Roadkill (LiveWire) (11 page)

I set my alarm and settle down to wait for my LiveWire initiation.

Rose is jumping off the bridge again, but this time as she leaps she grabs my hand, taking me with her. I am screaming in terror, The Road coming up to meet me. The subdued beeping of my alarm mercifully cuts through my nightmares, and I push back my wet hair. I am boiling, confused, and muzzy headed. For some reason I must have pulled my duvet up when I drifted off to sleep, and with my clothes on, no wonder I’m too hot. Idiot! I tell myself, suppressing a little shiver of fear. I am actually going to do this.

For a second I feel like going back to sleep, ignoring LiveWire, and believing what everyone has been trying to tell me about her accident. But I can’t. Her aquamarine eyes sparkle from her photo, and I know I have to do this. A quick check on the computer reveals the website is down, and I swear quietly to myself, before turning to phone messages. The dare is on it seems, a cryptic text from someone called ‘Deathwitch’ who explains she is tonight’s coordinator, whatever that might mean:

‘Callow Point at 2, boat lves 0210 the u swim 4 it. First 1 back wins. Don’t get tied up.’

The stairs creak (of course they do!) as I sneak down, trying not to knock Dad’s photos off the wall with my rucksack, or clink Leo’s scooter keys, but it goes well, as despite shaking like a wimp I make it out, and ease the scooter out into the road. In fact I actually wheel it halfway down the street so as not to make any noise. There are no lights in the windows, and for the first time ever I can hear…silence. Maybe LiveWire was right and this really is a special time. But I shiver as I remember the words:

‘Dead Hour is between 0200 and 0300. Statistically this is when most natural deaths occur. It is said to be an hour when life and death merge, creating a bridge to another place. Senses are heightened, your mind and body are electric, and you can do things you never dreamed of…’

Yeah right, common sense tells me. Especially that crap about most people dying….bet they made that up. Still it feels….peaceful, and as I judder towards the coast, the smell of petrol and the taste of salty air calm me.

Suddenly I remember Matt’s text about the bloke who started LiveWire. I totally forgot to ask him which newspaper so I could check the archives online. I make a note to myself to Google it after the dare. Who needs sleep? Even when I arrive and stash the scooter under a bush, mingling with other shadowy figures, I am calm. I have a mission.

“Name?” snaps a tall willowy girl, wild blonde curls loose in the sea breeze and surf shorts clinging to her skinny body. And goose bumps. I can’t exactly ask her if she’s Deathwitch, so I smile uncertainly.

“Farlan.” I stick with the plan and watch her closely, but she doesn’t react, just checks off my name and waves towards to beach. Come to think of it she’s probably too cold to care. I am so glad of my jumper now.

“So you nervous?” Jumping like a scared rabbit I turn to a couple of boys trudging next to me.

“Can’t be as bad as Si. He puked on the way here!”

“Hey, gimme a break. It’s my first time. You freaks have been doing this for years!” His shorter, tubbier mate defends himself.

I give them a slightly forced smile, then remember they probably can’t see me in the darkness. Although I quiz the more confident of the two, he clearly has never heard of Rose, or Farlan, and his arrogance is irritating so I slide into a crowd of four girls, marvelling that my usual shyness has taken a back seat. Tonight I am Rose; tough, athletic and confident, and about to collect my seventh star.

“Here you go, Farlan!” My new best friend Frankie, hands me a shot glass, and I remember the bottle crashing to the ground in the high wire video at the cement works. A premonition of unease, but I ignore it.

Frankie is babbling in her nervousness, and in no time I learn she is eighteen like me, has no idea what to do after college and is currently working as a till girl at her local supermarket. I warm to her. She is petite, and curvy, and as we knock back the alcohol and strip down for the swim, I see she has mistakenly donned a cute O’Neill bikini.

We follow the peeved looking Deathwitch down the beach, scrunching stones, and seaweed on the tide line. Next to the old lifeboat station a small blue and white motor boat bobs gently on the waves. Although a couple of lads (there are around twenty teenagers milling around) are still cracking jokes most people are silent as we scramble aboard. The driver is older, a good looking guy, maybe in his thirties, with a lot of stubble and a cigarette in one rough hand. He gives us a casual scrutiny, and I hold my breath as his gaze seems to linger over me. Or Rose?

“See something you like?” A joker calls, but the driver just shakes his head, and starts the boat.

“Oh Farlan, I’m so scared. What if I can’t make it? What if I actually drown?” Frankie slips her hand into mine, and clings like a small child.

“It’ll be fine. You can swim right?” I tell her, even though I’m actually thinking we have gone way out already. The Devil’s Rocks mark the end of the half moon bay, where the fairly calm sea turns to churning ocean. The shoreline is a distant pale blur.

“I’m…I’m not that good.”
             

Suddenly I realise what she is telling me, “Frankie! Jeez can you swim at all? What the hell did you do this one for?”

She is staring at the distant beach, “Because they said I couldn’t.” Jerking a thumb at a couple of lads shivering on the other side of the boat, she bites her lip, “My brother and his mates, you know, said I couldn’t do it.”

“So don’t do it. Let them swim and you take the boat back. Easy.”

Too late and the Deathwitch is handing out some kind of plastic belts. There is immediate panic as she explains we have to jump in the water with our wrists bound, either swimming the full distance with our hands tied, or releasing the buckle in the water.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Frankie is relieved not to be the only one backing out, I can tell. Despite repeating that if you get this far you have to ‘go live’ the coordinator is forced to back down, leaving just five of us to leap into the bubbling, icy water. With our hands tied.

I am shaking like an idiot, teeth chattering, but I’ve carried the Rose/Farlan thing so far I kind of feel like I’m in a dream and I actually am my sister. Or maybe she’s like my guardian angel and on the bridge between life and death…Or, I get a mouth full of saltwater and jerk sharply back to reality, more likely my medication for my leg is reacting with a shot glass full of vodka I should not have downed back on the beach. It’s freezing; far, far colder than I thought. I should have worn a wetsuit.

Survival and my swimming training kicks in and despite a sharp pain in my injured leg I manage to take a breath of air and duck under. This way I can bring my tied hands round to the front, and they act like a fin, slicing through the waves. I have no idea how the others are doing, but I am totally focused. I want to win. I want to…um…not drown.

I am a good swimmer, but I had totally forgotten the after effects of yesterday’s little arson attack. My lungs are burning after just a few minutes in the water, and I’m coughing like a forty a day smoker. My legs just aren’t as strong as usual, and I am forced to tread water, floating on the waves, cresting the next one and trying to get my bearings. I figure the tide is going out, which I didn’t notice earlier, and swallow another vile mouthful as fear flashes around my body. What if I can’t do it? Something brushes my leg underwater and I flounder, my way too active imagination is shrieking ‘sharks!’

Looking wildly round for the boat I can’t see it. What if they just leave us here? The beach is getting further away, even though I only stopped swimming seconds ago. I am being swept out to sea by a fierce undercurrent. The buckle on the belt is stiff and in my frustration I actually shove it in my mouth and try to bite the cheap plastic, before sanity returns and my struggling fingers manage to get a grip and yank the ties off.

Rose help me, please help me, I am whispering, through freezing lips, as I start the long haul to the shore, fighting the tide all the way. Exhaustion hits about halfway, but I keep going, relentlessly crawling through the restless water, raising my head every fifty strokes to check my direction. A welcome moon slides from the clouds, tracking my progress like a silver compass, and Rose is suddenly there beside me, swimming too. Thank god.

“C’mon Caz. You can do this. You were always better at swimming than me!”

I laugh crazily, feeling her hand brush my face as we struggle side by side. “I was not. You were better at everything?”

“Yeah right. Remember Barbados?”

I do. Dad took us one winter when he was on leave. Just us, because mum had a big research project on. We went on this really cool expedition that ended with a swim in the sea with turtles. We waved at dad, who was chilling on the boat with his mate, rolling in the silky warmth of the water, the lazy brightness of the Caribbean sun. That was how we got stuff, posh holidays, or a bloke to fix the bathroom plumbing while Dad was on tour. He always knew a friend who knew a friend, whose cousin…yeah, you get the idea. Dad was like Rose, he knew everyone, everyone loved him.

Anyway this time Dad chucked us some snorkelling gear and we watched the brightly coloured sea life doing whatever fish do. Right down under a reef was the remains of an old fishing boat.

“Let’s go down!” I said to Rose, the warmth, the water, making me reckless for once.

“What! We won’t be able to breathe!”

“It’s not that far. Dare you!” It was what she always said to me, and I was revelling in being the one in control, seeing her uncertain and out of her depth. Which makes me not very nice I suppose.

“Okay!” She held out her hand and we dived together. It was magical, until our breath gave and we rushed to the surface laughing like idiots.

“I was always jealous of you Caz.” Rose says as we struggle towards the beach.

Surprise makes me forget to swim and I sink rapidly. But not far. My bad knee hits shingle, and I claw in and haul my way up the beach, shivering and gasping, fighting the endless ebb and flow of the summer tide.

Dead Hour is over and Rose has left me, but as I lie winded, and exhausted on the stones by the lifeboat station, I think hard about what she said. Or was it what I would have wanted her to say?

Chapter Thirteen

“Well done. Farlan isn’t it?” The boat has returned with its shamefaced load of teens, and the smirking driver.

“Yeah. Sorry, you seem kind of familiar. Have we met?” My teeth are chattering, and really really need to get my jumper on before I die of hypothermia. Detective work first though.

But he looks surprised and shakes his shaggy head. Maybe he just makes a habit of checking out teenagers.

“Doesn’t matter anyway. Farlan wins this one. The rest of you, we need to get lost. The police are on their way.” The Deathwitch girl is snapping at our heels, peevish bony face showing a flash of annoyance, herding us up the beach.

My fellow swimmers have managed to struggle in behind me and we are all hastily hauling on clothes, grabbing bags. Only Frankie bothers to speak to me, the others flash meaningful glances; a few slap my back in congratulations. And that’s it. My first dare.

“Good luck Farlan. You were so cool. I wish I was as brave as you.”

I pause, about to skitter across to the hidden scooter, “You know, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. And I’m not brave. I know I’m good at swimming that’s why I picked this dare.” I shrug like it’s no big deal but inside I’m on a total high (despite my leg burning and throbbing). I won! I actually did it.

“It is a big deal. People die doing these dares you know,” Frankie lowers her voice, pretty face serious.

“What do you mean?” I actually stop, and get shoved by the others. Hastily I try to move to one side, sheltered by a stunted holly bush. The leaves prickle my legs, even through my jeans, and I shift uncomfortably.

“Didn’t you know? I saw it on this online news thing. It was in the States, I think maybe three girls in the last couple of years. The bloke who runs it was interviewed by the police and everything.”

“Get a move on or we’re all going to get nicked!” Someone shouts, exasperated by our slow progress.

“Frankie, what was the name of the site?” I ask, frantic not to lose this vital titbit.

“Um, I’ll try and find it. Message me on the forum.”

“Who are you online? So I know who I’m talking to!” I laugh unconvincingly, like this is any normal conversation, as the blue lights begin to flash in the distance, beyond the sand dunes.

“Me?” she looks pleased at my interest, “I’m Fairydoll.” She grabs the sleeve of a passing bloke, and he turns, and flashes me a cute grin. “And this is Ludo my crazy brother. We’ll see you next time!”

Fairydoll. Of course she is. She bundles into a minivan with about six others and we scatter. The sea sighs and the gentle rush of waves sliding up the beach is the only sound. The boat has gone, and there is no trace of what happened here in the Dead Hour.

Nobody knew Rose, which is a blow for my detective work, or if they did they weren’t admitting it, but I think I made an impression. Frankie’s words are ringing in my brain. Admittedly I’m not sure what connection I could make to Rose but instinct tells me it is important, and I am triumphant. Result! I urge the scooter faster, wind blowing out my short hair under the helmet. Luckily its only 4am and the roads are quiet, but even so I take the precaution of riding the long way home. Sometimes there are random police lurking near the slip road behind the Estate, breathalysing the unwary, and those who don’t have a license or insurance.