“Right,” said Sean. “Thanks.”
He had never used a lump hammer before; he couldn’t even remember if he had ever held one. Its weight intimidated him. Aware of Robbie observing him, Sean hefted the tool, left hand gripping the end of the handle, right hand circling the neck, just under the dense block of iron. He stood adjacent to the wall, left foot in front of his right, and brought the hammer back over his head, grunting as he swung it up and forwards, at the same time letting his right hand slide down the shaft to meet the left.
“Fuck me,” Robbie said, as a quarter of the wall disintegrated. “Take it easy, mate. You’ll end up in hospital if you carry that on. Pace yourself. It’ll come down whether you give it five blows or fifty. It’s you who’s got to wake up in the morning, come in here and do it all over again.”
“I’m okay. I’m up to it.”
Robbie winked and left him.
Twenty minutes on, stripped to the waist and with sweat stinging his eyes, Sean had to stop. The wall, after that first impact, had proven to be stouter than he expected. Pock marks cratered the plaster; brick peeked through, obstinate. He had to get around the site. Make a connection.
He was about to go back to work when he heard the scratch of a shoe on the linoleum. Tim was standing there, his paperback dangling from his hand, one finger hooked inside it to keep his page. He looked at Sean for a long time, but then Sean saw how he was trying to coax some form from the wet ruin of his mouth.
“I’m going to the offy,” he said. “Peanuts. Want a beer? Salty doesn’t mind if you have the odd beer.”
Sean could think of nothing he wanted more, but he felt it was necessary to hold back a bit. If there was a weak link here, Tim might be it. His way in. And for that to happen, he had to behave differently from all the others Tim schlepped for.
“No, thanks,” he said. He didn’t wait to see how long his answer would take to sink in. He went back to the wall. Thinking about Naomi refuelled him. The bricks didn’t stand a chance.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: DEADSTRETCH
“ELI? ELI? COME on, chicken. Come on, wake up.”
Will watched her surfacing, struggling through any number of levels of sleep, or unconsciousness. Finding shallow areas, close to wakefulness, the pain set in, and he gripped her hand as hard as she gripped his.
“Where does it hurt, Eli?”
He had delicately lifted her jumper in an attempt to locate the source of the blood. A large bruise had wrapped itself around the side of her body, covering an area the size of a twelve-inch record. A small cut below her left breast had stopped bleeding and didn’t look as serious as he had feared. He didn’t know the extent of her internal injuries, if there were any. Will felt himself go weak at the thought of losing another woman, so close to him, in the space of twenty-four hours.
“We have to get you to a hospital, chicken,” he whispered. Elisabeth’s eyelids fluttered and for a moment she pinned him with a lucid, almost amused look. Then she drifted off again. Another shadow fell across her, and then a pair of small hands, probing and pressing.
“She won’t need the hospital. It isn’t all that serious.”
Will turned and smiled at the girl. “How can you know that? We’ll need some kind of stretcher. We need to get her on the road. Maybe we can flag down one of those helicopters.”
The girl came nearer. “There’s really no need. My father was a doctor. He taught me lots about accident victims. I know just about everything you need to know about car crash trauma.”
“Then why won’t she wake up?”
“She’s in shock. The body is just enforcing a period of calm, that’s all. She needs to rest. There’s no breaks. If she suffered any organ damage, we’d know all about it by now. She’d be dead. Just keep her lying down, with her legs raised.”
Will wanted to believe her but her reading of Elisabeth’s apparent distress as perfectly harmless was of no comfort to him. He assessed the girl again. She must have been around sixteen or seventeen years old. Freckles banded her nose. Her hair was long and blonde, but could have done with a wash. It hung limply against her shoulders. She wore a grubby white halter top and well-worn jeans. Converse sneakers. A tattoo, some Chinese symbol, made a black slash across the biceps of her left arm. Her name was Sadie. He had no idea yet as to why she was hiding out in an abandoned farmhouse. Small-talk wasn’t high on his current list of things to do.
“So okay, she’s out of the critical zone. Can we move her?”
“Why would you want to?” Sadie asked. “She can rest here. There’s plenty of food. Shelter’s good, if you find a part of one of the rooms that isn’t leaking.”
Will tried to read more from her face. He needed to know if he could trust her, quickly. But he had never been a great judge of character. “We need to get on,” he said, limply.
Sadie pouted. “Where are you thinking of going?”
“North,” Will replied. “We have to get to Warrington.”
“Nice,” she said, but Will couldn’t detect any sarcasm in her voice. “I’m heading north too.”
“Not with us, you’re not.”
Sadie smirked. “Oh really? Who’s stopping me?”
“Sadie,” Will said, in what he thought was his most authoritative voice. “We’re wanted. We’re being chased.”
At this, Sadie’s eyes widened. “Cool,” she purred. “I could help you.”
“No, really. Thanks but no.”
“You are being a total knob about this.”
Will smiled. “Am I?”
“Uh-huh. We’re both going north. What? You’re going to walk a few steps behind me all the way, are you?”
“I just think we’ll slow you down, that’s all.”
“Slow is good. I don’t mind slow.”
Will sighed. She was going to accompany them whether he liked it or not. “Okay,” he said at last. “What are you doing hiding here anyway?”
Sadie evaded the question. “We need something to carry your woman in.”
“She’s not my wo—”
“We could make a stretcher.”
They ended up lashing together some wooden planks from one of the barns. Will tied two lengths of rope to one end which he criss-crossed around his chest. Now Elisabeth could be transported, albeit roughly, across the terrain. Sadie strapped her in with more rope, wrapped with strips of cloth to prevent it from chafing her skin.
“How far are we from Warrington, do you reckon?” Will scanned the horizon beyond the radio masts. Rain was collecting there in dense blankets of cloud.
“I don’t know. Hundred miles?”
A hundred miles. Will struggled to come to terms with the situation, the ease with which they had been thrown off course. By now they should have arrived in Warrington; they might even have solved the puzzle of Sloe Heath. His gut churned when he thought that he might have been reunited with Cat by now or at least discovered what had happened to her, but instead he was faced with the insidious prospect of tramping across country for what? A week? Two weeks? How long could it take?
“We can take it in turns if you like,” Sadie said, brightly, skipping ahead. “Come on. Race you.”
The air freshened, seemed to crystallise around him as he began his journey. The scattered cars on the M1 sent thin streams of smoke across his path, turning the field and those beyond into an uncertain wilderness. It led away to a horizon that was black and bleak. He thought he might die somewhere up there, if they found neither help nor a road that might transport them more easily.