Free Death Day by Shaun Hutson Page B

the leash, the dog now excitedly waiting. Gordon winked at her.
        'I don't know how I've put up with you for twenty-five years,' she said, trying not to smile. She could hold it back now longer when he blew her a kiss. Laughing, she led the dog out into the hall. Gordon heard her say, 'Back in a bit,' and then the front door slammed shut.
        He settled down to watch the game.
        
***
        
        As Emma stood on the doorstep, fastening the last toggle of her coat, she shivered. She had not realized just how cold the wind was. Now it lashed her face with icy barbs and felt like a portent of frost or even snow. The sky was clear, the full moon suspended on invisible wires like some huge fluorescent ball. It cast its cold glow over the town, guiding Emma as she walked. The dog tripped along nimbly beside her, its breath forming white clouds in the chill atmosphere.
        Lights burned in most front rooms as she walked down the street, and their muffled glow made the night seem a little less forbidding. The estate on which they lived was clean, populated by families well known to one another, and there was a feeling of belonging which Emma had never encountered before. She and Gordon had lived in Medworth for over twenty years, London before that. Both of them found the solitude and peacefulness of country life a positive lift after the hustle and bustle of the capital. Her parents had both come from around this area, so she herself was no stranger to their ways.
        She had finished work for good when Vera was born. Gordon had had a good job and his wage was more than enough to keep them comfortably. With their own anniversary due on Saturday, just two days away, things looked rosy. They were only having a small get together, family mainly, and a couple of close friends. But what really made the occasion for Emma was the fact that she would be seeing her daughter again after so long. Suddenly she forgot the cold of the night, instead overcome by that familiar warm glow which comes with expectations.
        At the bottom of the street, the road curved sharply away to the right and more houses. Straight ahead lay a large expanse of rough ground and thickly planted trees which locals called The Wasteland. Emma laughed to herself. If old Henry Myers, who owned the land, could hear them, he'd go mad. Myers had a small farm right on the edge of the estate. No livestock, just arable crops like the other small holdings dotted around the outskirts of Medworth. Still, he made a living from it. However, with this particular field, he seemed to have given up. Nothing but stumps of grass and a positive jungle of weeds grew there, the whole thing flanked by a string of cedars. A muddied footpath led to a stile over which one had to climb to get into the field; and it was up this path that Emma led the dog.
        The animal scrambled beneath the rotted obstacle while Emma struggled over the top, nearly slipping off. Sherry was panting excitedly as Emma unhooked her leash.
        'Off you go, girl,' she said, and the dog bounded away into the field, leaping about like a lamb in spring. Emma leant against the stile for a moment watching the dog, then she began to walk around the perimeter of the field.
        The trees crowded in on her from one side, kept back to a certain degree by a high fence of rusty barbed wire. The fence was broken in numerous places, the lengths of wire hanging down in the mud.
        The wind combed through the branches creating a sound which reminded Emma of sheets blowing on a washing fine.
        She jumped back as a low branch, propelled by a gust of wind, snatched at her face. She decided to move further away from the trees, perhaps even to join the dog in the centre of the field.
        There was a loud snap as a branch broke behind her.
        She spun round, her heart thumping. There were scuff marks around the base of the bushes and beneath her lower strands of