The vodsels’ eyes were wild with fear, and the barbed-wire fence was only waist-high, but their frozen and lacerated legs, weighed down by the added fat and muscle of a month’s regime in the pens, refused to be lifted very far off the frigid ground, and the vodsels looked as if they were engaging in desultory callisthenics against the wire, or ballet warm-ups.
When they saw the Land-rover pull up, they stood transfixed. At the sight of Esswis’s unfamiliar whiskery face poking out of the driver window, however, they got very excited, and began waving and ululating loudly. The cattle, startled by the headlights, were already cantering off into the gloom.
Isserley got out of the car first, and the vodsels stopped their noise abruptly. One of them began to stumble away into the field, the other stooped to pick up a clod of soil, which it threw straight at Isserley. There was so much meat and muscle on the vodsel’s arms and chest by now though, that the swing of its arm was comically impeded, and the clod of earth landed with an impotent ploff on the concrete path.
Esswis took aim and shot first one vodsel and then the other. Obviously what he lacked in driving skills he made up for in marksmanship.
Isserley climbed into the field and found the carcasses. She dragged the nearest one back to the fence and lifted its limbs onto the barbed wire so that Esswis could grab hold of something. The creature that had thrown the clod of earth was distinctively tattooed all over its chest and arms; as she heaved the flesh over the wire to Esswis, she remembered something oddly specific about these tattoos – they were done in Seattle, by a ‘fucking genius’, the vodsel had told her. Isserley had been struck by the word ‘Seattle’. A beautiful word, she’d thought then, and she thought so again now.
Despite their best efforts, the flesh of the vodsel’s back became snarled on the barbed wire, and they grunted with effort as they tried to free it with minimum damage. All the while, blood was leaking copiously onto the concrete path from the blasted head, whose shattered jaw dangled loose like a glibbery hinge of gore.
‘They’ ll clean up fine,’ muttered Esswis stoically.
The other vodsel was lighter, and Isserley almost did herself an injury in her effort to lift its torso over the fence without touching the wire.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Esswis. ‘You may regret it.’ But he strained himself too, reluctant to be shown up by a woman.
It was only when both vodsels were safely in the back of the Land-rover that Isserley and Esswis looked at each other and laughed. Retrieving these animals was a spectacularly messier business than either of them had imagined. A glutinous soup of cow shit was dripping down their clothes and arms, mingled with blood and earth. They even had smears of it on their faces, like military camouflage.
‘Three down,’ said Esswis, opening the passenger door for Isserley with a hint of new respect.
They did another circuit of the farm, finding nothing on the roads. Everything looked unrecognizably different from the previous time, because somewhere on the shore-side of Ablach, unseen below the cliffs, the sun was coming up from the sea. Darkness was evaporating minute by minute, revealing a sky promising to be clear and benign, as if to invite other motorists to take to the roads as early as possible. Sheep and cattle which had moved numberless and invisible all night were materializing into view; some beasts could be seen from a quarter of a mile away.
The last vodsel could easily be such a beast, if it only managed to get to the right place at the right time.
Driving back up the Ablach path, Esswis glanced beyond the fields, and noticed a fishing boat on the firth, drifting close to land. His fists tightened in mortification on the steering wheel; Isserley could guess he was imagining exactly the same thing she’d imagined before: a naked two-legged creature standing on the shore, frantically waving.
‘Maybe we should give you your trip to the seaside now,’ quipped Esswis awkwardly, trying to make light of his concession. And of course, his about-face was less humble than it seemed: if there was nothing to be found at the firth, he could act as if he’d merely indulged her in a waste of valuable time.
‘No,’ said Isserley. ‘I’ve got a feeling. Let’s do one more round of the perimeter.’
‘Your choice,’ he grunted, infuriatingly. The fault was already hers, then, for newspaper headlines that might readMONSTER FOUND BY FISHERMEN.
They drove in silence over Rabbit Hill. The passage of the car’s tyres back and forth over the concrete had dispersed the blood somewhat, diluting it with dirt, scuffing it into the cracks. Still it would need a good rinse, later.
If there was a later.
On the public road between the two Ablach tracks, Isserley leaned forward in her seat, her back crawling with sweat and the prickle of instinct.
‘There!’ she cried, as they crested the hill and barrelled down towards the junction.
In truth, no special powers of observation were needed. The junction was an exposed crucifix of roads, and in the very centre of it stood the vodsel. Its meaty body shone golden-blue in the sunrise, like a garish fibreglass tourist attraction, and, on hearing the vehicle’s approach from behind, it turned stiffly and lifted one arm, pointing sideways towards Tain.
Isserley reared up in her seat in a paroxysm of anticipation, but incredibly, when Esswis reached the junction, he didn’t stop. He just drove straight on, following the border of farmland towards the village of Portmahomack.
‘What are you doing?’ shrieked Isserley.
Esswis shied violently, as if she were clawing at him or trying to wrest his hands from the wheel.
‘There were headlights coming up the road from Tain,’ he growled.
Isserley tried to see, but the junction was already past and the Tain road hidden behind trees.
‘I didn’t see any headlights,’ she protested.
‘They were there.’
‘For God’s sake – how far away?’
‘Close! Close!’ shouted Esswis, bashing the steering wheel with one hand, immediately causing a dangerous swerve.
‘Well, don’t just keep driving,’ Isserley hissed. ‘Go back and have a look!’
Esswis pulled the car in beside Petley’s Farm and executed a three-point turn, except in half a dozen points or more. Isserley sat helpless and frantic in the passenger seat, unable to believe what was happening to her.
‘Hurry up!’ she whined, shaking her inward-turned fists under her chin.
But Esswis seemed to have discovered caution all of a sudden, and drove slowly and carefully back to the junction, stopping just short of it, behind the cover of trees. Through the foliage, they could both clearly see the vodsel, still standing upright and expectant on the asphalt. No evidence of any other vehicle was visible anywhere.
‘There was definitely a car coming,’ insisted Esswis, grimly pedantic. ‘As close as Easter Farm.’
‘Maybe it turned in to Easter Farm,’ suggested Isserley, trying not to scream. ‘It is inhabited, you know.’
‘Still, the odds against—’
‘For God’s sake, Esswis,’ squealed Isserley. ‘What’s wrong with you? He’s right there! Let’s get moving!’
‘How are we going to get him in the car?’
‘Just shoot him.’
‘It’s daylight now, on a crossroads. A car could come along any moment.’
‘So shoot him before a car comes.’
‘Anyone sees us shooting him, or chucking him into the car, and we’re finished. Even a pool of blood would do it.’
‘Anyone picks him up, we’re finished, too.’
They were locked in a grotesque impasse for several seconds, as the sun shone in on them through the filthy windscreen and an almost unbearable stink of shit began to steam off both their bodies. Then Esswis revved the car, launched it with a lurch, and drove up to the crossroads.