Killing Woods (22 page)

52

Damon

I
'm going to kill him.

And I have to, don't I? After what I saw . . . after what he did. But he's shouting something. About how we're brothers, how we look after each other, how we don't tell no secrets. He's saying it wasn't his fault.

‘We got each other's backs!' he yells. ‘Always! I didn't do nothing!'

He's not going to have a chance to tell nothing more. Because I'm stopping his voice, stopping his air. Stopping
him
. I hear Emily's footsteps above, racing away.

I press my hands round his neck. ‘How hard do I push?' I ask him.

His eyes go wide.

‘Yeah,' I say. ‘I saw it all
mate.'
I say the last word like I'm mocking him. ‘I saw those films you made.'

And I'm thinking of Ashlee falling down. About how Mack laughed.

‘What were you playing at?' I shout.

I need answers. Need to hurt him. I don't know which I need most.

‘She wanted it,' he's saying. ‘I swear!'

‘Why would she want that . . .?'

Words catch in my throat. I'm thinking something else –
remembering.
Ashlee had placed my hands on her that night. I'd felt her neck between my fingers, her pulse. I remember her daring me.

I twist away and Mack slams me to the side of the head.

‘Get a grip!' he shouts. ‘It was Shepherd, OK –
him
! You know this! I would never have hurt Ashlee . . . not intentionally, not . . .'

His voice is shaky, unable to finish.

I'm stumbling across the bunker, seeing flashes of light from where Mack's just punched me.

‘You don't know shit!' Mack's saying. ‘You don't know what I did with Ashlee, what it meant.'

My stomach clenches. Mack and Ashlee kept secrets. Ashlee did things with Mack she didn't do with me. Mack's just admitted it.

I glare at him nasty. ‘You chased Ashlee! You chased her and then you . . .'

‘No,' Mack says. ‘You don't understand!'

Something's coming together, though. It's so big and
terrible, it hits me like a tsunami. I don't want to face it, because I know that soon as I do, there's no going back. There's nothing! It's just the getting flattened, the drowning. The blackness and emptiness of knowing that . . .

‘You killed her!' I scream. ‘It was you!
You
!'

I feel my jaw and my throat tense. There's streaks of pain shooting through me. But I grab Mack and push him so hard he makes a thudding noise against the bunker wall.

‘You!' I shout. ‘You wrapped your fingers around her. You squeezed.'

And he made me believe it was Shepherd, all this time! I think of Emily running hard to the police station – I want her to get there faster.

I push Mack again. His arm splays out towards the candles, scatters them – I see sparks of light in the air. I hear the lamp smash. But I can't stop. Not until I know why. Not until I hurt him as much as he hurt her.

‘What were you doing?'

He's moving his head sideways, much as I'll let him, he can hardly get words out. ‘A different game,' he gasps.

I've got my fingers round his neck, and I'm squeezing 'til I see red lines through his eyeballs, 'til his look goes kind of vacant. Did he see that in Ashlee's eyes too, that night? Did he keep going anyway? I'm shaking so much I don't know how hard I'm pressing. But I'm seeing his big dirty hands all over her, and I'm hearing his wide mouth laughing as she fell . . . and I don't want to listen to his excuses. Don't even want to look at him. I just want to squeeze, do it hard.

‘I saw it all!' I yell again.

I just want him hurt. And I still have Ashlee's collar in my pocket. I could wrap this around Mack's neck and draw it up tighter than I ever done before, 'til he coughs and gasps. And maybe that would be right.

‘Not brothers any more,' I say.

53

Emily

I
'm running – stumbling – heading for the track to my house. When I get there I'll keep going, all the way to the police. I hold the phone tightly in my hand. I can still hear them shouting in the bunker behind me, fighting. Damon is yelling and yelling. If this phone even works, I should stop and use it to call the police. The ambulance too. Because, from these sounds I can hear back there, it's like Damon and Mack are going to kill each other. I hear a huge shout, then a smash like the lamp's gone over. I'm breathing hard when I slow up and lean against a tree. I'm not sure I can leave, not with all that.

I look at how scratched and dirty this phone is, wonder where Damon found it. What did he see on it to make him
so mad?

My hands are shaking, but I've got to do it. I can't leave until I know. So I start pressing at the phone, my fingers fumbling. There are so many films here, though. Which one was Damon meaning when he was shouting at Mack? I click on the last one, press to make it play. The film starts dark and jolty, I can make out trees. A camera flash goes on and it turns the branches white and brittle. There's black sky. I can't tell much else. But there are voices, somewhere off-screen. Laughter. Rain? Definitely wind – I hear that battering, whooshing sound against the speakers.

What's going on?

Then I hear it – Ashlee's voice. She's speaking in a high-pitched and singsong way; she's on this film.

‘Seven seconds!' she's saying. Least that's what I think she says. ‘Let's go, baby!'

There's another voice in the background too, I can only just make it out. A boy's? It's low and murmuring. A high-pitched laugh makes me jump – Ashlee's. It's as if she's here, right next to me in this wood, she sounds that close.

‘Damon's passed out again,' she says. ‘He didn't want to play anyway . . .'

What's she on about?

The image blurs as the phone moves again. I breathe in hard. Now it's Ashlee's face on the screen – it's real and close and so alive, her eyes are shining like an animal's. This time she's speaking directly to the camera.

‘Fairyland!' she's saying. ‘There's only one person left to take me.' She leans so close to the camera that all I can
see is her lips, perfect and plump. ‘You,' she whispers.

It's like she's talking directly to me, that's how it feels. I press my head against the tree trunk and look up at branches, I send my breath up to the leaves in puffs. In this film Ashlee is wearing green – the same shade as she was wearing the night she died. There's something around her neck. My stomach twists. Something horrible is on this film and I'm about to watch it. I'm about to see what made Damon mad enough to get so angry with Mack. I don't know if I want to. But I have to know the truth. And this was filmed that night. Wasn't it? It
has
to have been. So I wrench my eyes back. Because this is important, it's the missing piece. It could be.

On the screen, Ashlee's mouth pulls back into a smile. I watch her mouth words at the person behind the camera.

‘Take me,' she says. ‘Dare you!'

The image jolts. I see trees flash past, blurred bodies: two of them.

‘I can't hold this
and
do it too!'

That voice is different. Louder. Excited. I know that voice.

Mack's.

He was the one filming this. He was there with Ashlee.

There's a dull thudding sound like something being kicked. Then the camera goes black, like it's being held against clothing.

‘He's not coming round any time soon.' Mack's voice, muffled.

‘Useless!' That's Ashlee. ‘Serves Damon right for . . .'
And I don't catch that bit, but she's laughing and laughing. The camera moves again. ‘Come on, do you want my collar or not? Game's not over yet.'

I hear footsteps. The camera moving in a rhythm, pointing down towards the ground. They're walking. I see dirt and leaves and fallen twigs. My mouth is full of something foul-tasting, water I can't swallow. I don't want to keep watching this – don't want to see what's coming next. But I won't turn it off.

‘Hold the phone in your mouth, Mack!' Ashlee's voice, loud. ‘When you do it . . . I want to see my face when I—'

And they've stopped now.

‘How?'

‘Bite the case in your teeth – you know how!'

‘Fine!'

I hear wind whooshing, a loud rumble – thunder? Then the image goes close up on Ashlee's face, on her neck too.

‘Are we making a deal?' she says.

Her fingers are unbuckling whatever it is that's fastened around her neck, the thing I'd caught a glimpse of before. It's some sort of collar I think, like something you'd put on a dog. It's pink. There's a mumbling sound – Mack saying something, trying to, but maybe the camera is in his mouth now like Ashlee suggested.

The image jolts again and I see two hands – Mack's? They stretch into the shot and wrap around Ashlee's neck. Just like that. She doesn't stop him. She even smiles a little.

‘Fairyland,' she says, nodding.

I breathe deep, force myself to keep my eyes on this. I don't understand it. Why is Ashlee letting him do this? Why isn't she struggling? Trying to get away? I want to shout at her – warn her – I want to jump into this film and grab Mack's hands. I want this to stop! Because it looks like Mack is squeezing her neck, and he's doing it harder. And harder. Ashlee's breathing is changing, getting more laboured and rattly, like there's fluid stuck in her throat. Her face is flushing red, her eyes going distant.

‘Stop,' I whisper. ‘Please.'

Mack is squeezing so hard that Ashlee's eyes roll back. But still, Mack keeps his hands there. Keeps squeezing. I want to scream. Want to do something! But what can I do now? Ashlee's eyes flicker. Shut. I'm gripping the phone so hard I'm scared it's going to break. And still Mack keeps going. Ashlee starts to fall. Her head tips forwards towards the camera and the image jerks. It goes black. My lungs go tight. I wait.

What's happened?

Then the image is moving again, pointing at trees and clothes, there's that rustling sound of things touching the speaker. And then . . . Ashlee's face. Her eyes are closed, and her head is lying back on the forest floor. I stare. Is she dead? Is this how it happened? Did Mack just do it, like that? So calmly? Like it was just a game? Why didn't she struggle?

The image goes black again, fast, like Mack's dropped the phone.

‘You did it!' I hear him saying, over and over. ‘How was it, baby?' The image stays on black. ‘Ash?' I hear. ‘Ashlee?'

There are more rustling sounds against the speaker.

Still black.

‘C'mon, Ash, you coming round?'

I can hear him shaking her – I think this is what those noises must be – I can hear him starting to sound more desperate too as he calls her name. There's the sound of the wind. Rain. Mack's breathing, loud.

Then even those noises stop. I tap the screen, try to make the film keep going. But it's finished. The end. I shut my eyes up tight, make myself breathe.

I should be racing for the police station, should be doing anything other than just sitting here. But I think I'm starting to understand something. Already my fingers are moving to open up the next film back, and I'm starting to watch it. And I'm listening out for the noises in the bunker behind me.

54

Damon

S
omeone is shouting at me. Grabbing my arm. ‘You have to stop!'

Emily? She's back? She's pulling me. And there's a different noise too, like crackling. A heat.

‘Stop!'

I let her wrench me away.

Mack's cowering on the floor. His eyes are shutting like he's going unconscious. I did that? But he's moving –
just –
I think he is. My face feels sticky, hot. I put my hand up to it and find something dark. Red. Blood? It's everywhere. Where from? Emily tries to turn me.

‘We have to get out!'

She's dragging me – trying to – but I won't let her pull
me away from him, not entirely, because I ain't finished yet . . . I can't have. He's still got some movement in him.

‘Fire!' Emily yells. ‘There's flames!'

I see it then, behind her: flames where the lamp has fallen over. They've caught on the pile of wood in the corner, they're moving up Shepherd's chest of drawers. It's not a big fire, not yet, but it might not take long.

‘Come on!'

I let her drag me. And somehow I make my hands into a step so I can get Emily out of the entrance hole first. Because even when I don't know what's going on, I know she's done something for me . . . stopped something. I know it's not fair for her to get trapped here too. But as I'm coming up after her, she's leaning down and she's still shouting at me.

‘Mack! Get Mack! You can't leave him!'

I look back and he's still there, still half-unconscious. It won't be long before the fire is right beside him, smothering him, making him choke. I want to let it. I want to let him suffer for what he did to Ashlee . . . for being a liar and not a brother at all. But I can't, can I? Even now I can't do that. And Emily is screaming something else.

‘It was an accident! A game! You can't leave him!'

And I don't know whether she means about the fire starting, or Ashlee's death, or all of this mess. But I'm remembering what Ashlee wanted me to do to her that night.

‘Try it,' she'd said. ‘A new sort of Game.'

Could Emily be right?

So, I return to him. Somehow I pull him up and get him half-draped across my shoulders; blood from his nose smears across my neck, stains my old man's combat shirt. He comes to a little, starts using his legs. He's murmuring at me, I can't make any sense of it, I think he's trying to explain.

I push him towards Emily through the bunker entrance and she's dragging him outside. But the fire's bigger now, and I'm starting to cough, and it's all I can do to struggle up after him. I lie on the forest floor with smoke circling from below.

‘We have to close it.' Emily's crawling away from Mack and pulling at the bunker lid. She's got her mouth pressed against her shoulder, trying not to breathe in.

I feel too weak to lift anything else, but somehow we do it together and shut the lid with a thud. We shut the smoke inside. Then I'm going back to Mack because I'm making sure he doesn't run and I don't know whether I want to hurt him some more or do something else. But he's not going anywhere. His eyes are red and sore-looking and wet. Wet? I ain't ever seen Mack cry, not in all the time I've known him. But now he presses his head into the forest floor, away from me, and I see his spine curl and shake. I lay my hand against it, more to keep him here than anything, more so he doesn't run. He reaches up and grabs my arm, just below where my elbow is, grips me tight.

‘Sorry,' he's murmuring, over and over, ‘I never meant
to . . . neither of us did . . . it was just a . . . we were just trying to get . . .' His words don't make no sense, but something in me understands them. Whatever he did with Ashlee was something that went wrong, that went too far.

‘You've got to believe me, mate,' he whimpers.

He's begging and murmuring and coughing and apologising and gripping hard at my arm. I lean my head close to hear.

‘Brothers,' he's saying, ‘. . . still brothers. Never meant to . . . not hurt . . . not Ashlee . . .'

And I think my eyes might be wet too.