Simon Beckett - Written in Bone

I was about halfway to the village when a pale shape suddenly darted into the road in front of me. There was just time to see the reflective eyes of a dog gleam in the headlights as I stamped on the brake, and then the car spun out of control. The VW slewed crazily, flinging me against the seatbelt as it lurched to a halt.

The impact took my breath away. I sat back, shaken, rubbing my chest where the seatbelt had bruised it. But I wasn’t badly hurt, and the VW’s engine was still running. The car had gone off the road and was angled down into a ditch, its headlights shining on to thick hummocks of grass rather than tarmac.

At least I hadn’t hit the dog. I’d seen it bounding off as I lost control. It had been a golden retriever, so unless there were two on the island it must have been Strachan’s, although God knew what it was doing out here.

The thought that it had all of the island to choose from, yet had managed to run out in front of me, didn’t help my temper as I put the gears into reverse and tried to back up on to the road. The wheels churned and skidded, but the car didn’t move. I shifted into first and tried to go forward, with the same result.

I switched off the engine and got out to take a look. The car didn’t appear to be damaged, but the rear wheels were bogged down in muddy ruts. Putting up my hood, I went to the boot to try to find something to give the tyres purchase. But there was nothing. I got back in the car, the rain glistening like white wires in the headlights as I considered my options. There was no point going back to the camper van, so that left two choices. I could either stay with the car until someone came along, or walk the rest of the way to the village. If I stayed I could be waiting hours. And at least walking would keep me warm.

I swore as I realized that I’d left my torch in my flight case back at the van. I turned on the overhead light and checked the glove compartment, hoping to find one there. But apart from some old maps and scraps of paper it was empty.

I turned off the headlights and waited for my eyes to adjust to the sudden dark. After a while I accepted they were as acclimatised as they were going to get. Night had fallen on Runa, and it was only going to get darker. Still, I felt reluctant to leave the car. I’d just found out there was probably a killer on the island. It was an unsettling thought to find yourself stranded with on an isolated road.

But that was stupid. Even if he was still on Runa, the young woman’s killer would hardly be out here. Come on. No point waiting any longer.

I got out of the car. As I did, the moon appeared through a break in the clouds. It gave the moors and hills a stark but ethereal beauty, picking out the road with a silvery illumination. My spirits rose as I started walking. Not so bad after all. And just as I thought that, clouds shrouded the moon again, and the light was abruptly cut off.

The utter blackness shocked me. I’d lived in the country, and thought I knew how dark a night could be. But this was of a different order to anything I’d experienced before. Runa was a tiny island, miles from the mainland and with no towns or cities to cast even a distant glow. I looked up, hoping to see at least some evidence of lightening in the sky. There was nothing. The cloud bank extinguished any glimpse of stars or moon as effectively as a blanket.

I looked back, hoping to see some reassuring sign of the VW. But the darkness was absolute. Only the sound of my footsteps told me I was still on the road. It’s only the dark. It won’t hurt you. Provided I didn’t stray from the road, there was nothing to worry about. Sooner or later it would lead me back to the village.

Even so, as I started walking again my confidence ebbed with every step. The rain was freezing and the wind whittled away at my body heat, making me virtually deaf as well as blind.

But not so deaf that I didn’t hear a scuff on the road behind me.

I spun round, heart thumping. I couldn’t see a thing except blackness. Probably just a sheep, or something blown by the wind. Or Strachan’s bloody dog. Turning my back on it, I started walking again. But all my senses were attuned to what might be out there with me, and I was still straining to hear it when I suddenly stepped out into nothing.

I pitched forward, arms windmilling before the ground smacked into me. I tumbled downhill, all sense of up or down lost. Rough grass scratched at my face, and then I jolted to a stop.

Dazed and winded, I lay in the muddy grass, rain bouncing on my upturned face. I knew what had happened. I’d wandered from the centre of the road without realizing it and walked off the edge into a gully. Idiot! I started to push myself upright, and cried out as pain exploded in my left shoulder. When it had subsided to a dull ache, I gingerly moved my arm again. The pain lanced back, not quite as severe as before but bad enough to make me gasp out loud.

But at least there had been no sensation of grating bone. I hoped that meant nothing was broken. Swallowing back the bile that had risen in my throat, I felt my shoulder awkwardly with my other hand. Even through my coat I could tell that there was something wrong with the way the joint fitted together. There was a bulge where there shouldn’t have been, and as my fingers traced its outline I felt a queasy wave of nausea.

I’d dislocated my shoulder. Badly.

I told myself not to panic. Deep breaths. Take it one step at a time. Before I could use my arm again I knew the joint would have to be shot back into place. I reached round with my other hand as far as I could, probing with my fingers to feel where the ball of the humerus had popped out of its socket. I paused, gritting my teeth, and then pushed.

The pain made me almost black out. I yelled as starbursts wheeled across my vision. When they faded I was lying on my back once more, sweat and rain mingling on my face. I wanted to throw up. The spasm subsided but left me weak and shaking.

I didn’t bother feeling the shoulder again. I knew it was still out of joint. It was throbbing relentlessly, a bone-deep ache that radiated from the base of my skull right down my arm. I sat up again, weakly. My head spun as I slowly got to my feet. There was no question of walking to the village now. I would have to try to find the car and sit it out, hoping that Fraser or Duncan would come looking for me sooner rather than later.

Climbing back up the slippery bank was hard work. I couldn’t see a thing, and could only use one hand to help drag myself up the slope. I had to keep resting, and my shoulder was hurting more than ever now. I wondered if I’d torn any ligaments, but put the thought out of my mind. I couldn’t do anything about it if I had.

By the time the slope began to level out I was sweating and exhausted. I hauled myself up the last few feet and then straightened on legs that felt like water. Relief at having made it back to the top swamped out anything else. But then I realized something was wrong.

The road wasn’t there.

My relief vanished. I took a few more cautious steps, each time hoping to feel tarmac under my boots. But there was only turf and boggy, uneven ground. I’d obviously been more disorientated by my fall than I’d thought. Instead of climbing back up to the road, I’d clawed my way up another hummock of grass.

I forced myself to stay calm. There was only one thing to do. The road had to be opposite me. All I had to do was retrace my steps and then go up the other side.

I made my way down the muddy slope, slithering the last few feet on my backside. I groped around, trying to locate the slope I’d fallen down. I couldn’t find it. Come on, it has to be here. But the terrain at the bottom didn’t conform to such neat logic. In the dark it was a maze of humps and gullies. Wandering blind as I was, there was no way of knowing where any of them led.