Claire looked at him. He saw the merest sliver of a smile. Then she raised herself to her knees and crawled across the path and into the trees on the other side — i.e. in the vague direction of the shot.
Jimmy had expected nothing less. He followed a moment later.
They moved forward as quietly as they could — but in the almost absolute silence of the woods it was difficult not to make a noise. If there were birds in the trees they were watching, not singing. There was no breeze to produce the aching sound of swaying branches.
They had progressed about a hundred metres when they heard it: soft, yet unmistakable. Somebody was singing. A man's voice. Light, melodic. A hymn.
It drifted eerily through the trees. It was so out of place. Jimmy and Claire exchanged glances before advancing again. Perhaps only ten or twelve metres further on they came to the edge of a clearing and stopped behind the cover of a small clutch of low ferns. Ahead of them they saw a man in a long black coat and black, wide-brimmed hat, with a rifle in his hand. He was crouching over something, and singing to himself. Jimmy thought at first that it was indeed a hunter, examining the animal he'd killed, and was on the point of rising to ask for directions when the man moved a little to the side, affording them their first proper view of his kill.
Of the dead man.
Of wide, staring eyes.
Of a gaping, bloody hole in his chest.
Of the man in black searching his pockets.
And singing, singing that hymn.
The man in black moved around to the other side of the corpse, and now they saw that he was wearing a minister's collar around his neck. His face was pure white and dominated by a long, thin nose. He reminded Jimmy of the austere seventeenth century Puritans he'd been forced to learn about in school.
Claire squeezed Jimmy's arm. She indicated with her eyes that they should back away. Jimmy nodded.
But immediately his foot found a twig and it snapped with surprising volume.
Instantaneously the minister's eyes shot up. Their heads were already pressed hard into the mossy forest floor as he scanned along the trees. He rose from his crouching position and raised his rifle. He was about twenty metres away from them. Slowly he moved the rifle from left to right — one long, bony finger curled around the trigger.
He began to move in their direction.
Claire's nails dug into Jimmy's arm.
He was coming, slowly, but coming.
Wait and hope he stopped, or make a run for it?
Jimmy wasn't going to lie there and wait for him. This minister had already killed one man — there was nothing to stop him shooting them either. He looked at Claire. She nodded.
He mouthed — 'One, two . . .' They sprang up on three and sprinted back the way they'd come. At first there was only the soft pad of their feet on the forest floor . . . until the first shot shattered a branch centimetres from Claire's head. She let out a scream, but didn't miss a step.
A second and third shot rang out just as they came to the diverging paths. The third smashed into a tree to Jimmy's right and a wood splinter sliced along his cheek; Jimmy charged along the path that veered slightly to the left. A fourth shot cracked out further to the right and there was another scream from Claire — but further away.
She'd taken the other path!
But which one was the minister—?
A branch exploded to Jimmy's right. He tumbled to the ground, rolled, sprang back up and kept running. He had his answer.
But did that mean Claire was safe . . . or was she already dead?
Or lying wounded and the minister was going to kill Jimmy first before going back to finish her off?
Either way, there was nothing he could do!
Just keep running!
It was then that the minister's high pitched, whiny voice rang out. 'I see you, boy! I'm coming for you, boy!'
7
Wounded
It was the pain that woke her. Claire opened her eyes in the darkness and instinctively tried to rub some ease into her arm. She immediately let out a yelp. What had she done to it... ? Come to that, where was she? Why was she so cold and damp . . . ? Who switched off the lights? She felt around her with her good hand — soft . . . twigs . . . a reassuring smell of pine — the forest! She tried to tidy her jumbled thoughts together — The last thing . . . the last thing I remember... oh, my God . . . the minister. . . !
I'm shot, I've been shot!
Adrenaline coursed through her veins.
She desperately tried to catch her breath.
No . . . wait. . . wait . . . calm . . . don't panic . . . I'm alive . . . I'm still alive . . .
Claire carefully turned her injured arm so that she could see her watch, and pressed a button on the side to illuminate the face . . .
Six o'clock!
They'd been hurrying to meet the boat for four o'clock!
They were two hours late!
They . . .
Jimmy!
She remembered now! The gunshot, the incredible pain in her arm and then stumbling off the path and running as hard as she could. Then she'd fallen and didn't have the strength to get up again. She'd heard the minister calling out to Jimmy and then more gunshots.
A terrible feeling of dread swept over her.
Jimmy's dead!
Her best friend in the whole world — even though she'd hated him — was dead.
She immediately followed that with: No, I don't know that! Not for sure. Jimmy's a survivor, he'll find a way to survive. He's probably back on the ship already, writing up the story for the paper.
He probably hasn't given me a second thought.
Nobody has.
They think I'm dead! They've sailed on!
No! They're looking for me .. . they MUST be looking for me — but if Jimmy's dead . . . how will they know where to look?
Claire peered into the darkness — but there was nothing to see. If the minister was still out there then he could surely no more see her than she could see him.
She gingerly touched her arm again, and the pain of it caused her to momentarily black out. Her head fell back and cracked on the trunk of a tree. It was enough of a shock to jolt her back to consciousness.
This isn't good . . . this isn't good . . .
Oh my, oh my, oh my — I've been left behind! Jimmy's dead! I'm going to die! Small furry animals are going to find my body and eat me! Help! Help! Helllll—
No! Get a grip!
Calm down . . . calmer. . . think sensibly . . . If I was going to die, I wouldn't have woken up. I'm OK — for now . . . but if the minister doesn't find me, then I'll probably bleed to death. I have to get out of here . . .
She took several long, deep breaths to steady herself, but they just made her feel woozy. She rested her head more carefully back against the tree. Her eyes were drawn upwards — it was dark on the forest floor but there was still some light up there above the trees.