back to our place.”
Abbie’s eyes widened.
“Thanks,” said Cole, “but I think we’ll just walk.”
“You sure?”
Cole nodded.
Vince reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a pencil and scrap of paper. “I’ll give you our number,” he said, scribbling on the paper. “Just call us if you need anything—OK?” He passed the scrap of paper to Cole. “There’s plenty of room at our place if you change your mind. No one’ll bother you.”
Cole slipped the paper in his pocket and thanked him again. Vince gave us a final nod, then glanced over his shoulder, reversed the Land Rover across the road, and sped off down the hill.
Five
T he light was beginning to fade as we headed down the hill toward the village. There wasn’t any real darkness to the sky, just a peculiar absence of light. It felt as if the day was dying but the night had forgotten to come down.
In the valley below us, the village was still empty and dead. We’d watched the Land Rover passing through it and disappearing around the corner at the end of the main street, and once it had gone the world had seemed to stop moving again. The gypsy camp was lifeless. The gas station was still. I wasn’t even sure that we were moving. I knew we were—I could hear our footsteps. But even they were shrouded in stillness.
Sound, silence, light, dark…there was something about this place that deadened everything.
“What do you think?” Cole said eventually.
“About what?”
“Anything.”
“I don’t know,” I told him. “I think there’s some thing weird going on, but I don’t know what it is.”
“What about Abbie?” he asked.
“She’s frightened. She doesn’t like us being here. I think she feels guilty about something.”
“Rachel?”
“Maybe…I don’t know.”
“She didn’t mention the raincoat.”
“No,” I agreed.
“What d’you think of her husband?”
“What do you think?”
Cole shrugged. “I don’t trust him. Don’t like him, either…not that it matters.”
He lit a cigarette and we continued walking in silence.
As we approached the filling station, I looked over at the gasoline tanker parked by the pumps. It was an old rigid-chassis Bedford from the 1970s, similar to one that Dad used to keep at the yard—small and squat, four wheels at the back, two at the front, laddered steps leading up to the cab. The man in the blue overalls was still struggling with the fuel hose, but the group of men had stopped watching him now—they were watching us instead. There were four of them: a couple of metalheads, a crazyeyed guy about eight feet tall, and a skinny little man in a ratty red suit.
“Keep walking,” Cole said to me.
“What?”
“Just keep walking and don’t look at them.”
I did as he said, trying not to think about them, looking straight ahead—but I could still feel their eyes on us. They were the kind of eyes you can never get away from: redneck eyes, hillbilly eyes, Neanderthal eyes. Humanimal eyes.
“What are they doing?” I asked Cole.
“Nothing…just watching. Don’t worry about it.” He touched my arm. “What do you know about gas tankers?”
“What?”
“I was just wondering what that old tanker’s doing over there. It’s not delivering…the place is all closed up. It must be siphoning the tanks, I suppose. What do you reckon?”
“I know what you’re trying to do, Cole,” I said.
“I’m not trying to do anything—”
“Yeah, you are. You’re trying to take my mind off those freaks at the gas station.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it working?”
“Not really.” I glanced up. “You know they’re coming over to us?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”
“No.”
The four men were crossing the road now, heading straight for us—Red Suit in front, the other three in a line behind him. Cole touched my arm again and we both stopped walking. I knew I shouldn’t stare—it was the worst thing I
Abbie’s eyes widened.
“Thanks,” said Cole, “but I think we’ll just walk.”
“You sure?”
Cole nodded.
Vince reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a pencil and scrap of paper. “I’ll give you our number,” he said, scribbling on the paper. “Just call us if you need anything—OK?” He passed the scrap of paper to Cole. “There’s plenty of room at our place if you change your mind. No one’ll bother you.”
Cole slipped the paper in his pocket and thanked him again. Vince gave us a final nod, then glanced over his shoulder, reversed the Land Rover across the road, and sped off down the hill.
Five
T he light was beginning to fade as we headed down the hill toward the village. There wasn’t any real darkness to the sky, just a peculiar absence of light. It felt as if the day was dying but the night had forgotten to come down.
In the valley below us, the village was still empty and dead. We’d watched the Land Rover passing through it and disappearing around the corner at the end of the main street, and once it had gone the world had seemed to stop moving again. The gypsy camp was lifeless. The gas station was still. I wasn’t even sure that we were moving. I knew we were—I could hear our footsteps. But even they were shrouded in stillness.
Sound, silence, light, dark…there was something about this place that deadened everything.
“What do you think?” Cole said eventually.
“About what?”
“Anything.”
“I don’t know,” I told him. “I think there’s some thing weird going on, but I don’t know what it is.”
“What about Abbie?” he asked.
“She’s frightened. She doesn’t like us being here. I think she feels guilty about something.”
“Rachel?”
“Maybe…I don’t know.”
“She didn’t mention the raincoat.”
“No,” I agreed.
“What d’you think of her husband?”
“What do you think?”
Cole shrugged. “I don’t trust him. Don’t like him, either…not that it matters.”
He lit a cigarette and we continued walking in silence.
As we approached the filling station, I looked over at the gasoline tanker parked by the pumps. It was an old rigid-chassis Bedford from the 1970s, similar to one that Dad used to keep at the yard—small and squat, four wheels at the back, two at the front, laddered steps leading up to the cab. The man in the blue overalls was still struggling with the fuel hose, but the group of men had stopped watching him now—they were watching us instead. There were four of them: a couple of metalheads, a crazyeyed guy about eight feet tall, and a skinny little man in a ratty red suit.
“Keep walking,” Cole said to me.
“What?”
“Just keep walking and don’t look at them.”
I did as he said, trying not to think about them, looking straight ahead—but I could still feel their eyes on us. They were the kind of eyes you can never get away from: redneck eyes, hillbilly eyes, Neanderthal eyes. Humanimal eyes.
“What are they doing?” I asked Cole.
“Nothing…just watching. Don’t worry about it.” He touched my arm. “What do you know about gas tankers?”
“What?”
“I was just wondering what that old tanker’s doing over there. It’s not delivering…the place is all closed up. It must be siphoning the tanks, I suppose. What do you reckon?”
“I know what you’re trying to do, Cole,” I said.
“I’m not trying to do anything—”
“Yeah, you are. You’re trying to take my mind off those freaks at the gas station.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it working?”
“Not really.” I glanced up. “You know they’re coming over to us?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”
“No.”
The four men were crossing the road now, heading straight for us—Red Suit in front, the other three in a line behind him. Cole touched my arm again and we both stopped walking. I knew I shouldn’t stare—it was the worst thing I
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