Marc Chadbourn - The Devil in green

Any answer he could have given her would have been too momentous. Instead, he said, 'We should get moving.'

She watched him for a long moment, even though he wouldn't meet her eye.

As Mallory stamped out the fire, the snap and crackle of the wood gave way to the deep stillness of the snow-muffled world. Yet the quiet only lasted for a second. In the deep background, Mallory picked up another sound that instantly set him on edge: the crunch of snow, but restrained as if someone or something was sneaking up on them.

Quickly, he caught up with Sophie, who had already started along the road. They hurried as fast as they could through the growing slush, pausing for breath ten minutes later, just before the road went over a rise. Mallory shielded his eyes against the gleaming countryside and looked back. A dark shape emerged from the edge of the wood where they had rested, keeping low, moving slowly but insistently. Not a man, certainly, but larger than any animal Mallory could imagine. It followed the line of their tracks, and at the road turned in their direction.

'What is it?' Sophie asked breathlessly some time later as they jogged along.

'I don't know, but it's not letting up. It doesn't matter what it is — we just need to keep ahead of it.'

Sophie was looking exhausted, and he was feeling weary himself. In shaded areas the snow wasn't melting at all and in some parts the drifts were so deep they had to wade through them. The conditions didn't appear to be slowing up their pursuer; in fact, over the previous hour it had gained on them.

They continued south-west along the Weymouth road, through wide- open countryside that would once have felt soothing in its agrarian order but was now wild and frightening. Just after the rolling Pentridge Hill loomed up on their left, they took a B-road that felt even more exposed, the hedgerows too close and too thick.

'I've got to try something,' Sophie said. Any rejuvenating effect of the Blue Fire had clearly worn off. 'Things don't work well when I'm tired. It peters out, or it has no effect at all… but I've got to try. I don't know if I can carry on at this rate.' Her face was drawn with exhaustion. Demanding privacy to help her concentrate, she climbed over a six-bar gate and disappeared into a field.

Mallory backed up to where he had a clear view along the road. The shape plodded along maybe a mile away, maybe less. He had an idea of what it was now: a dog, some supernatural entity, bigger than any real- world breed and black as space. The knowledge that it was something mundane yet at the same time alien was somehow even more disturbing. It carried with it an atmosphere that operated on some level beyond ordinary senses; Mallory felt threat and a growing sense of despair. Was this the Old Shuck that Abarta had mentioned?

Movement just on the edge of his vision to his right startled him. His hand went to his sword, but he didn't have time to draw it. A terrifying woman stood before him, as though she had appeared from nowhere. She was as thin as a winter tree, her skin almost grey, barely fitting her bones. A long black dress flapped around her, stained with tree-bark green and the white dust of a dry road. Her hair was grey and wild, untouched by a comb for months, years. But it was her face that chilled him, something that lay beyond its physical appearance, which was upsetting enough: it was smeared black with dirt or grease, malting the grey eyes even more striking; they contained thunder and lightning, and the end of him.

She stretched out an accusing finger. 'It's coming. You won't escape it now. You can't run any more.'

He backed off, almost slipping on a patch of melting snow, finally managing to get the sword out.

The woman began to laugh, sheer venom underlining the mockery in that sound, so palpable it stung him. Thoughts burst in his head, memories or dreams; she was releasing them. He was speeding away in a grey car, his face framed in the rear-view mirror, locked in an awful shock at what he had discovered in himself, tears streaming down his cheeks, his entire body racked with such shakes that it was almost impossible to drive.

'What do you want?' he yelled, with a fury that far exceeded the moment.

The old woman's laughter rose several notches, became hysterical, bitter. She threw her head back and her hair shook wildly.

'Stop it!' Mallory yelled. Tears sprang to his eyes.

Slowly, the woman backed away, still laughing, still pointing. There was one instant when he thought he would have to attack her with the sword, to shut her up before she said something he didn't want to hear, but then the sunlight glinted off his blade, blinding him, and when his eyes cleared, she was gone.

He'd just about composed himself when Sophie clambered wearily back on to the road. The dog — and he could finally see clearly that's what it was — was now only half a mile away.

'Are you OK?' Sophie said. 'I heard you yell out.'

'Did you hear anyone else?'

She looked at him curiously, shook her head.

'Did it work?' he snapped.

'I don't know… we'll see.'

They turned and hurried along the road.

Five miles further on, they realised Sophie's attempt at masking their presence must have succeeded. The dog had fallen back — only a little, but it gave them some respite.

As they went over another hill, they spotted a house almost hidden amongst the trees to their left, smoke rising from the chimney. Parked next to it was a battered van. The tyre tracks in the snow showed it was regularly in use.

'Where does he get his fuel from?' Mallory said, bringing them to a halt.

'Some of the more isolated farms have their own tanks. Maybe he found one that had been abandoned. What are you going to do?'

'Steal it.'

Sophie shook her head, the exhaustion making her emotions whirl.

'Don't worry, we'll bring it back. We'll get to Knowlton, do the business… bam… back tomorrow.'

'I don't know-'

'Think of all the people in the cathedral we'll be saving.'

His comments made some kind of sense, and she didn't have the energy to argue. He led her to the hedgerow and made her drop down below the line of sight. 'If I can get in it, I can hot-wire it,' he said. They crept along as quickly as they could.

At the gravel driveway, they paused, but there was no sound apart from the drip-drip-drip of melting snow from the tree branches in the wood that encircled the house.

'You wait here,' Mallory whispered. 'As soon as I come out, I'll throw the door open and you can dive in.'

She glanced back up the road. 'Just hurry.'

He kept low to the passenger side, which was furthest away from the house. It took him five minutes of working on the lock with his Swiss Army knife before it popped. He listened. Nothing. But when the door opened it gave a loud squeal. His breath caught in his throat. With heat spreading down his back, he listened again: still nothing.

Just as he was about to wriggle on to the van floor, the house door slammed open and the sound of running feet approached.

'Shit,' he muttered.

Around the front of the van appeared a dishevelled, large-boned man with the wild-eyed appearance of someone who had retreated from the world. He brandished an old shotgun with shaking hands. 'Get away!' he screeched. 'Get away! Get away!'

He pulled the gun up and fired wildly. Birds rose screaming into the air. Mallory had thrown himself backwards an instant earlier when he realised the van's owner wasn't going to waste any time talking. He landed on his back and rolled on to his feet just as another blast raised a shower of wet gravel an inch from his boot.

His instinct was to sprint to Sophie and get out of there as fast as possible, but the gun had already been reloaded and there would be a clear shot at his back if he ran. Another retort made his head ring. Shot passed his head so closely that his hair moved with the turbulence. Mallory launched himself to one side and bounded into the trees, weaving randomly. Wood splintered past his ear.