this doesn’t help us. I thought he’d have mentioned our location – if he’d been able to track it via my message. I think it’s safe to say that my communication attempt has been intercepted.’

‘Maybe there’s a firewall of some sort?’ Her leg is starting to itch again now, but it feels different from before. It’s more of a crawling, squirming feeling than an itch. She can’t tell if it’s getting better or worse.

A patter of rain starts to fall. Light at first, but by the colour of the sky it’s going to get worse soon.

‘We need to find shelter,’ Scott says, sounding distracted. He’s still tapping at his phone.

Brenda drags herself up but feels unsteady on her feet. Scott drops his phone in his pocket and gets up from the ground, then walks over and takes Brenda’s arm. ‘Come on.’

As they start walking, jets of pain begin to shoot through her leg. This is definitely not good. ‘Do you . . . do you think he even got your message?’

Scott is walking too fast, limping with his bad ankle, trying to support her too. ‘Well, someone got it. Someone replied. Harvey, probably. Or one of the other Timeo minions.’