I’m staring at the face, listening to the whispers, held firm to the spot, feeling myself change, when suddenly –
A scream. Behind me. At the waterfall.
As I turn towards it, there’s another scream. Then a very loud thud.
Then nothing.
I race across the cave, grabbing the torch on the way, lycanthropic fears momentarily forgotten, blocking out thoughts of the face and sounds of the whispers. There’s a figure on the ground and it’s not moving. That’s where all my concerns focus now.
I reach the figure and gently turn it over. It’s Loch. Face ashen. Eyelids flickering. Mouth opening and closing softly.
“Loch?” I murmur, holding his head up, trying to see how bad the damage is. I feel something wet and sticky smeared around the back of his head. I don’t have to check to know that it’s blood.
Scrabbling sounds. Bill-E hits the ground hard, feet first, having jumped from a spot two or three metres above. “Is he OK?” he shouts, panting hard.
“I don’t know. What happened?”
Bill-E gulps, kneels, stares at Loch’s head and my bloody hands. “He fell,” Bill-E croaks. I almost can’t hear him—the whispering’s louder than ever, the words coming fast and furious. “We were climbing. He slipped. I… I reached for him. He wasn’t far away. I grabbed. But he fell. I couldn’t catch him. I tried but I couldn’t…”
“Just as well you didn’t,” I comfort him. “He’d have dragged you down with him. Take off your coat.” Bill-E gawps at me. “For under his head.”
Bill-E shrugs off his jacket and balls it up. While I hold Loch’s head, he lays it underneath, then I softly lower Loch down. His eyes haven’t opened. He’s breathing raggedly. This isn’t good.
“I told him not to go up there,” Bill-E says hollowly. He’s crying. “I warned him. But he wouldn’t listen. He thought he knew it all.”
“Hush.” I’m calmer than my brother. I’ve seen worse things than this. Blood doesn’t alarm me. “One of us has to go for help. The other needs to stay here, sit with Loch, look after him.”
“I’ll go,” Bill-E says quickly. “Please, Grubbs, I don’t want to stay. Not in this cave. It’s too dark. Please don’t make me –”
“OK,” I shush him. “You can go. Find Dervish. Tell him what happened. He’ll know what to do. But run, Bill-E. Run!”
Bill-E nods, stumbles to his feet, stares at Loch’s face, opens his mouth to say something, then races for the exit. I hear him scrambling upwards – but only barely, over the sound of the whispers – then turn my attention on Loch and the dark pool spreading out from beneath his head and Bill-E’s blood-soaked jacket.
→Talking to Loch. All sorts of nonsense—school, the treasure, holidays, girls, wrestling. I’ve put my coat and jumper over him. Have to keep him warm.
His breathing comes jaggedly. His eyelids have stopped twitching. His heartbeat’s irregular. I keep on talking, rubbing his arms and chest, but I don’t know if I’m doing much good.
The sickness is still in me. My head feels ripe to burst. Sometimes my words come out as growls, and my fingers clench while I’m rubbing Loch, digging into his cold, clammy flesh.
I fight it. Search within for warmth, energy, magic—anything. I can’t change, not until Dervish comes, not until Loch’s in an ambulance on his way to hospital, safe.
“Won’t turn,” I snarl, slapping my cheeks one after the other. “I’m not a wolf. I can control myself. Won’t let the moon…”
Loch shudders. His breath stops. I thump his chest hard—then remember first aid classes at school. Opening his mouth, I press firmly down on his chest, then release him and count. One, two, three, four. Press and count again. A third time. I place my lips over Loch’s. Breathe out, so that his cheeks puff up. Withdraw. Press—two, three, four. Press—two, three, four. Press—two, three, four. Mouth-to-mouth.
Trying to remember if I’m doing it right. Was it three presses on the chest, or four, or five? Should I blow air firmly down Loch’s throat or –
Loch coughs and breathes again.
I sink back, whining with relief and fear. That was too close. This can’t be happening. We were looking for treasure. Messing about. Loch was teasing Bill-E. Everything was normal. You can’t suddenly go from that to a life-or-death situation like this.
Except I know from past experience that you most certainly can.
Besides, things weren’t normal—the face, the whispers, the throbbing, the sense that we were in danger. I should have been more forceful. Made them leave. Insisted they go home.
The sickness within me grows.
The noise of the whispers increases.
Loch’s blood continues to flow.
→Still talking. Telling Loch he’s got to stay alive for Reni’s sake. “She’ll be a mess for years if you die,” I sob. “Trust me, I know what losing a sister does to your head. You can’t leave her, Loch. She needs you.”
It feels like hours since Bill-E left. Loch stopped breathing again a few minutes ago. I resuscitated him, but it took longer than the first time. I was in floods of tears by the end of it—sure I’d lost him.
What’s keeping them? Damn it, they should be here by now. Don’t they know how perilous this is, how much danger Loch’s in? I can’t keep him alive forever, not by myself. If they don’t –
Loch’s breath stops again. Cursing, I start with the chest pressing and mouth-to-mouth. The beast within me wants to suck in air, not breathe it out. It wants to draw the life from Loch, feed on all that blood around his head and shoulders, sip from that terrible pool, dark in the dim light of the torch. If I dropped my guard, just for a few seconds, there’s no telling what it – I – would do.
The whispers increase. It’s like I’m being shouted at now. I want to roar back at them but I need all my breath for Loch.
Press—two, three, four. Press—two, three, four. Mouth-to-mouth.
Nothing’s happening. I don’t panic. It was like this last time. I just have to keep going, stay calm, stick with it. He’ll revive eventually.
Press—two, three, four. Press—two, three, four. Press…
It doesn’t work. No matter how much I press and breathe, Loch doesn’t respond. His face has shut down. His lungs don’t move. His heart is still.
Third time unlucky.
“No,” I whisper. “I don’t accept this. He can’t be… No!”
I bring my hands up, meaning to press again, harder than before, wildly. But something about Loch’s expression stops me. It’s peaceful, calmer than it ever was in life. Staring at him, I know with total, awful certainty—he’s lost. I could press and breathe from here till doomsday and it wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference.
Loch Gossel is dead.
→Stumbling around the cave. The whispers deafening. Tears streaming down my cheeks. The wolf within me howling to be set free. Loch dead. Muttering, “This can’t be so. This can’t be so. This…”
My right foot hits either a large stone or small stalagmite. I fall flat. As I’m picking myself up, the face of the girl forms in the floor in front of me. Her expression is the same as Loch’s. I gaze at her in horror. This is what Loch will be like for all eternity, or at least until his body rots. Blank, lifeless, ever still, ever serene, ever –
The girl’s eyes snap