The Buried Circle - Jenni Mills [148]
‘I didn’t bring it.’
‘And mine’s out of battery, so we’d never have been able to phone the police anyway, would we? Hold on, this is where we go off-road.’
How the white Transit negotiated the rutted track is beyond me. I’m amazed we haven’t yet come across its ripped-off exhaust. The Land Rover bounces and jolts, throwing me against Ed. He’s turned off the lights again: darkness has fallen now, but a bright three-quarter moon has lifted over the horizon, making it easy to see where we’re going. The track runs straight across a sloping field, then climbs steeply before skirting the summit of the hill.
‘I’m pretty sure there’s a barrow up there,’ says Ed. ‘Might not be the one they’re after, of course.’
I’m studying the map, with a slender Maglite from the glove compartment. ‘Barrows all over the place. D’you have to go so fast? We’ll catch them up if we’re not careful.’
We top the crest and begin the descent into a valley. On the other side, the headlights of the Transit are crawling up another rise. Ed slows to a standstill, and switches off the engine while I check the map again.
‘That’s Easton Down. A long barrow’s marked, and a couple of tumuli.’
Across the valley, the lights of the Transit wink out.
‘Where are they?’ I say uneasily. No sound reaches us from the other side of the valley.
‘They’ve stopped. I know exactly where they are–pilot instinct. Give ‘em a few minutes to sort themselves out, then we can risk creeping closer…’ Towards the top of the rise, torchbeams bob and weave, too far away to make any sense of what’s happening. Several minutes pass. Then the torches disappear over the starlit brow of the hill.
‘Right.’ Ed turns the key in the ignition. ‘We’ll take the Land Rover to the bottom, then walk from there.’ He edges the vehicle down the track and across the valley floor. ‘Maybe we could risk driving a little further…’ He revs as the slope suddenly steepens. ‘How the hell did they get that old heap up this?’ We shoot forward as the track levels. ‘I’ll park before we get too close–oops.’
The white Transit looms out of the darkness in front, a matter of metres away.
‘I thought you said you knew exactly where it was.’
‘Sorry. I’m better at this in the air.’ He turns off the engine. The sudden silence beats at our eardrums. The same thought strikes both of us simultaneously.
‘How far away do you think they are?’ I ask, in a low voice. ‘Within hearing distance?’
‘Only one way to find out.’ He opens the driver’s door and the overhead light comes on. ‘Shit. Not very good at this, are we? Still, with luck, they’ll be–’
The clang on the side of the Land Rover makes me jump. Ed, halfway out of the door, suddenly folds up. A furious Bristolian voice snarls, ‘What the flick you think yur doin’, my cocker?’
Oh, Lord.
My door is wrenched open, and somebody grabs my sleeve and hauls me out. A torchbeam blinds me.
‘Bugrit, Pete.’ The occasion calls for something stronger than crikey. ‘Issa girl.’ White-hot scars of light burn themselves into my retina as he waves the torch across my face, and drags me round the bonnet. When my vision clears, Ed’s on the ground in front of me, hands clasped to his midriff. Pete, the Man In Black, is standing over him, hefting a metal detector with both hands.
‘Doggers, probable.’ Pete waves the metal detector menacingly over Ed. Christ, he didn’t hit him with that, did he? He’ll have cracked a rib at least. ‘Durrty doggers. Followed us thinking they was followin’ a courtin’ couple they could spy on. Be disappointed tonight.’ He kicks Ed in the leg an inch or two above the knee, and Ed lets out a tight, hissy little noise. My heart’s pounding: this ought to have been funny, but these guys aren’t amusing at all: up close, they’re pathetic but scary at the same time.
Pete’s drawing back his leg for another kick, aiming higher up the thigh.
‘No,’ I say. ‘Can’t you stop him, Karl?’
‘Eh?’ Karl releases my arm in surprise. ‘Pete, she knows our names’.
Pete stares, foot drawn back for the next kick and something dangerous