the machine in. As the wheels settled on the grass he switched off the engines, unstrapped himself from his seat and climbed out of the aircraft, instinctively ducking his head as the blades slowed above him.
Several feet beneath the grass something stirred; something ancient and malign that sensed a new presence on the island.
In the cellar of the Manse, Eddie Farrant listened to the chopping sound as the helicopter flew over the building. His eyes widened in terror and he buried himself still further under the mildewed sacks that had been his refuge for the past twelve hours. They stank now, and were wet with urine, but this was his sanctuary and Farrant wasn’t moving, despite the hunger pangs gnawing at his stomach. He’d eaten a Mars bar shortly after secreting himself down here, but nothing since.
If he truly believed it was a real helicopter, coming to rescue him, he might have come out of hiding. He might have run all the way up to the roof and stood there waving his arms to attract attention, screaming for help. But he didn’t believe it was real. It was just another trick, another illusion, and he wasn’t going to reveal his hiding place that easily. So he wormed down deeper into the pile of sacks until they covered his head, with just enough of a gap for him to breathe in the rancid air of the cellar.
Before the helicopter there had been nothing to listen to but the screams of the others coming from the rooms above as one by one they were taken. Sounds so wretched and desperate they forced him to clap his hands over his ears to block them out.
Now, as he lay there in his own filth and squalor, his mind drifted back over the past few days, remembering the people with whom he had come to the island — their faces, their idiosyncrasies, snatches of conversation, things they had done to irritate him. They were people he had worked with every day. Some he got on with, some he didn’t, but he had been surprised how different they had all been out of the work environment.
Michael Bennett, Andrew Johnson, Casey Faraday, Sheila Thomas and Jo Madley. He repeated the names over and over in his head like a mantra, hoping the repetition would block out some of the images of horror that were crowding into his mind.
He let his thoughts drift back in time to the day of their arrival when the launch brought them across from the mainland. He’d looked around the small boat at the excited and apprehensive faces of his work colleagues and wondered how he was going to cope living with them all for an extended period of time. Nine to five was one thing, but this was something entirely different.
The launch was piloted by a hulking brute of a man called Scart; ex-SAS, or so he said. He’d introduced himself gruffly and told them he was taking them across because he was being paid for the job and not because he wanted to make friends with them.
‘Right,’ he said, handing out seasickness pills with a barely concealed smile. ‘The crossing’s going to be choppy. Who’s the senior member of staff here?’
Michael Bennett raised his hand.
‘Okay. You’re Group Leader. It’s your responsibility to look after the others.’ He turned to the rest of the group. ‘You all clear about that? Any problems, don’t come whining to me. Tell…’ He glanced back at Bennett. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Bennett. Michael Bennett.’
‘Right. You tell Bennett here first. He’ll then have to decide whether to bring your problems to me.’
‘I really must obje…’ Bennett began, but Scart silenced him with a scowl.
‘As I said, the crossing’s going to be choppy. Some of you will throw up. Inevitable. Just make sure the wind’s behind you, otherwise you’ll get a face full of vomit.’
Casey Faraday’s face turned a pale shade of green in anticipation.
Casey worked with Sheila in Farrant’s department, pushing paper for the most part; a small step above the secretaries who occupied the floor below. Andrew Johnson worked alongside them, but spent most of his time trying to cement his reputation as the office Romeo, spilling lurid tales of bedroom conquests and easy lays. Michael Bennett was Farrant’s supervisor and had his own office at the end of the corridor. Eddie Farrant hated him with a passion, resenting his senior position, knowing he could do Bennett’s job without breaking a sweat, but knowing also that the directors had no intention of letting him try. At least not while Michael Bennett remained with the company. Michael Bennett looked around the small boat at the excited faces of his colleagues and wondered how he was going to cope with leading them over the week. They were such a diverse group, united only by their employment at Waincraft. Why they had all volunteered for the grueling management Outward Bound course he had no idea. He could guess a few reasons.
Johnson would be hoping he could improve his rather sad reputation as the company ladies’ man, and probably had a few moves planned on the three women members of the group. Two of them were married, not that Andrew would find that a barrier, but Bennett thought he knew Casey Faraday and Sheila Thomas well enough to know they wouldn’t fall for Johnson’s oily charm. The new girl, Jo Madley, was different; something about her defiant profile and firm manner told Bennett that maybe Johnson would have met his match if he tried it on her.
It was Jo Madley with whom Johnson was least familiar. She was about his age, blonde and lithe and he fancied her quite badly, but there was something about her self-confident style and brusque manner that told him she was out of his class, but he hadn’t quite ruled himself out of the running. Andrew Johnson, however, was crass enough to make a pass at her on the launch and lived to regret it. Her rebuff was short and acidic and he’d withered in front of their eyes.
Jo Madley had been the first of the group to disappear.
CHAPTER FOUR
The boat couldn’t get as close to shore as Scart intended; the forlorn wooden jetty had crumbled further into the gray sea since his previous visit and he couldn’t maneuver near enough for his passengers to get onto it. They would have to get their feet wet if they intended to get onto Kulsay. Though why anyone would want to stay a single night on the damned island was beyond him. There were enough stories, enough missing people and animals, to ward off all but the most foolhardy. As a mainlander he had had no patience with the crofters at the other end of the island and their ancient beliefs. Not that he hadn’t been as worried as the next man when they all disappeared.
Let them all be blown off into the ocean during the next storm, let the island and its traditions rot and sink into the cold dark water. Now that they were all gone, he regretted thinking ill of his fellow men and women, but he hadn’t changed his mind about the island. He cursed the day he had ever set eyes upon it.
Michael Bennett realized almost straightaway that things wouldn’t go smoothly. Jo and Sheila screamed as the boat bucked on a large swell. It was at that point that Scart told them they would have to jump for it. What that meant in practical terms was leaping about three feet from the boat onto a few clearly rotting planks of wood that were already roughly a foot underwater.
To Bennett’s surprise Eddie wasted no time in jumping from the boat. With equally surprising agility he moved from there onto the jetty itself.
‘Come on, Andrew,’ Eddie shouted. ‘Get your fit young ass up here and help me with the others.’
Andrew, cocky as ever, looked at him with almost oriental scrutiny and then wordlessly leaped onto the submerged planks. He seemed to know straightaway what Eddie intended; a two-man line from the boat to the relative safety of the jetty.
Bennett began to shepherd the others from the boat. The women were light enough to jump cleanly and for Eddie to catch them and maneuver them up to Andrew safely. Whether they would have been so willing if it was Andrew doing the initial grabbing from the boat Bennett doubted.
When they were all on the jetty with their bags, Bennett turned to thank the skipper. He had already turned the boat and was heading back to the mainland without a backwards glance.
At that moment it began to rain, and Bennett’s misgivings began again in earnest.
Kulsay Island in the eighteenth century wasn’t a great deal different from the one visited so disastrously in the twenty-first. There were more trees, and the only buildings a roughly hewn church and the original Manse.
