Charlie couldn’t say with any certainty where Savanarolova and the dreadful Munro went, dazed by his beating as he was, but he suspected that they had hurried into the bunker. His last view of them had been that of Savanarolova’s boots striding past his head as he lay on the ground. It took him awhile to shake himself from the torpor that permeated his limbs after receiving Munro’s savage blow. It was actually Trev’s insistent cries that eventually stirred him into action. His mouth swollen, spitting out blood, he dragged himself to his feet with leaden arms and legs. “What is it, Trev?” he said thickly, his jaw throbbing with waves of pain.

“There, Charlie! There!” Trev pointed across the lake.

His eyes swimming with tears, Charlie looked. Against the dark green backdrop of the forest, blue globes of soft light hung in the air, unmoving, by the shore of the lake, their distorted twins reflected in the still waters. He wasn’t sure but as he looked at them he felt as if he was being watched. The earlier paradise-like atmosphere of the lake had been replaced with an unsettling air of menace.

“What are they?”

“Trouble.”

Groans interrupted them. With a stab of guilt, Charlie remembered the plight of his companions and dashed to them. Carmen was sitting upright, looking like Charlie felt, holding her face, tears streaking through the dirt. She nodded in response to his urgent enquires as to whether she was all right and he helped her to her feet, grabbing hold of her free arm and hauling her up. He pushed her in George’s direction and then ran to his father.

He knelt down by his shoulder, “Dad! Dad! Wake up!” Charlie could feel the well of panic that he had kept in check since yesterday morning start to rise inside him again. Rick looked a mess. Blood covered the lower half of his face and his nose was crooked. A sudden cough sprayed yet more gore into the air and Charlie somehow knew that his father was choking on his own blood.

“Roll him on his side Charlie! He’s choking!” Carmen shouted.

He looked at her blearily. She was kneeling next to George, who had managed to sit up, and was rubbing her hand on his back. George’s face had gone a nasty, ashen shade and he was gulping down air in hard, short breaths. Carmen pantomimed rolling something but Charlie really did not understand what she was on about. His head felt so strange, it was if someone had inflated it and replaced his brain with cotton wool, making his thinking slow and muddy.

George gasped, “Carmen, go to him, I’ll be fine,” and pushed her away.

She stumbled over to Charlie and Rick and knelt down next to Rick’s chest. “It’s all right, Rick!” she said in a voice shaking with emotion. “It’s all right. We’re going to put you on your side.” With this she reached over and pulled the groggy Charlie round to her side. She manhandled him and got him to put his hands on Rick’s hip. Grabbing the arm furthest away from her, Carmen pulled it over and tucked the hand under Rick’s head. Then with a grunt she rolled Rick over on to his side, Charlie slowly realising what was going on and aiding her by hauling Rick over by his hip. She pushed him out of the way and drew Rick’s knee up so that he was secure, then she straightened his head and directed his mouth downwards, using her fingers to clear the sticky blood from inside his mouth. Rick coughed once, twice and then sneezed explosively, blood spraying from his mouth and nose, decorating the ground in front of his face with a gory fan.

“Oh, God!” Rick groaned, heaving in a huge breath. “Thanks!” he added.

“Charlie!” Trev insisted.

The urgency of his tone cleared some of the fuzziness from his brain. Charlie looked at where Trev was pointing and he could see that the blue lights had moved. In fact they were still moving, slowly making their way around the shore of the lake.

“Charlie?” Rick said. He looked at Charlie oddly. On his face was an expression that could only be described as being one of fear and sadness combined. “Charlie, your friend wants something. I think you’d better listen.”

Bemused, Charlie looked at his father and then at Trev. “You can see Trev?”

Rick nodded and then hawked a bloody glob of phlegm out on to the ground. He pushed himself up and stood unsteadily, “I can see him. I can see people like him. It’s my little talent and it’s helped me a lot over the years. I also know that when people like your friend sound frightened, it’s time to get moving and fast.” He looked out over the lake and added, “You know, I don’t think now is the time to talk about this. We’ve gotta go!”

Carmen ran back to George and helped him up, casting a frightened look at Rick. Charlie stood beside Rick, both with their arms round each other. Neither really knew who was supporting who but it felt reassuring all the same. As they looked on, the blue lights continued their progress around the lake and were only about a hundred metres away from where they stood.

“Trev?” Charlie whispered. “Where can we go? Where’s safe from them?”

All Trev could do was shake his head and look at Charlie apologetically. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I don’t know what to do! I don’t know anything about this place!” He gestured wildly at the crater.

“There’s really only one place to go,” George coughed. “In there!” and he pointed at the bunker entrance.

If anything, this brought about an even more powerful reaction from Trev who actually began shaking. “No, no, no! You can’t go in there!” he wailed. “There’s something terrible in there! I can feel it!”

“Well there’s nowhere else, my lad, and we are not in a fit state for a long run,” Rick said emphatically. “Will the bunker keep those things out?”

Trev nodded uncertainly, “Yes…yes…at least I think so.”

“There’s nothing for it then,” said Charlie. “We’ve got to go in and follow that woman.”

“Don’t you worry about her, Charlie,” Rick said through gritted teeth. “Now we know she’s here, we can deal with her. Now let’s go!”

The battered group shuffled away from the approaching lights like a collection of old age pensioners, their bruised bodies throbbing with every step. Without being able to explain why, they knew that to linger would not be wise. A malevolent spirit seemed to be speaking to them as the baleful lights drew closer. Charlie could swear that he could hear voices whispering on the breeze, loud enough to know it was speech but too soft to make out words. However, there was no mistaking the intent behind the whispering; hissing, sharp, sibilant and cruel, they hinted at a short conversation but a long, painful encounter.

They crossed the threshold of the bunker’s entrance, which was actually a tunnel, hurrying as quickly as they could with many backward glances to see how close the orbs were. Dragging their weary limbs over the tangled remains of the vines that cluttered the ground inside the tunnel, they headed into the looming dark.

Dusty Miller crashed into camp and fell to his knees by the fire, heaving and retching with exhaustion. Torn fatigues were plastered to his skin with blood and sweat. Little remained of his original equipment apart from his pistol belt, on which an empty holster gaped, and a broken AK 47 assault rifle, whose stock was shattered, leaving only a stump of hard plastic behind. He held the remains of the rifle tightly in hands cruelly scratched and cut by innumerable thorns, his knuckles white with tension. As he knelt, his body shuddered uncontrollably and Dusty sobbed with relief.

Winthrop-Smythe emerged from the command tent, shocked by the transformation in the once capable soldier. “Dusty? Dusty, what happened?” He asked quietly. “Dusty, where’s Pincher? What’s happened to Pincher?”

Dusty looked up from the fire, his eyes red coals that burned with feverish exhaustion. His bottom lip trembled and tears trickled down filthy cheeks. “I can’t run any further. I just can’t! I…I’m…I’m all done,” he said, his voice cracking. “They’re coming. They’re all coming. They’re all coming and they want us.”

“Who’s coming? Who’s coming, Dusty?” Winthrop-Smythe said sharply. “What do you mean by that?”

An unnerving high-pitched giggle erupted from Dusty. “They’ve been whispering to me. I know who they are! I’ve been listening all the way here and I know who they are!”

“Who’s coming, Dusty? For crying out loud, who’s coming?” Winthrop-Smythe shouted, pulling Dusty to his feet and shaking him by the front of his shirt.

Dusty simply looked blankly at Winthrop-Smythe, one eye twitching at the corner. Up close, Winthrop-Smythe could see the weariness ingrained in the mercenary’s unshaven face. His head lolled loosely as Winthrop-Smythe tried to shake a response out of him. “Who?”

Abruptly, Dusty’s eyes swam into focus and his head jerked forward , almost catching Winthrop-Smythe’s nose. Swearing, the Englishman stepped back, only for Dusty to follow him and grab Winthrop-Smythe in turn. His staring eyes bored into Winthrop-Smythe’s. “They’re coming for us!”

“Who?” Winthrop-Smythe almost shrieked. He was utterly unnerved by the wreck of the man in front of him and the lack of contact with the patrol.

“Them!” hissed Dusty, his voice breaking with fear. “Them!” and he pointed away from the camp, into the forest.

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