Page 244 of These Tears

They’re just breathing. Two, maybe three people. One of them has a rasp in his lungs.

I try to count the turns. Left. Straight. Right. Another right. My brain scrambles for patterns like a dog digging for a bone in the frozen earth. If I survive this, if I get out, maybe I’ll remember enough to lead someone back to Elias.

If I survive this at all.

Oh God…

Anna.

If they found us, they know where she is.

Is she okay?

Elias’ face keeps forcing its way into my mind. His smile in the corridor. I imagine the door bursting open, strangers pouring in with guns or knives or whatever people like Cromwell’s men would bring.

And Elias walking straight into it.

My hands close into fists until the rope bites deeper into my wrists.

The vehicle begins to climb. Tyres grind through slush and snow, the engine labouring through a series of turns until my ears pop with the change of elevation.

Then we stop.

The engine dies, a door opens, and a bone-deep chill floods the car. Boots hit the ground around me before hands pull me out into snow deep enough to drag at my feet.

Someone frees my ankles. Marches me forward. Wooden boards groan beneath my boots before the gag comes off, followed by the bindings at my wrists.

Finally, the hood is ripped from my head.

Low light stabs into my eyes.

When my vision clears, my breath congeals.

Two men stand before me in carved wooden masks: rough animal faces made to look older than they are. The wood is darkened with soot, grooves painted around the mouths, and antlers lashed across the crowns.

Theatrical or not, the too-wide eye sockets turn my blood cold.

‘What do you want from me?’ I ask, voice cracking.

Neither of them answers.

My eyes flit around me and I realise we’re standing on a porch of a small cabin, its door open and showing a room made of rough timber and shadow. A fire crackles inside, its heat only barely reaching us here. Bundles of dried herbs dangle from the ceiling beams, their smell sharp and bitter. A low table stands in the middle. A thermos atop it, enamel mugs and—

A knife laid across a cloth.

My mouth closes with a click.

One of the masked men takes a step towards me, gloved hands slightly raised but not quite reaching. It might be a calming gesture – or it might just be my mind wanting me to believe that.

‘No!’ I snap, taking a step back.

My pulse thunders, every instinct screaming to wait and listen, not to make it worse. But another part of me – the wild, terrified core of my being that has survived an ordeal already – knows I am already in the middle of something that can’t end well.

And Elias isn’t here to stand between me and whatever this is.

But as the cold gust licks over my back, I realise – there’s no one behind me.

I lunge sideways, snatching a piece of wood from the ground, pivoting hard and bringing my arm up in a clumsy arc.