The Nightmare Game (21 page)

“I fell,” he said. Raising his voice this time, to make sure that she heard. He had to clench his teeth to stop himself from shaking.
(It was because he was cold. It had to be because he was cold.)

Still no answer.

It was unbearable to think that she'd deserted him, that he was on his own again. He began to shout helplessly, panicking. “Please don't leave me here! Come back! I can't bear it—”

He could hear himself sounding feeble. Pathetic. But what else could he do? She was his only hope of survival.

“Come back,” he yelled again.
“Come back!”

“It's all right,” she said suddenly. Stiffly. She had been there all the time, in exactly the same place. Her voice sounded forced and cold now, but he crawled toward it, scrambling over the rough earth on all fours because he was afraid of falling. Reaching through the darkness with desperate hands, he tried to touch her.

“Where are you?” he called.

“There's—something between us,” she muttered. “But I'll push a blanket through. Hold out your hand.”

He thrust it forward—and grazed his knuckles on a wall of earth and stones. It felt like a malicious trick and he drew his breath in sharply.

“You're in the right place,” she said. “Just move your hand a little to the left.”

She seemed to know exactly where he was. How could she? For a moment he hesitated suspiciously. Then he walked his fingers slowly across the huge barrier in front of him. They came to a space and he pushed his hand into it.

And touched fur.

That was the last thing he was expecting. His fingers plunged into warm, silky fur, richer than anything he'd ever imagined. Clutching it firmly, he pulled it through the gap and it fell around his hands in thick, generous folds.

“Wrap yourself up.” Her voice was brisk now. “Put the fur inside. It's warmer like that and the leather will keep you dry.”

It was a long while since anyone had given him orders. He ran his hands over the fur, trying to work out whether she was right.

“Don't waste time!” she snapped impatiently. “Just
do
it! I can hear how cold you are.”

The fur was big enough to wrap his whole body (what kind of animal was
that
?) and it was already warm, as though she'd been wearing it herself. After a few seconds, he sat back on his heels, feeling his body relax.

But she hadn't finished with him. “You need food, too,” she said roughly. “Hold your hand out again.”

Something else came at him through the gap. It was a thick, sticky slab, as big as the palm of his hand, without any kind of wrapping.

“What is it?” he said warily.

Her reply sounded impatient. “Just eat it. It's what you need.”

YOU CAN'T TRUST FOOD FROM STRANGERS, said his brain. But an instinct older than rules made him push one corner of the slab straight into his mouth. It was a stiff, sweet paste, tasting of currants. It wasn't the kind of thing he would normally eat, but he found himself biting greedily at it, as though he was starving. The stickiness clung to his face and hands and he started to lick his fingers before he remembered how dirty they must be.

“What is this place?” he said.

There was a small sound from the other side of the barrier, like a wry laugh. “You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

“Don't be stupid,” he snapped. “I'm not a child. I insist on being told.”

The only reply to that was another long silence. This time, she was the one to speak first.

“Don't you know who I am?” she said.

How could she be anyone he knew? It was impossible. He was about to point that out when he realized—just in time—that it might be wiser to play along with her. Maybe she'd made a mistake. Maybe she was only helping him because she thought he was someone else.

He answered very carefully, choosing his words. “You sound—familiar,” he said. There was a shred of truth in that. By some odd coincidence, she sounded a little like his wife. Or, rather, as Lee
would
have sounded, if she'd had an ounce of energy and initiative. “I'm afraid I can't quite place your voice. Maybe if I could get through to where you are—”

“You want to come—here?” she said. With an abruptness that he didn't understand.

“I can't survive where I am. No one could live in a tiny space like this.”

“Oh no?” There was another one of her odd laughs.

“But the roof might fall in again,” he said. Trying not to picture the heavy layer of stifling earth above him. “I have to get out of here.”

This time, the pause was so long that he called out again. “Hello? Are you still there?”

“I was thinking.” Suddenly, she was crisp and practical. “You can come through here—on one condition.”

“What's that?” he said quickly.
(What was she after?)

“You must promise to obey my orders.” Her voice was firm and definite now. “If there are two of us, we'll need more food and water. I know how to get them, but it won't be easy. If you don't do exactly what I tell you, you'll put us both in danger.”

That felt like agreeing to walk blindfold along a precipice. He hated losing control of what he did. But there didn't seem to be any other option.

“All . . . right,” he said, slowly and grudgingly.

That wasn't good enough. “You promise? Absolutely?”

He shifted uncomfortably, pulling his blanket tighter. “I promise. What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing yet. Just wait while I make a way through.”

He heard her hands beginning to scrabble at the earth. Scraping away at the barrier between them.

HE WAITED IMPATIENTLY WHILE SHE WIDENED THE GAP. SHE talked as though she could
see
—and that must mean, surely, that it was lighter on her side of the barrier. The light would be dim and shadowy, of course, but he visualized himself bursting through the barrier and out of his pitch-black prison.

When she said, “You can come through now,” he scrambled forward eagerly, expecting her to catch hold of his hand and lead him through. But she didn't make any attempt to touch him. All she did was prompt with her voice.

“You'll have to stand up and squeeze through. Yes, like that. Just take a step to the right and then come forward. But
slowly
. Don't push at the earth.”

He inched between two damp, vertical surfaces, feeling the loose soil drag at his blanket. Because he was waiting to see light ahead, he assumed that he had a long way to go. It was a shock to emerge, quickly, into a space dark as the one he'd left.

“What's happened?” he said. “Where are you?” His arms flailed around, trying to catch hold of her, but she avoided him easily. He could hear the faint sound of her feet on the earth, but he couldn't work out where she was.

“Stop that!” she said sharply. “Stand still and listen to me.”

Her voice was young, but she gave orders as though she was accustomed to being obeyed. (And she still sounded incongruously like a bossy, dynamic Lee. The coincidence—that was all it could be—was disconcerting.) He wouldn't be able to take charge unless he worked out where she was, and seized her. And that was what he had to do. She was his only hope of survival, and he couldn't afford to let her get away.

He stopped where he was, in the middle of what felt like a vast empty space. Pretending to play along with her. “I'm listening,” he said meekly. “What do you want me to do?”

“The first thing you have to do is
keep quiet
,” she said. “If you make too much noise—”

The sound of her voice gave him the clue he needed. With both hands out, he darted forward to grab her. And he almost got it right. She was so near that he felt the warmth of her body in the cold air.

But she dodged away at the last moment. His hands closed on emptiness and he staggered forward, stumbling into some kind of wall. For an instant he heard the sound of her feet again, and then—silence.

She'd gone.

He called out, as loudly as he could. “Where are you? I just stumbled, that's all. Don't play games with me.”

Nothing. No sound at all.

He held his breath until he thought his lungs would burst, listening for any tiny noise, however slight. But there was nothing. He seemed to be completely on his own.

He took a step forward, away from the wall he'd hit, but as soon as he lost contact with it he was swamped by panic. He scrambled back quickly, stumbling in his haste to feel its rough surface against his knuckles. It was the only solid, fixed point in the darkness around him.

For a second he simply stood where he was, feeling its reassuring solidity. Then he began to move again, but this time he followed the wall, running his fingers along the surface. As far as he could tell, he was walking away from the tiny space where he'd found himself at first. He headed into the unknown, trying to keep track of the distance by counting his steps.

But as he reached
thirty,
the ground in front of him seemed to disappear. Just in time, he flung himself backward, grabbing at the earth wall as his feet slid away. He would have slithered straight down what seemed like a precipice if his fingers hadn't clutched at a projecting root.

He hauled himself back and huddled against the wall, with his blanket pulled tight around his body. He didn't mean to stay there. It was only intended as a short pause, until he stopped shivering. While he worked out what to do next.

An hour later, he was still there, unable to make himself move another step.
Focus,
he kept saying inside his head.
Focus, focus.

But it had become a word without meaning.

 

HE HAD NO WAY OF MEASURING EXACTLY HOW LONG SHE LEFT him there. After a time, he slept, because he was exhausted. When he woke, he didn't know whether he'd been asleep for hours or minutes. He drifted into a distracted, semiconscious state.

Then, without warning, her voice spoke suddenly, almost in his ear.

“Have you had enough now?”

And he grabbed at her again. It was an instinctive action, a movement that happened before he could stop. But this time he knew it was a mistake. Even as his arms went out, he was shouting.

“Please don't go! I don't mean it! I can't—”

Then his voice cracked and he realized—shockingly, unthinkably—that he was in danger of bursting into tears. It took his remaining strength to stop and shut down. He froze where he was, kneeling on the earth with his arms held out.

He'd lost her again. She was there somewhere—he could hear her breathing—but he knew now that she was too quick for him to catch. She had the upper hand and there was nothing he could do about it. Because he needed her help.

“I'm sorry,” he said at last. When he trusted himself to speak. “That was stupid.”

He could never have admitted that in the light, to someone he could see. But the dark was different—and so was this unknown person who seemed to know exactly what he was doing, without seeing him. He was beginning to feel as though she knew everything.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered again. “I'm afraid. Don't leave me here.”

“This is the last chance you have.” Her voice was clear and detached but not unkind. “I can take you to get food and more blankets. But only if you do exactly what I say. Otherwise it's too risky.”

“What kind of risk?” he said.

She hesitated. “The food belongs to—other people. The only way we can get it is by stealing it. If we're caught, they'll drive us outside, into the cold, and we'll die.”

He had no trouble believing that last part. His memory of the cold outside was still sharp and real.

“All right,” he said. Understanding that it was the only sensible answer. “I'll let you give the orders.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” he said.

She touched the back of his left hand. When he turned it over to grasp her fingers, she didn't pull them away. “I'll do what I can to help you,” she said. There was still no warmth in her voice, but it was steady and determined.

Pulling him to his feet, she began to move along the tunnel, walking so fast that he quickly lost track of the complicated, twisting route she followed. From time to time his free hand brushed against an earth wall, but there was nothing to distinguish one from another. If she'd let go, he would have been utterly lost, unable to do anything except stand and wait to be rescued.

But she didn't let go. She pulled him on, very fast, and then stopped suddenly, in a space that felt exactly like everywhere else they'd been.

But it wasn't.

“Reach out with your left hand,” she said. “What can you feel?”

His fingertips made contact with something firm and hard. He ran his hand up and down the surface. “A stone wall?”

“We have to get through it.” For the first time, her voice sounded unsteady.

He wondered whether she was afraid of the savages who lived on the other side of the wall. He guessed that they must be wild and uncivilized, but she didn't offer any information about them, and he was afraid to ask questions.

What she said was strictly practical. “The stones we have to move are too big for me to shift, but you're stronger than I am. You can do it—but only when I tell you. You mustn't move
anything
unless I say it's all right. Do you understand?”