Black Tide (10 page)

“Tash! Get up! You’re not sleeping here,” shouted Toby. Tash raised her head slightly from the depths of the plush carpet and stared at him with vacant eyes.

“I’m ok.” She grinned and then giggled. This really worried Toby. She was acting like he had felt once after drinking some of his dad’s homemade beer: stupidly light-headed, as if he was floating, disconnected from the earth. His dad had given him a terrible row but Toby pointed out it hadn’t been entirely his fault – the beer had been in an Irn Bru bottle.

Toby dragged Tash by her arms through the hotel lobby. She was laughing and singing: “The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round…”

“Hush, Tash, at least sing something decent,” Toby begged her, as he struggled to pull her through the doorway. He managed to get her as far as a large sitting room where he plonked her on a settee. He found a pile of tartan woollen blankets stacked on a chair and threw them over her, pulling off her wet boots and tucking her feet into the warm folds.

“Must get her warm,” he mumbled, stumbling round the empty rooms, searching for something to make some heat. He swung open a heavy oak door
and found himself in a large dusty dining room with a thick red carpet, and windows draped in plush velvet curtains. A dozen tables and chairs were set out as if waiting for the diners to arrive. A thick layer of dust dulled the fine crystal glasses and ornate silver cutlery.

Toby grabbed one of the fancily carved wooden chairs and threw it across the room. Its delicate spindly legs crashed to the floor and broke into several pieces. He snatched them up.

Sorry chair – I don’t like to do this but I need some firewood! Now to find kindling and some way to light a fire.

Clutching the remains of the chair, Toby staggered back into the sitting room. The singing had stopped. Tash was fast asleep.

“NO! Wake up, Tash!” Toby cried, shaking her limp arms frantically. “You’ve got to wake up – you’ve got hypothermia. You could die!”

Tash mumbled something unintelligible under her breath but didn’t open her eyes.

Toby stacked the chair in the grate of the large Victorian fireplace and glanced around. There was a dusty lighter sitting on top of the mantelpiece and some old faded newspapers in a log basket next to the hearth. He crunched up the paper into balls and stuffed them into the grate, then, shaking the lighter, he flicked the flint with his thumb. There was no spark.

Come on – light! Please!

Time and again he rolled his thumb over the ridged wheel until his skin was sore. Just as he was about to give up and search again, a tiny flicker spat from the lighter.

Great! Just in time!

Kneeling down, he held it carefully to the pile in the grate and, as the paper singed black and started to catch light, he leant and blew gently. The flames fanned through the balls of paper, throwing white whorls of smoke up the chimney. Toby sat back on his heels and watched the broken splinters of chair start to glow.

Phew! Better go and get some more chairs to burn – this one won’t last long.

First he checked Tash: the colour was slowly returning to her pale face – in fact one side seemed to be developing a dark red rash. Toby frowned. He had no idea what that could be.

Maybe she’s allergic to that ghastly gunge she put on her face?

He squeezed her hand. It felt warm and looked pink and healthy. She was breathing rhythmically now, the blankets rising and falling with her soft snores. He checked her feet under the covers. They, too, were dry and cosy.

She looks ok now – maybe I overreacted. I’ll stack the fire, then look for something to eat. Maybe there are some dry rations still here?

Toby went back to the luxurious dining room and set about smashing up more chairs. In a funny sort of way he quite enjoyed wrecking and breaking the wooden frames into shards of firewood. It eased the tension of the past few days.

He carried armfuls of wood back to the sitting room, filling the log basket. Sitting down to admire his
handiwork, leaden tiredness weighed down his legs, his eyelids fluttered and he felt himself drifting off.

Sunlight was pouring in the dusty windows of the sitting room when Toby woke up. For the first time in ages he was too hot and threw back the thick rug that had been thrown over him.

Oh, that’s so lovely, waking up all cosy and hot.

In the grate the roaring fire leapt and crackled, sending waves of real heat over him. He stretched and yawned. The other settee was empty. Tash must have got up, put more wood on the fire and tucked him under the rug.

Why can’t life always be like this – why does it have to be such a struggle? If only I could be this warm and cosy all the time.

But he knew that it couldn’t last; sooner or later he’d have to get up and start the battle for survival all over again.

I must get going – I need to find Dad and Sylvie, but at least we know where we are heading now, even if it is a long way to go. If only it wasn’t winter it would be so much easier.

It didn’t look much like winter with the sun streaming in, sunbeams catching motes of dust swirling through the air.

“You awake?” called a voice from somewhere.

“Yeah, and I’m waiting for my breakfast,” Toby called back.

“Very funny! You missed breakfast – it’s now lunch, and it’s about to be served in the lounge.”

“In the lounge? How posh! Ok, coming.” Toby pulled himself to standing, noticing how weak his legs were. Sitting by the fire was a large pair of towelling slippers embroidered with “The Kingshouse Hotel”. He slipped them on and sighed. There was nothing as good as warm feet after a cold walk in the snow.

He shuffled down the hallway and into a large lounge that had a bar curving round the right-hand side. A set of French windows on the left-hand side looked out onto a world of snow-capped mountains twinkling in the sharpness of the sun.

“Wow!” he gasped, “what an amazing view!”

“It’s fab, isn’t it?” said Tash, appearing behind the bar carrying bowls of steaming soup, which she set down. “Come and eat,” she commanded. Toby sat up on a bar stool and tucked into his soup with noisy gulps.

“How are you feeling?” he asked anxiously, trying not to stare at Tash’s red puffy face. The rash had spread to both cheeks now and looked angry and sore.

It couldn’t be red fever, could it? Like a delayed, milder version than the one that killed everybody?

Toby tried to dismiss the idea from his mind. Surely she wouldn’t be feeling well enough to cook lunch if she had red fever?

“Oh, not so bad,” Tash replied, avoiding Toby’s gaze. He could see she was trying very hard to act big and brave.

“This is a great place,” he said, sucking his spoon.

“Mind your manners, Tobes – no slurping the soup, please,” Tash corrected him. “Yes, it doesn’t look like
it’s changed since before the red fever. And there’s a huge store cupboard full of lots of dried food. There are tins of soup and fruit and they’ve not gone off because it’s so cold here in winter. Same in Russia, my father says.”

“Yeah? It looks like the hotel was in good condition before the red fever and no one’s been here since. Is there any more of that soup left?”

“Yep, help yourself,” Tash pushed a pan towards him. “And tonight we will have the best dinner ever!” she declared.

“Why’s that then?”

“Because today is Christmas Day!”

“REALLY? How do you know that?” exclaimed Toby.

I’m not sure that I want to have Christmas without Sylvie and Dad. It doesn’t seem right
.

“I keep a diary, otherwise it’s dead easy to lose track of time, don’t you think? Anyway, I’m going to plunder the stores here and find the best stuff for a slap-up meal.”

I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have a nice meal. I’ve had few enough of those in the last three years
.

“Ok, sounds good to me,” said Toby. “But we’ve got to decide what we’re going to do next. We need to get to Stirling, and it’s a long way to walk. We must think of some other way to get there. I wonder whether I can mend the Land Rover? I don’t think I know enough about mechanics to do that…”

“I know how to get there,” said Tash smugly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We can ride.”

“What on?”

“Ponies! Come and see!” Tash waved for Toby to follow her. When he caught up she was standing by the back door of the kitchen.

“Be quiet and don’t make any sudden moves,” she ordered, slipping out of the door and into the bright light of the sun bouncing off the snow.

“Hang on, Tash, let me put my boots on first…” Toby struggled to swap his slippers for his boots, then tagged along behind her through the yard and round the back of one of the outbuildings.

There, in the lee of the wall, stood four enormous ponies staring at them with large, liquid brown eyes. Their fluffy coats had a layer of ice and snow on top, and their thick matted manes and tails were full of tangles and bits of fern and heather.

“Hello,” cooed Toby gently. “Sylvie would love you. She’s mad about ponies.” He put his hand out to them cautiously. “These are Highland ponies; I saw them once at the Highland Show in Edinburgh, only those ones looked a lot smarter. How did you know they were here?”

“Easy – I saw fresh hoof prints in the mud leading round here, and there was new poo in the yard.”

It’s a good job she’s so observant. I never notice anything
.

Tash was talking to the horses in a singsong sort of voice, in a language Toby didn’t understand. The ponies seemed mesmerised by her, snuffling at her jacket and plucking carefully at her sleeve with their soft brown muzzles.

“Careful, Tash. Remember, these ponies haven’t been touched in years. They’re probably half wild by now.”

She turned and smiled at him. “Don’t worry, my father was a famous horse trainer in Poland. He used to teach the wild horses to do tricks in the circus. He even got a zebra to walk on a tightrope once. Father taught me the ways of horses. I’ve been riding since I was a baby.”

Trust her to have a horse trainer as a dad! Don’t think Mum would have approved of the circus bit though – she hated circuses. She never let me go to any
.

“Please don’t tell me I’ve got to ride these things with nothing to hang onto. I’ve only ever been on a rocking horse,” said Toby nervously, trying to keep out of the way of the ponies’ massive feet while they stomped around Tash.

“Don’t worry, I found their tack, too. Follow me!”

Toby slid round the side of the barn, keeping as far away from the ponies as he could.

I don’t care what Tash says, I don’t trust you – you look a bit wild to me.

Tash beckoned him into a small stone building where she was shining her torch on the wall. There was a faded poster pinned up, which said:

“Just as well,” said Toby, pointing to the last line, “as I have no ability whatsoever.”

“Ah, you’ll be a great horseman when I’ve finished teaching you,” said Tash, laughing.

Together they explored the barn. There was a wall covered with saddle brackets on which sat large comfy-looking trekking saddles. They were covered with green mildew, but Tash soon had them polished up with a rag and some saddle soap she found in a drawer. There were lines of bridles hanging on hooks, with an assortment of metal bits and leather straps fastened to them. Toby was fascinated.

“Do you really need all this stuff to go riding?” he asked, pulling a strange-looking net mask with red, floppy cotton ears out of a cupboard. “What is that?”

“It’s a fly mask,” said Tash, looking up from the sink where she was trying to scrape rust from a pair of stirrups. “They should have got stainless-steel stirrups – they’re the best.”

Thank goodness she knows what she’s doing – I haven’t got a clue. I’d never have tried to ride the ponies if I’d been on my own
.

Toby wandered outside into the yard and stared at the cold white expanse of moor stretching away into the distance.

Are we really going to try and ride over that? We must be mad! What if the dogs are still following us? We’ve not got any choice though. If only I hadn’t smashed the Land Rover!

Just then, something at his feet caught Toby’s attention. Splattered on the white of the snow was a trail of dark red droplets. He knelt and stuck his finger into the sticky liquid. It was definitely blood,
but whose was it? He followed the fresh crimson drips that led through the yard and into an old shed. Peering into the black depths he could hear the rough rasps of laboured breathing. Whatever it was sounded in a bad way. Was it human?

What if it’s one of the raiders? What if it’s Carl? Or worse – what if it’s one of the dogs?

Toby dashed back to the tack room, grabbing a pitchfork on the way.

“Come quick, Tash! There’s something or somebody in the shed at the back of the yard. I think it’s injured – there’s blood on the snow!”

“What!” cried Tash. “Are you going to stab it with that?” She pointed to the pitchfork.

“I’m not taking any chances – it might be one of the raiders or one of the dogs. Come on, we’d better stick together!”

The two of them edged slowly into the darkness of the shed. There seemed to be a body lying in a pile of mouldy hay at the back. Holding the pitchfork out in front of him, Toby approached it cautiously.

“It’s an animal,” he hissed to Tash.

“It’s a wolf!” she cried. “Look at its long muzzle and thick coat.”

“WHAT? A wolf?” Toby blurted out. He quickly backed away from the lifeless form stretched out in the hay.

“Shush!” Tash commanded. “You’ll frighten it!”

“I’ll frighten it? It’s frightening me!” said Toby in a loud whisper. “I’ve never been this near to a wolf before.”

Tash crouched down and, murmuring strangely, approached the wolf on all fours. Toby could now see that the creature had a grey grizzled head with a long white-streaked muzzle. Its dirty matted coat was a mixture of brown and black and grey, with clumps of ice and snow stuck to the longer fluffy hair on its belly.

“Must have just got here,” observed Toby, still holding his pitchfork in a defensive position. “Careful, Tash! Don’t get too near!”

“It’s ok – I’ll be fine.”

“Ha! Don’t tell me – your dad was once a famous wolf trainer in Poland?”

“Yes, how did you guess? Well, actually, he looked after the wolves in the Highland Wildlife Park. He worked there as a ranger. I used to go with him and help.”

I might have known! But this isn’t any domesticated, safari-park wolf – this is a wild one.

As if reading his mind, Tash said,

“This is a domesticated wolf. Look – he’s a wolf hybrid. That’s part dog and part wolf, though they look just like wolves. There used to be a craze for keeping them as pets, but most people didn’t know how to train them properly. When the owners couldn’t handle them anymore they turned them out on the hills to fend for themselves. My father used to find them dumped in the wildlife park.” Tash offered her fist to the wolf-dog. It took one sniff and then licked her hand.

“I bet this chap was a pet once, before the red fever,” she continued. “That’s probably why he’s come looking for humans when he’s ill.”

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Toby.

“Not sure – he’s got a wound on his foot, but one of the ponies could have stood on him when he was snooping round here. Looks more like he’s just exhausted and weak from hunger. He’s an old boy, so maybe he couldn’t keep up with the pack and they left him behind?”

“Pack?” yelped Toby. “So you think there’s more than one of them?”

“There’s bound to be. Wolves don’t usually live alone, and there were a lot of wolves in wildlife parks all over Scotland. They’ll have got free and been breeding for the last three years. There’re probably loads of them by now.”

“Really? What a horrible thought. So it’s not just the dogs and the raiders we have to worry about, then?”

“Here, you keep an eye on him, and I’ll get some warm water to bathe that wound,” said Tash, getting up from beside the prone wolf.

“Must I?” Toby eyed the wolf nervously.

As Tash disappeared, the wolf started to stir and slowly raised its head. Two brilliant blue eyes stared at Toby through the gloom of the shed.

“Errrr, it’s ok, boy. Don’t worry now…” he stammered, wishing Tash would return quickly. The wolf panted gently and kept staring at him.

“Here we are,” called Tash cheerfully, returning with a bowl and some clean towels. “Oh, I see you two are getting to know each other.”

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly,” muttered Toby, keeping his eye on the wolf. “I don’t trust him; he looks a bit dangerous to me.”

“He’ll be fine. You just have to know how to handle them,” chirped Tash, winding a long woollen sock around the wolf’s muzzle and tying it gently shut. “Just to be on the safe side,” she explained. The wolf didn’t seem to mind, and stayed lying down while Tash carefully washed its bloodied paw. She patted it dry with the towel, and then coated it with the pink gunge out of the jar in her pocket. “I think he’s really exhausted. Probably hasn’t eaten for days.”

“I hope he’s not eyeing us up for his next meal!” remarked Toby. He wished Tash would hurry up so that he could get out of the shed and away from those penetrating blue eyes.

“Don’t be silly. I’ll open one of the tins of soup for him. Got some chicken noodle – he’ll like that, and my mother always says chicken soup is good for invalids.”

“Ummm, does she? I bet she wasn’t thinking of wolves when she said that.”

“Why don’t you go and catch the ponies while I feed him?” suggested Tash. “Put them in the stables and then I’ll show you how to tack up.”

“When are we going to head off? We’ve wasted enough time already,” argued Toby.

“Aren’t you forgetting our Christmas dinner? And anyhow, we don’t want to start across the moor as it’s getting dark. Better to wait until tomorrow, and YOU need to learn to ride first!” Tash ordered.

Crikes! She can be well bossy, can’t she?

Toby backed quietly out of the shed and went round to where the ponies were standing snuffling greedily at some hay Tash had put out for them.

“Hiya girls, you going to be good for Toby?” he asked, staring with dismay at their large bottoms turned to him.

How am I going to catch them? Maybe they’ll follow me into the stables if I wave a bucket in front of them?

Toby went in search of a bucket. He found one in the tack room, and some musty-looking pony cubes in a metal locker. He rattled the cubes in the bucket under the noses of the ponies.

“Mush mush! Come with Toby!” he called, slowly backing towards the gateway. The ponies flung up their heads, sniffing the air. They spied the bucket, and then all of them charged towards Toby, knocking him flying into the mushy snow. The bucket tumbled through the air and landed in the yard, throwing the pony cubes onto the ground. The ponies milled round, pushing their noses hungrily into the snow.

“What’s going on here then?” Tash came round the corner from the shed. “Haven’t you caught them yet?”

“They tried to trample me to death,” explained Toby. Was it his fault if the ponies were so unruly and wild?

“Come on girls,” called Tash, grabbing the nearest pony by the forelock and dragging it towards the stables. The ponies seemed to recognise that someone with authority was now in control and obediently mooched into the stables after her.

Once each pony was in a stall, Tash set about putting the saddles and bridles on them. Toby watched with envy; she was so calm and efficient with them. They moved over when she told them to and stood quietly
as she slipped the bridles over their heads and the bits into their mouths.

“I’ve called this brown one Daisy, the golden one is Flossie, the grey one is Molly and the white one is Lulu. They won’t know their names yet, but you take Daisy, she seems the quietest.”

“Take her? Take her where?” Toby anxiously asked. The ponies appeared even larger close up and he was carefully watching where they put their huge hairy feet. He didn’t want to get stood on. He had seen the mess one of them had made of the poor old wolf’s foot.

“Take her out into the yard and I’ll show you how to get on,” commanded Tash.

Toby did as he was told and tugged at Daisy’s reins.

“Come on, Daisy, be good for me,” he pleaded. He was not looking forward to the next half an hour or so. The ponies looked just as dangerous as the wolf.

Daisy lazily followed him over to a mounting block in the corner of the yard, and stood like a rock as he clambered clumsily into the saddle. Sitting up, Toby had the feeling of being a long way from the ground. Fumbling, he tried to get his feet into the stirrups but they turned this way and that and refused to let his toes onto them.

“Here,” said Tash, grabbing hold of his lower leg. “If you keep your legs back here you’ll find it a lot easier.” She slipped his foot into a stirrup and then went round the other side to do the same to the other foot.

“Now all you have to do is kick and steer, ok?” commanded Tash.

Toby nodded. She made it sound so easy. But from up where he was sat it felt very strange, especially when Daisy started to move forwards, her huge frame swinging from the left to the right.

“We’ll go into the front garden of the hotel. It might not be too bumpy there,” said Tash, walking alongside Daisy. “When you feel her slowing down, all you need to do is give a kick with your feet, like so!” She grabbed his ankle and swung it back to give a soft thump on Daisy’s side. Daisy hardly flinched and kept lumbering forwards.

“Feels like she’s going too fast already!” cried Toby, clutching on to the front of the saddle.

“Get a grip! You’re only walking! We’ll have to travel a lot faster than this if we’re to get across the moor in daylight.”

Is this such a good idea? I’m not going to be able to stay on this thing at speed!

Daisy plodded on until they came to a flat piece of ground in front of the hotel that must at one time have been a large, gravelled car park. Tash positioned herself in the middle and proceeded to shout commands at Toby while he tried to ride Daisy around her.

“Keep your heels down! Sit up straight! Watch where you’re going! Steer! You’re going to crash into that bush if you don’t look out! Pull on the reins!”

It was a lot harder than Toby thought it was going to be. There was so much to think about. Once he had mastered holding the reins properly he then had to think about kicking Daisy and steering her at the same time.

“Ok, now let’s try the trot!” called Tash, who was stood clutching a woolly scarf to her swollen face. Toby kicked furiously and Daisy lurched into a trot, nearly unseating him. He grabbed hold of her tangled mane and tried to follow Tash’s instructions to rise up and down in time to the swinging movement of the pony.

“Can we stop now?” he begged breathlessly. “I’m exhausted! And my bum’s getting sore!”

“Ok. That’ll do – but you’re going to have to try harder tomorrow otherwise you’ll never keep up!” She started to walk back towards the hotel, her shoulders drooping.

Never mind about me – how’s she going to cope with a long journey? She doesn’t look great at all. Wish she’d tell me what’s wrong.

Daisy was keen to return to her friends and Toby left the reins hanging on her neck as she strode back to the yard. Slipping down from her back, he unbuckled the girth strap and pulled the saddle off.

“Are you ok?” he asked Tash while she unbridled the pony.

“I’m fine,” Tash snapped back.

Ok, I was just asking! Gosh, she’s a bit touchy!

“I’m going to check on Snowy,” Tash said quietly, heading towards the shed.

“Ok,” replied Toby. “You’ve named the wolf Snowy?” But Tash had slouched off and he was left with Daisy. He gave her some pony cubes and a quick pat, then put away the bridle and saddle.

He went to the shed to find Tash sitting in the hay chatting to Snowy. The wolf-dog seemed to be feeling
better and was sitting up on his haunches, licking Tash’s fingers.

“He looks a bit brighter,” commented Toby, being careful not to get too near. The wolf’s piercing eyes were trained on him from the moment he stepped into the darkness of the shed.

“He was tired out and footsore. He must have been travelling for days on his own.” Tash caressed the wolf’s head. “He’s feeling much better now he’s had a good feed and got some healing cream on his pads.”

“Good,” said Toby. “What are we going to do with him?”

“Do?” queried Tash. “We’re going to let him go of course. Once he’s had a rest and some more feed he’ll be off to find the rest of the pack.”

“Do we want him to do that? They might be hunting us next! If we let him go he might become dangerous when he’s met up with his pals.”

“Snowy won’t harm us, not ever!”

“Maybe we could keep him as a pet?” asked Toby. “Look at him – he’s obviously an old dog. He’s covered in scars and old healed wounds. Poor boy’s been in the wars. He’s a right wounded warrior. We could take him with us.”

“No, he’ll never keep up with us on the ponies. It wouldn’t be fair. He can stay here and rest until he’s ready to go and find his pack.”

“Ok, if you say so.” Toby was defensive. “I’ll go and start dinner, will I?”

“Ok,” mumbled Tash, stroking the soft silky hair on
top of Snowy’s head. The wolf whined and wrapped himself around her.

Toby went back to the hotel. The cold had started to creep under his layers of clothes as the sun dipped and left the early afternoon sky. As he stepped into the warmth of the kitchen, he rubbed the sore patch on his bottom. Riding ponies wasn’t easy and tomorrow he would have to ride all day across the moor and mountains, and maybe the whole day after that.