Free The Hollow Places by Dean Edwards Page B

himself up, stagger around the van. He
stumbled up the bank and sat down in the wild grass, breathing
hard.
    Take a moment,
he told himself. It's always the same. It always feels like this,
but I'm still here.
    He became
aware of trucks thundering by. The world – their world – was
enormous, sprawling, and it would destroy him, because he didn't
fit.
    The vehicles'
momentum, however, reminded him that although it may be impossible
to complete the mission, he should take the opportunity to make up
time. He had to hope that the Third would return as usual,
refreshed and recharged, refocussed and ready. She could do so
before the day was out.
    It would get
better.
    Another
positive was that his headache was gone. He was free to think broad
and deep without questions and disapproval. He could get things
done; his way.
    Knees aching,
he forced himself to his feet and staggered like a much older man
back down to the van. He would have expected it to be rocking from
side to side as the Cat threw herself at the walls, but all was
utterly still, physically and mentally.
    He sought his
connection to the animal, which usually persisted even when the
Third was gone, but there was nothing. He grasped at the familiar
strings, but none of them were connected, neither to the Cat nor
the Dog.
    He put his ear
to the door, but couldn't hear anything above the occasional sound
of engines on the motorway. He didn't have time for this, so he
lowered the lever, paused for a moment with his weight against the
door to judge the Cat's reaction and then, when he thought it was
safe, he pulled the door open. It was only open a crack when the
Cat slammed against it, knocking him to the floor and leaping over
him, landing with hardly a sound, only the clicking of claws on the
tarmac beyond him. Firdy span on the ground so he was lying on his
stomach, face to face with the animal.
    Like the Dog,
its mouth appeared to be a permanent smile.
    “It's okay,”
Firdy said. “Alright.” He got to his knees before the Cat began
backing away.
    He didn't have
long before somebody saw it and called the police or the National
Enquirer.
    Get in the
van, Firdy thought, but the Cat did not respond and so he said it
out loud, enunciating clearly. “Get in the van.”
    The Cat bolted
up the incline and paused at the top, half-hidden against a
background of trees.
    “Don't do
this,” Firdy said.
    It darted over
the summit and beyond the tree line. By the time Firdy had
scrambled back to the top of the hill, she was gone. He couldn't
even tell which direction she had run in. Not without the Third's
help.
    Thinking of
the Third now made him feel queasy. He was going to be in big
trouble for losing the Cat. Keeping her hungry no longer seemed
like such a good idea.
    He had starved
the Dog too. Although he trusted him more than the Cat, there was a
chance, he realised, that he'd be found lying beside Simon's
half-eaten body.
    He called
after the Cat, mentally and vocally, hoping that if he got her back
he could reconnect with her, and then through her reconnect to the
Dog. After a quarter of an hour of trudging through leaves and
branches and vegetation, however, he had to admit that he had no
control over either animal. He barely had control over himself. His
legs were shaking with fear. Everything was falling apart.

Chapter
Fourteen
    The dog kept creeping forward. The rope hissed
against the ground. It was almost impossible for Simon to remain
focused. For a while, he had meditated on the pain in his legs
caused by sitting without moving for so long, but then the pain had
given way to numbness and he turned his attention instead to other
body parts; his rising heartbeat, the ache in his forehead, the
dryness of his throat.
    His head
nodded and he blinked hard to stay awake, recalling for inspiration
Firdy's warning that the rope around the dog's neck was intended to
prevent it running away once it had killed him; it was not intended
to protect him.
    Its ears
pricked