Outcast (The Darkeningstone Series Book 2) Read Free Page B

and the broad chisel were now the only things I possessed apart from the clothes I stood up in and a phone with a flat battery. I was damned if I was leaving anything behind. I shouldered my backpack, took one last look at the block of black stone, then turned my back on it forever.
    I picked a spot on the horizon, a dip that might conceal a town or a road, and fixed it in my mind. Then I stood up straight, as best as I could, and set off down the hill. I didn’t know exactly where I was heading or how long I’d have to walk before I found anything useful, but at least I was on my way. At least I was doing something.
    The slope was quite steep and there was no obvious path through the knee-high grass, but the ground was soft underfoot and it was an easy walk. I almost enjoyed it. Almost. But as I walked, and my stiff muscles loosened and reminded me of their bruises, I started to sweat. When Robbo had kicked me, he hadn’t held back. Soon my legs were throbbing. But I walked on, trying to keep to a straight line, breathing hard. Every gasp of air dried the back of my throat and my tongue was like sandpaper in my mouth. I really had to find some water, and quickly.
    I paused, rubbed the sweat from my forehead, and looked around. The landscape was incredibly lush and green. There had to be plenty of water about somewhere. And water ran downhill, so I was heading in the right direction wasn’t I?
    I set off again, and as I waded through the knee-high grass, the dew soaked into the legs of my jeans. I toyed with the idea of squatting down and trying to lick the dew. Would it be worth it? How much water would I actually get that way? And surely, there would be bugs and slugs and snails all over the grass. No. Running water is safer , I thought, and I kept walking.
    As I reached the lower part of the slope, the grass gave way to bushes and brambles, closely followed by woodland. There’ll be a stream in the forest , I thought. There was sure to be a trickling brook weaving its way among the trees.
    But as I neared the edge of the forest, I slowed my pace. This wasn’t like any forest I’d ever known. There’d be no picnic areas here, no dappled shade or wandering footpaths. The trees grew close together and there was little light beneath the dense canopy. I stopped and rubbed the sweat from the back of my neck. There was something about the forest I didn’t like. It wasn’t just the gloom, the jumbled ranks of tree trunks—there was something else.
    I scanned the edge of the treeline, looking for a path or a gate or at least some sign of a thinner patch of trees where I might walk into the forest without losing the daylight. But there was nothing to show a way in, nothing to suggest that one direction was better than another. “Oh well,” I said. “At least it’ll be cooler.” Surely, that had to be a good thing. And if I kept walking downhill, it would lead me to water. Eventually.
    I pulled at the straps of my backpack and, as I rolled my shoulders, the metal tools in the backpack clanked against each other. As I’d walked down the hill, the hammer and chisel had jangled and bumped against my back with every step, annoying the hell out of me. But now, on the edge of this dark and forbidding forest, it was good to be reminded they were there. I shuddered at the thought of using them as weapons, but it at least I wasn’t entirely defenceless.
    You’re out in the middle of nowhere , I told myself. There’s no one around for twenty miles in any direction . And it was true. I’d seen no signs of civilisation whatsoever. I was much safer here than walking through the town centre after dark back home. I looked back toward the hilltop and then turned to try and find the point on the horizon where I’d seen the sun rise. I needed to get my bearings. But it was hopeless. I’d been on the top of the hill when I’d watched the sun come up. Now, I was much lower and I just couldn’t figure out where the sun had risen.