layers of clothing as they could comfortably get on. She took off her coat and a sweatshirt, already struggling with the cold, then slowly started to undo the buttons on her shirt. Ainsworth couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Are you ready for that drink now?” she asked.
“Sure … thanks…”
Lorna moved forward and kissed him again, a gentle peck on his unshaven cheek this time. He felt her breasts brush against him and he thought he might be about to pass out from the sudden strength of the previously supressed emotions which washed over him. She turned her back on him and bent over. Was she being deliberately provocative for his benefit? He studied the curves of her body, buried for so long under all those layers. She reached down into a narrow gap between two work units where she and Caron had stashed several bottles of drink earlier in the week.
“Hope you like red,” she said.
“I’m not bothered,” Ainsworth replied quickly, a definite and unexpected vulnerability evident in his voice. Lorna wrapped the fingers of her outstretched hand around the neck of the closest bottle and gripped it tight.
Moving with sudden, unexpected speed, she stood up, swung around, and smacked him across the face. Ainsworth fell at her feet. She looked down at him sprawled out over the floor, and nudged him with her foot. Nothing. Whether she’d just knocked him out or killed him, she didn’t have time to care. She took his keys, locked him in the kitchen, then disappeared back out into the shadows.
40
Harte, who’d been waiting just outside the unguarded caravan for Lorna to return, saw that she was running back toward him. He immediately opened the door and began to usher the other people who’d been in there over to the truck. There was another seven of them crammed in there. Five emerged immediately and without question: Bob, Zoe, Phil Kent, Charlie Moorehouse, and Driver, quickly followed by young Aiden, holding on to Sue’s hand as they ran together across the gravel courtyard.
“There’s room for a couple of you up front with me,” Harry hissed at them as they reached the truck.
“Are they going to be all right in there?” Harte asked, watching as the last of them disappeared into the back.
“They’re going to have to be.”
“There are more people up in one of the other caravans,” Lorna explained. “I’m going to get them out.”
“I’ll go with her,” Harte told him. “Michael’s waiting up by the gate. He’ll open it as soon as you start the engine.”
* * *
Michael std by the gate, squinting into the gloom, trying to make sense of everything he couldn’t see. He pressed himself up against the wall, doing all he could to melt into the shadows. Once he was satisfied the coast was clear, he reached up and ran his hands across the heavy wooden barrier until he found the crossbar Harte had told him about. It didn’t seem to be secured at all—just resting in a pair of metal brackets, one at either end. After checking again that he wasn’t being watched, he lifted it up and moved it away. He then grabbed one of the ropes on either side of the gate and pulled it gently, just to see if it would open. The bottom of the gate moved slightly, scraping along the gravel. He cringed at the noise it made and froze again until he was sure he hadn’t been heard. Nothing. No sign of any movement. He looked back across the courtyard toward the caravans. The ends of the long white metal boxes were clearly visible in the moonlight, and he could just about see a couple of figures moving between them.
But then the fragile silence of the night was shattered.
A sudden burst of noise came from one of the buildings close to where he was standing: someone hammering on the door to be let out, screaming with anger. The door of another of the caravans flew open almost instantly, and several men sprinted out into the open, illuminated by the light flooding out from behind them. They ran toward the source of the noise. Michael stood his ground and remained perfectly still, watching as Lorna and Harte slipped into the open van.
* * *
“What’s going on?” Caron demanded as Harte shook her shoulder. “Harte, is that you? I thought you’d gone again…”
He dragged her up but she lolled back onto the sofa where she’d been sleeping, an empty bottle of wine rolling around on the floor below her. Howard, by contrast, was immediately up and ready.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“We’re going.”
“Where?”
“Day trip to Blackpool,” Harte answered sarcastically. “Where d’you think we’re going? This bloody island we’ve been hearing about, I hope.” He leaned out the door, hoping to see either Michael or the headlights of the truck, but he quickly pulled his head back in again when he saw Will Bayliss running across the courtyard from the direction of the gift shop, carrying Kieran’s rifle and pulling on his clothes. Melanie followed close behind, hoisting up her knickers.
Lorna had gone down to the far end of the caravan and had worked her way back up, checking the bedrooms and small bathroom for others. She’d found Shirley cowering in one of the bedrooms, no one else.
“This it?” she asked.
“Just me, Shirley, and Caron,” Howard replied. “Are you surprised? Don’t forget, Jas, Kieran, and Paul were in here. Funny how most folks preferred the van next door.”
* * *
The noise coming from the prefabricated rooms nearby and the excitement it had caused was enough to make Michael decide to change his plans. He’d managed to get both sides of the gate open without being noticed. A handful of corpses had attempted to stagger in, but the frost was gripping and they were so badly decayed that they only lasted a couple of paces before collapsing. In fact, he realized, their forward movement was due more to the fact the gate they’d been leaning up against had moved than anything else.
Michael started to run toward the caravan but then turned back and tucked himself in against the wall when an armed, half-dressed man he didn’t recognize thundered past.
Over in the farthest corner of the castle grounds, Harry sensed that something was wrong. He could see people crisscrossing the courtyard in the moonlight, but from here he couldn’t tell if Michael or Harte were among them.
“Anyone you recognize?” he said to Bob Wilkins who was sitting next to him in the front of the truck.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Bob whispered, “but that looks like Kieran. He’s one of Jas’s lot.”
Harry waited a few seconds longer before deciding he had to move. He started the engine and accelerated out into the open, trying to get close enough to the caravans so that Harte and the others could make the quick short dash to safety. He could already see that the gates were open.
* * *
Shirley barged closer to the caravan door.
“Is that for us?” she asked, pushing past Howard and Harte when she saw the truck’s headlights approaching. Harte tried to grab her but she was too fast, slipping between them and running outside before stopping in front of the truck and waving her arms wildly. Harry slammed on the brakes and she ran around to the back where Sue was calling out to her. Lorna ran out to follow her but then ducked down and turned back when a gunshot rang out. In the emptiness of the night it sounded close but unnervingly directionless and she dived for cover, falling back into the caravan.
“We’ve got to run for it,” Harte said, helping her up. “We’ve got to get on that truck.”
Outside he could see Bayliss trying to head off the truck now, reloading the rifle as he marched toward it.
“Go!” Howard yelled, trying to push them all forward. “Just get out of here!”
Another gunshot echoed around the castle courtyard, this time hitting the front of the truck and smashing a headlamp. Howard tried to lead them out of the caravan but Kieran appeared and blocked him, pushing them all back inside. He was armed too.
