Num8ers - By Rachel Ward Page 0,73

the fence along for a bit — it was flatter, and you could see a bit better here with the streetlights — until I reached the corner of the field and there was no option but to climb, away from the road and into the darkness. The sky seemed to have disappeared, blocked out by the hill and, I discovered, a clump of trees. They were on the other side of the fence, but there was a gate, so I hauled myself over again and blundered up, bushes tearing at my jeans, until I found a flatter bit underneath the trees — actually a bit of a dip in the ground, a hollow. I checked for cowpats as best I could, and sank down.

I curled up like a baby in the blanket Britney had given me, wrapping it around my body and over my face. It hardly kept the wind off me at all. As usual, I thought I’d never sleep: My head was full of Spider, always Spider. Was he asleep now? Was he lying somewhere, awake like me, chest rising and falling? How many breaths did he have left? But when I’d stopped shivering and my body’s own warmth started to heat the space inside the blanket, I drifted off, the darkness around me sweeping into my head, switching off the thoughts.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

There was someone chasing me, so close I could hear his breath, feel it on the back of my neck. I was running faster than I’ve ever run. My chest was bursting, and I was running, running, but he’d got me, there was nowhere left to go. It was too much, I couldn’t cope with it anymore. I wrenched myself back to the surface, becoming aware of my surroundings, opening my eyes slightly to see the gray light of dawn.

Just a dream after all. But the noise was still there, someone near me, so near I could hear the breath in and out, in and out. Spider? Just for a minute, I thought he was next to me again. Oh, Jesus. I rolled over slowly. There was a dark shape right on top of me, an animal of some sort, snuffling around. Cows? I’d thought they were in the other field. But it wasn’t a cow, it was a dog: a big, black dog with its nose in my backpack.

I froze. Ray may have been a sheep in wolf’s clothing, but I still didn’t trust dogs, and this was a big one, tall and skinny, but with bulging muscles in its shoulders and back legs.

Another noise broke in now, a woman’s voice. “Sparky! Come here! Come here!” I saw his ear twitch. He’d heard her, but the last of the bread Britney had put in my bag was more interesting. The owner of the voice came ’round the corner now: wellies, furry coat and scarf. When she saw us, she broke into a run.

“Oh, shit! Sparky, come here!” He looked up, then dipped his head again. Time was running out for him. One last chance to grab a mouthful. The woman got her fingers into his collar and yanked him right away. “I’m so sorry, so sorry. It’s the food. He’s an incurable scavenger. Oh, God, he’s eaten your food. I’m so sorry.” Her voice was anxious, posh.

There was an awkward silence. I was still lying on the ground, woozy with sleep. The woman and her dog loomed over me. She was waiting for me to say something, worried about my reaction. I sat up and shuffled away from them on my behind.

“I’m sorry, he woke you up, didn’t he? Scared you. He wouldn’t bite you. It was just the food. Look, I only live down there. You could come and have some breakfast, a cup of tea.” It didn’t look like she meant it; she was probably just trying to say something to make things better.

“No,” I managed. “S’alright.”

“He’s eaten your food. I could bring you something…?”

“No, honest. I’m alright.”

“I don’t think I’ve got any money on me.” She reached into her pockets. “Oh, look. You could buy some breakfast with this.” She held out a handful of change toward me. I just wanted this all to stop. I wanted her to take her bloody dog and her middle-class niceness and her do-gooding pity away.

“I don’t want your fucking money, I’m alright.” That did the trick.

She recoiled visibly, tightened her grip on the dog’s collar. “Right, OK. OK. Sorry.” She backed off, then bent to