The Buried Circle - Jenni Mills [205]
You must know. Your mum’s shaggin one of the boys running it. Where’re they hidin’ out, Ind?
I can’t…
Want me to tell John what she’s up to?
They’re the other side of the Ridgeway A skanky old cottage behind some trees…
Mum knew it must have been me. That without me the men with the sledgehammers and shotguns would never have come to Tolemac. I’m bad luck, I’m widdershins, I’m not safe to be near. I’m the destroyer, wrapped in thunder.
On thy belly thou shalt go
The huge force of the helicopter’s downdraught blowing around us, somewhere behind the megalith, a half-sawn strand of honeysuckle parts, the stone jerks forward, heaving against its bonds, coming alive, another rope snaps, a peg lifts from the earth, the stone twists and topples and Keir starts to roll across the floor of the pit, panic in his eyes, scrabbling on hands and knees to claw himself out of its way, too late, it’s coming for him, he’ll never do it…
I reach out my bound hands for him to grab and somehow get a grip on his wrist, and heave, pull as strongly as I can, but it’s not enough and I’m losing my balance and falling backwards, trying to haul us both out of the path of the stone and someone’s shouting (me?) and another voice is screaming (him?) while the thunder rolls over us and the vortex has caught us, spinning, whirling–
Then a terrible ground-shaking impact throws us out into silence.
Above the dark line of the henge bank, the northern sky is still doing that strange electric-blue rippling. Something presses against my hip: the phone in my pocket. Except this is Avebury. No sodding signal, is there?
I’d give anything to see a lantern among the stones: be-antlered Trevor and his beaming wife Michelle, conducting a midsummer ritual. I wouldn’t even mind if they were sky-clad. But there’s nothing, not so much as car headlights on the main road.
The sound of helicopter rotors is fading in the distance, almost indistinguishable now from the wind in the trees. Under my hands, a finger trembles.
‘Ind?’ A croak, so low I can hardly hear it. ‘Hurts.’
He’s lying full length, in the shadow of the stone, which has toppled halfway into the pit. Too dark to see how much of him is under it.
‘Can you move at all?’
His shoulders heave. His other hand is digging into my leg. He makes a noise somewhere between a sob and a scream.
‘Fffff…’
I can’t make out what he’s saying.
‘Fffffoot…caught.’
‘Only your foot?’
‘Hard to tell. Whole leg’s on fire.’ His eyes plead. ‘Don’t leave me.’
‘Keir, I have to go for help, OK? I have to leave you. Sorry, can you let go my leg?’
His fingers slacken and I ease upright, wincing at the sharpness of the ground underfoot. For whatever reason, Keir must have removed my shoes before he carried me out of the cottage. I shuffle backwards, looking for the hunting knife. It’s landed against one of the small sarsens Keir had arranged in an oval ring round me. I manage to wedge it, blade uppermost, between two of the stones, so I can saw the honeysuckle cord against it. There is one way I could make use of the phone…As soon as the strands part, I shake it out of my pocket and flip it open to shed some light, crawling over to Keir and running it along the length of his body. Thank Goddess, only the foot is caught under a corner of the stone, but I catch a glimpse of something jagged and white, and a dark stain is spreading up the leg of his jeans. I shut down the screen quickly, feeling sick.
‘I’m going now, right? Back as soon as I can.’
No reply. Perhaps he’s lost consciousness.
My toe stubs against one of the small sarsens, sending jolts of pain up my jangled nerves. A small, wicked voice tells me I could lift it and smash it down on his head…or the knife, the sharp, gleaming…
But rage has faded. Whatever possessed me has gone. Someone else will have to deal with the confused, damaged child under the stone.
I heave myself out of the stone pit, and set out across the damp grass, barefoot. Immediately the soles of my feet start to burn: a patch of nettles. I start to jog on rubbery legs towards the back