Up ahead the trail disappears into a small wooded area. Moira keeps running, zigzagging through the trees, following the narrow, overgrown path. Gorse bushes and brambles tear at her ankles. The fading sun flickers on-off through the tree branches like a strobe light. It semi-blinds her, stops her seeing the path clearly, but she pushes on harder. Has to catch the person who was spying on her. Can’t let them get away. The questions repeat in her mind.
Who are they?
Why were they watching?
Did they kill the young woman in the pool?
The gradient of the hill is getting steeper. She goes with it. Lets gravity help her dodge around the gnarled tree roots sticking out of the dry earth like bones, and ducks under overhanging branches. She lengthens her stride. Her breathing is coming faster.
She sprints around a right-angled bend. She’s almost through the wooded area now. The trail leads out of the trees and across open grassland. Her breath catches in her throat. Her heart punches harder against her ribs.
On the horizon, silhouetted against the orange-streaked sky, is a person, walking. It’s a man. She can tell from his body shape. But not the wiry young guy who was following her earlier. This is someone different; broader and more athletic.
‘Hey!’ calls Moira. She’s breathless, but her voice carries and she sees the man glance over his shoulder. His hoodie is pulled low over his face, putting it in shadow. In this fading light she can’t see his features clearly. She waves. Shouts again, ‘Wait up.’
He keeps walking. No. Correction, he’s running now. And damn it, he’s really fast.
It has to be the person with the binoculars.
I have to catch him.
Moira accelerates further. Her legs are tired, her muscles screaming to stop, but she races on, ignoring her body. She keeps her eyes focused on the retreating figure, trying to take in every detail – a possibly navy or dark grey hoodie, blue jeans, some kind of trainers, medium build.
She doesn’t see the tree branch until the last moment. She ducks to avoid it, but she’s too late. It slaps her across the face; a brief stinging whack that makes her gasp. Her toe catches on a tree root and she feels a sharp stab of pain in her ankle, then plunges forward, falling face first. On instinct she thrusts her arms out. Breaking the impact with her forearm.
Moira cries out as pain shoots through her elbow and up to her shoulder. Gritting her teeth, she rolls with the momentum and comes to a stop.
Did the man see me fall?
Where is he?
She scans the path ahead, but there’s no sign of him now. He must have realised she was catching up with him and run faster.
Moira smacks the fist of her uninjured arm down on to the earth and shouts into the emptiness. ‘Shit.’
I can’t let him get away.
Scrambling to her feet, she tries to run, but she’s limping now. Pain from her ankle is slowing her down. She moves as fast as she can. Ignores the increasing throbbing in her ankle, her elbow and her shoulder and scans the trail and the grassland for a sign of the man, but there’s nothing. He’s gone. She’s lost him.
She stops and leans over, trying to catch her breath. There’s a sheen of sweat across her arms, face and neck and she can feel it running down her back and into the waistband of her leggings. Her leggings are ripped across the knees and dirt from the trail is sticking to her skin. She can feel the mosquitos nipping at her flesh.
Moira curses under her breath. Shakes her head at having lost the man. Turns and limps back up the trail in the direction she’s just come from. She doesn’t do failure well. Never has.
She stops when she reaches the top of the hill. The sun has almost disappeared now. It’s only half-visible on the horizon, the streaks across the darkening sky more blood red than orange.