'Jon, that was a snarl. Sheep do not-'
The noise came again, carried on the wind from somewhere further down the ravine. It was a throaty sawing sound, like air going in and out of a large pair of bellows. So that's what it feels like to have your hair stand on end, Jon thought as his scalp contracted against his skull. Casually he flicked the torch on and shone it down the slope. He may as well have tried to illuminate an aircraft hangar with a candle. 'Or a deer. A stag. You get them up here.'
'At night?' Nikki plucked the lens off the Portascope and began using the white glow to put the lenses back in the case. She slid the battery into its slot, then the torch, turning it off only when it was in place. She stood up. 'You can carry that. Fucking hell, Jon, it wasn't a deer. It was not a deer.'
A sharp odour caught in Jon's nostrils. Run! Just bloody run, his instincts screamed. 'Come on then,' he replied calmly, knowing how panic could pass between people like an airborne infection. 'We may as well head back. You lead the way, I'll be behind.'
'Too pissing right you will be. You got me out to this godforsaken place.'
They both started making their way up the ravine, neither now trying to step carefully over the boggier patches. Looking up, Jon was just able to make out where the slope ended and the sky began. 'Not far to the top,' he murmured, weighing up the case in his hand and wondering whether it would be better to swing as a weapon or clutch as a shield. He remembered the size of Samburu's claws. Jesus, calm down. You are not about to be attacked.
At the top of the slope Nikki paused, her breath coming in shallow gasps. 'Which way?'
'Right. We're heading towards that lump of land, see? At about two o'clock.'
'There are two paths, which one?'
Jon shone the torch ahead. Bollocks, she was right. 'OK, the right hand one. The other cuts away too-'
The noise came again. It now sounded level with them, somewhere off to their side. Nikki grabbed Jon's arm. 'What is that? Oh, please God, this isn't happening. Please tell me… ' He felt her grip starting to shake and her words dissolved into a single sob.
'Keep going, OK?' He pushed her down the right hand path, and as they made their way along, the only sound was the heather rasping against their damp legs. Just a walk in the park, Jon thought to himself, suppressing the flickers of panic threatening to catch fire in his brain. A nice walk in the park, tra la la la, that's all this is. A nice walk. Where've I got that line from, he wondered, guessing it was something he'd heard in a film. With a jolt he realised — American Werewolf in London. The scene where the beast attacks the backpackers out wandering on the moors. That bloody film, I wish I'd never seen it.
The noise came again. An urge to change direction away from it overwhelmed him. A trail opened up on their left. 'Take that one,' Jon snapped.
The terrain started rising and, to his immense relief, the red light at the top of the radio antenna bobbed into view. 'Keep going, Nikki. That's good. Keep aiming for that light.'
They skirted round the cairn at the top of Black Hill and marched down the other side without pausing for breath. Now on the plateau at the top of the moor, their stride lengthened. All the while Jon kept his head cocked to the side, listening out for the sound of anything pursuing them. After another five minutes he let the torch beam swing up. Dull metal glinted at the outer edge of the beam.
On seeing the car Nikki broke into a jog. They hopped over the ditch and on to the track. Somehow just being on a man- made surface was reassuring. Five metres from the car Jon said,
'It's not locked. Jump straight in.'
He opened the rear door, slung the case on to the back seat, opened the driver's door and got in. Nikki was in the passenger seat, her legs shivering violently.
He shut the door and started the engine, flicking the central locking on as he did so. Then he put the vehicle into gear and reversed as fast as he dared up the track, not giving a toss what happened to the car's suspension.
Thirty-Two
Jon nudged the car up his drive, bringing the front bumper to within inches of his house before pulling the handbrake on. He sank back in his seat. Thank Christ to be home. His mind was still twitching, settling momentarily on one aspect of what had happened on the moor before springing to another. When they'd got back to the car park at Crime Lake not a single word had passed between them. During the drive down off the moor Jon had glanced across at Nikki several times. She was hunched in her seat, knees, shoulders and elbows drawn in as she nibbled on the tip of a thumbnail. Occasionally the hand moved upwards to brush a tear from the corner of her eye.
He parked next to her car and she immediately got out, stepped over to the driver's door and got inside. The engine started and he had to quickly climb out and knock on her window. The noise startled her. 'Hang on, Nikki. I've got the Portascope.'
She nodded, then gestured to the back seat. As he placed the case inside, he quietly said, 'Do you want to talk about this?' She shook her head, hands clamped on the steering wheel.
'Nikki,' he watched her ponytail trembling. 'Maybe we should take five minutes to calm down.'
'Fuck off.' She was still staring ahead. 'You had no right to take me up there.' She shuddered. 'Just shut the door. I'm going home.'
He straightened up, then ducked his head back in for one last try. 'Nikki, I don't know what it was up there, but… '
The vehicle started to move and he had to step forwards to swing the door shut. She had accelerated down the road before remembering to turn her headlights on.
With a sigh, Jon looked at his house, hooking a finger into the inner curve of the steering wheel. He'd ring her tomorrow. What had really occurred up there? The primal terror that had come so close to engulfing him was skewing his perception of events. He tried to analyse things objectively. They'd heard a strange sound. In the darkness, their imaginations had supplied the image of what had made it. A huge black beast, a monster moving stealthily forward, yellow eyes able to see them clearly in the night.
But it was only a noise and, at one point, the faintest trace of a smell. It could easily have been a stag, a badger, someone with a tape of a big cat. The headrest seemed to be curling about his ears, gently cupping his skull. A tape recording. The sort of thing to scare off unwelcome visitors. Hobson. He could have recorded any number of those noises. Yeah, that wouldn't be any problem at all. An impact in his lap brought him awake. His hand had dropped off the steering wheel as sleep had relaxed his grip. With itchy eyes he regarded the glow at his front window. Hopefully she's relaxing in front of the telly, he thought.
He opened the front door to hear the tapping of computer keys. She was sitting at the computer in a tracksuit with an old cardigan over the top. Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. Strands bulged out at the side of her head, increasing her dishevelled look. He glimpsed a Portcullis logo at the top of the screen.
'Sorry I'm late back. I got delayed.'
'I didn't think you'd be home any earlier.' She didn't turn round.
'What are you up to?'
'There's these things called Hansard documents which let you see what's been debated in the House of Commons and I've been on Number Ten Downing Street's site. I can't find anything on civilian deaths in Iraq and I've been here for bloody hours.'
For fuck's sake, he thought, put another bloody record on will you? He knelt down and looked at Holly on her play mat.
'Hello, princess, how are you doing?'
Her head jerked at the sound of his voice and her arms began to wriggle back and forth. 'Daddy's home. You coming for a cuddle?'
He slid a hand under her nappy to lift her up. 'Ali, she's soaking wet.'