The Whisperers were accompanied by a heavy tread that she at first took to be horses, but as the ground began to vibrate at each fall, it became clear something much larger was approaching.
Thoom-thoom-thoom. It made her think of some enormous machine as the tremors ran up into the pit of her stomach.
Nearly here now, she thought. The whispering insinuated into her mind, set her teeth on edge, made her think black thoughts. She was surprised at how scared she felt; not the fear of disease or starvation, but something more profound and unfocused.
Her instinct told her to take no risks of being discovered, but she had to look. Steadying herself with one hand on the sodden ground, she peered through the gaps in the hedge just as movement entered her frame of vision.
She could only perceive glimpses of the whole, a jigsaw puzzle of disturbing fragments that her conscious mind put together despite warnings from her subconscious to leave well alone. There were indeed two riders, but their mounts, though like horses in form, were clearly not: they were much larger, hugely powerful, and appeared to have a scaly hide and cloven hooves. Caitlin tried to rationalise what she was seeing, but could find no context. She saw even less of the Whisperers, yet obliquely the threat increased. Their legs were unpleasantly thin, as if only bones lay beneath the fluttering rags wrapped around them. What she saw of their clothing only added to her impression: broken chain mail, corroded gauntlets, worn, rotten leather. The heavy aroma of loam hung in the air, as if they had scrambled their way, mounts and all, from beneath the earth. The sibilant whispering floated all around. Caitlin didn't move, didn't swallow, barely breathed, praying they would pass quickly and take the overwhelming atmosphere of dread with them. Yet just as they were about to move on, they stopped. The whispering died away, and somehow the eerie silence was even worse.
They could sense her. She was sure of it in some instinctive way she couldn't comprehend. Her heart thundered.
The heavy hoofbeats sounded again, this time coming towards the hedge behind which she was hiding. Could they see her? Surely it was impossible in the dark.
The horses that were not horses drew close. Soon the first rider would be able to peer over the top of the hedge. And what awful thing would she see when she looked up into that face?
Desperately, her gaze darted around. She could attempt to run through the thick trees that would preclude the mounts pursuing her, but sooner or later she would have to cross open fields.
Just as she prepared to launch herself into the undergrowth, wild activity erupted further along the lane. It was difficult for Caitlin to comprehend what was occurring: a blood-chilling screaming tore through the night, rapid movement flashed in shadow form, only partially glimpsed through the hedgerow. The Whisperers paused in their advance. It was the crow, Caitlin guessed.
For an agonising moment, Caitlin remained frozen. Then, when she thought she couldn't bear it any longer, the Whisperers guided their grotesque mounts away from the hedgerow into the centre of the lane, and advanced towards the source of the disruption.
Caitlin crouched there shivering for fifteen more minutes before she finally dared move. Keeping low, she followed the hedge for as long as she could and then headed across the dark fields towards the house.
There was no sign of the Whisperers, or of the strange hooded crow. Caitlin burst through the door as if the Devil were at her heels, locking and bolting it in one fluid movement before hurrying to peer through the curtains into the fading storm. A distant flash of lightning half-illuminated what appeared to be a figure standing amongst the trees just beyond the drive. She had the odd impression that it was a man, yet also that there was something bestial about the figure; in her fleeting glimpse she had seen something that reminded her of a boar's head. Yet as her eyes grew accustomed to the dark after the lightning she could see only a gnarled yew on the spot. An illusion?
'What's going on?' Grant emerged from the kitchen, clutching a tea towel and a dinner plate. He looked tired, the hardship of life since the Fall making him seem older than his thirty years.
She blurted out what she had seen in the lane without taking her eyes off the dark countryside.
'There are nuts all over the place,' Grant said with a dismissive weariness before returning to the kitchen. In the midst of her fear, his reaction irritated her, but she understood it: there was only so much energy to go round. What with learning a new trade as a carpenter so that he could contribute to the local economy and earn them food, preparing defences in response to the increasing lawlessness in the countryside and trying to bring up Liam, Grant was almost drained.
Caitlin waited for another couple of minutes and then convinced herself that whatever she had seen out there had moved on. She trailed after Grant, feeling washed out in the come-down from the adrenalin surge. The flickering lanterns gave a dreamlike feeling to the warm kitchen.
'How are things?' Grant replaced the crockery without waiting to hear her response. 'I kept some stew for you on the Aga. You know, just in case you ever came home.' The bitterness in his voice sparked a dull flame of anger. Did he think she wanted to be away from her family? Risking her life, under massive stress, getting no rest for days on end? She bit her tongue, knowing nothing good would come from responding.
'This is lovely,' she said, dipping into the saucepan with a wooden spoon to taste the stew. 'Thanks for making it. I'll get to it once I've seen Liam. He's still up, isn't he?'
'He's in his room.' Grant continued putting the crockery away until a restrained thought slipped its leash. 'He's missing having you around, you know.'
On the surface, it appeared to be such a throwaway comment, but it brought tears to her eyes and a burning to the back of her throat. 'I'll see to him.' She hurried away before any more turbulent emotions tipped out. Liam lay in bed in his SK8board pyjamas, flicking through an old Digimon annual. With popular culture effectively dead, at least in the short term, old favourites had taken on a new resonance. They'd attempted to keep his bedroom as normal as it had been before things had gone so spectacularly wrong: posters on the wall, PS2 on the side, now dormant like some antique radio set.
He jumped up with an energy that made her feel old and weary. 'Mummy!' With the overstated passion of the young, he threw his arms around her, and she held him tight, feeling his hair against her cheek, and his warmth and smallness and hardness, blinking back tears, desperately trying to hold in all the things she needed to do to remain a grown-up.
'You're working too hard!' he said. 'Daddy says you're going to wear yourself out.' He moved over so she could get in bed next to him. 'Under the quilt, Mummy. It's all snuggly then.' He burrowed in beside her.
'There are a lot of people who need me to help them,' she began. 'It's Mummy's job and they'd be very sad if she wasn't there to make them better.' The hollowness of her words rang in her ears.
'But we need you too, Mummy — Daddy and me.'
'I know you do. And I'm here for you, too. Look, I'm here now.' She gave him a mock-crushing hug and then let him fight his way free. 'Do you want me to read to you?' She picked up the dog-eared copy of The Hobbit they'd slowly been making their way through. Caitlin thought she enjoyed it more than Liam; the escapism was even more poignant compared to the world beyond their home.
'No, not tonight,' he said, to her disappointment. 'Tell me a story.'
The rain had started again, pattering insistently against the window. It gave her a false sense of security as she huddled in the warmth beneath the quilt with Liam pressed close beside her, his innocence heady and hopeful. She closed her eyes and dreamed.
'OK,' she began, 'once upon a time, there was a great and powerful kingdom, where people worked hard and enjoyed themselves when they weren't working, and believed they were the masters of everything. They had great scientists who could see deep into the universe and right down to the smallest atom, and businessmen who could make millions of pounds for the kingdom's coffers, and soldiers with terrible weapons that could destroy any enemy. Or so they thought. And the people were sure that things would keep getting better and better.'