Run. Don’t stop. Keep moving…
The big, fat moon makes everything black and white. Frost and shadow. Life and death.
Steve stumbles. The churned-up mud’s solid – up and down like a roller-coaster. One foot catches the edge of a rock-hard peak, and he goes sprawling across the icy ground. Tries not to cry out as his arm screams sharp-edged pain.
Somewhere in the darkness a dog barks. Big dog. Fucking scary big dog. You know? Rottweiler, Doberman: some bastard like that. Big and black, with thousands of teeth. Coming after him.
‘Fuck …’ The word disappears into the night sky on a cloud of white breath.
Big dog.
He scrambles upright; stands there, trying to get his balance. Feeling sick. Far too much whisky. Makes everything blurry and warm, even though it’s so cold out here his fingers ache with it. Makes the world smell like it’s burning.
Steve lurches forward, arm clutched to his chest, hugging the shadows along the edge of the building site. Trees blocking the searchlight moon.
With any luck no one’ll see the trail of blood he’s leaving…
The dog barks again. Closer.
But then his luck’s always been for shit.
Steve speeds up. Lurch, stumble, struggle.
His left foot cracks through an ice-topped puddle, and he stops. Holding his breath.
Steve turns, looking back towards the site office. Torches sweep the muddy ground, muffled voices coming this way. That fucking dog yammering