Because if you had you'd probably be dead now like Gilbert in the wood. Jon tried to tell himself that it was a ram, lied to try and avoid accepting the fact that what was left of the carcass was indisputably goat. 'There was somebody here about a quarter of an hour ago.' Without going outside Sylvia would not have been able to see whoever had been in the shed and
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The shed was not in full view of the cottage windows, a bare stone wall facing in this direction. He climbed back up to the wheel, started on the bumpy journey back home. Within an hour the trailer was full of neatly sawn cylindrical birch trunk. In addition to that it means that they've now found us, they know exactly where we're holed up.' And everything they've stolen is something that could be used as a weapon.
He closed his eyes momentarily, almost yelled 'Then how the fuck did you know they were here?' Instead he spoke calmly, knew he had to reassure her. Maybe Sylvia was right, they had to go and find other survivors, //there were any others. That stemmed from spending too much time alone. He was starting to get depressed, a gradual erosion of his positive thinking. Chainsaws were noisy things, they let all and sundry know exactly where you were and you wouldn't hear if anything crept up on you. 'Some bugger's been stealing my tools.'Īll the same he fetched the saw, kicked it into life and began cutting up a thick trunk, a deafening whine that showered sawdust everywhere. 'Christ' He saw the debris on the floor, the spilled contents of his workbench, boxes of screws, nuts, nails scattered over the whole floor so that they overflowed out into the yard. It ran before and it'll run again, like a desert jackal. Pull yourself together, Gilbert was probably killed soon after we last saw him, jumped by that dog of Gwyther's in the same way that it killed the calf. He glanced back to where he had left the chainsaw, began edging towards it. Nervous, working fast, wanting to get the job over and done with. No, but whatever killed him might still be around, lurking in the undergrowth, creeping up on you
Damn it, he's dead, he can't hurt you now. He wished again that he'd brought the shotgun.
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