the comforting rhythm of her loping stride. A truck materialised without warning, forcing her off the road.
‘Hey!’ she yelled after it, fright making her furious. She stopped, leaning forward, trying to get her heart to slow down. The vehicle accelerated into the thickening fog, flashing its hazard lights in apology. It was time to go back.
Clare turned towards town, the wind at her back now, the chatter of the sea birds feeding in the shallow water to her left. She rounded a dune, planted with a copse of dusty tamarisks. The trees cut out the sound of the lagoon, but here the wind carried the faint, percussive echo of unfamiliar footsteps. The sound of it goosefleshed Clare’s arms and made her stomach feel hollow. She picked up her pace, certain now that she could also hear the sound of breath rasping in lungs unused to running.
Just before she broke free of the trees, a wiry arm snaked round her, yanking her backwards. The other arm twisted into her hoodie, snapping her neck back. Clare kicked hard backwards. There was a sharp gasp of pain as her foot reached a shin, but the arms around her body did not lessen their hold. Her hood had pulled tight across her throat. She could smell him, the feral tang of adrenaline and wood smoke on his skin. Clare pulled forward, but that made it more difficult to breathe, so she leaned her weight in to her attacker, using the momentary slackness in his arms to twist loose. They both fell onto the damp sand, Clare beneath him. She calculated the distance to the lights beyond the trees. Three hundred metres. The takeaway restaurant she had passed earlier would still be open. She needed fifteen seconds, twenty at the most. She looked at her attacker, trying to see if he had a weapon. There was no glint of steel in the dim light. No knife out. No gun. Clare took a deep breath and fought again to slow her heart rate.
‘I’m sorry, Miss.’ The voice was light, almost girlish. Not what Clare had expected. So was his body, lighter than hers, now that she thought about it. ‘But I need to talk to you,’ the voice said.
Clare’s heart was still hammering against her ribs. She took a breath, trying to slow it down. He wouldn’t be the first man to attack a woman and say he just wanted to talk. But it gave her a gap. ‘Let me sit up,’ she said, the steadiness of her voice hiding her panic.
The figure of a young boy came into focus. ‘Don’t run away,’ he pleaded.
‘I won’t,’ said Clare, although the unwashed smell of him turned her stomach. She moved slowly so as not to startle him. Still no knife that she could see. She realised now that she was sitting up that she was taller than him.
‘I saw you outside the bakery today.’ Clare’s heart was returning to normal. ‘Lazarus. That’s your name.’
The boy nodded, pleased that she had remembered.
Clare stood up cautiously. The boy rose with her. He came up to her shoulder. ‘What do you want?’ she asked. ‘I’ve got nothing on me.’
‘I’m scared,’ said the boy.
‘You’re scared,’ said Clare.
‘Nobody helps us. Sometimes we die,’ said Lazarus, ‘but then it’s just a drunk person who didn’t mean to kill us dead.’
‘Is that what happened with Kaiser?’ Clare asked gently.
A car pulled in to the lot outside the takeaway, the shards of light from its beams raking through the trees, the glare catching the boy’s face. He looked very vulnerable, very young.
‘Kaiser, he went to stay with his sister.’ The boy blurted the words out. ‘He thought he’d be safe with her.’
‘That’s the last you saw of him?’
The boy nodded. ‘Friday morning. He went to town.’
‘What happened to him?’ asked Clare.
The boy shifted his weight. ‘I don’t know. No one saw him. He never came back.’
‘Lazarus, I’m going to start walking now,’ said Clare, moving slowly so as not to alarm him. ‘Do you want something to eat?’
‘You go home, Miss,’ Lazarus said, glancing
‘Hey!’ she yelled after it, fright making her furious. She stopped, leaning forward, trying to get her heart to slow down. The vehicle accelerated into the thickening fog, flashing its hazard lights in apology. It was time to go back.
Clare turned towards town, the wind at her back now, the chatter of the sea birds feeding in the shallow water to her left. She rounded a dune, planted with a copse of dusty tamarisks. The trees cut out the sound of the lagoon, but here the wind carried the faint, percussive echo of unfamiliar footsteps. The sound of it goosefleshed Clare’s arms and made her stomach feel hollow. She picked up her pace, certain now that she could also hear the sound of breath rasping in lungs unused to running.
Just before she broke free of the trees, a wiry arm snaked round her, yanking her backwards. The other arm twisted into her hoodie, snapping her neck back. Clare kicked hard backwards. There was a sharp gasp of pain as her foot reached a shin, but the arms around her body did not lessen their hold. Her hood had pulled tight across her throat. She could smell him, the feral tang of adrenaline and wood smoke on his skin. Clare pulled forward, but that made it more difficult to breathe, so she leaned her weight in to her attacker, using the momentary slackness in his arms to twist loose. They both fell onto the damp sand, Clare beneath him. She calculated the distance to the lights beyond the trees. Three hundred metres. The takeaway restaurant she had passed earlier would still be open. She needed fifteen seconds, twenty at the most. She looked at her attacker, trying to see if he had a weapon. There was no glint of steel in the dim light. No knife out. No gun. Clare took a deep breath and fought again to slow her heart rate.
‘I’m sorry, Miss.’ The voice was light, almost girlish. Not what Clare had expected. So was his body, lighter than hers, now that she thought about it. ‘But I need to talk to you,’ the voice said.
Clare’s heart was still hammering against her ribs. She took a breath, trying to slow it down. He wouldn’t be the first man to attack a woman and say he just wanted to talk. But it gave her a gap. ‘Let me sit up,’ she said, the steadiness of her voice hiding her panic.
The figure of a young boy came into focus. ‘Don’t run away,’ he pleaded.
‘I won’t,’ said Clare, although the unwashed smell of him turned her stomach. She moved slowly so as not to startle him. Still no knife that she could see. She realised now that she was sitting up that she was taller than him.
‘I saw you outside the bakery today.’ Clare’s heart was returning to normal. ‘Lazarus. That’s your name.’
The boy nodded, pleased that she had remembered.
Clare stood up cautiously. The boy rose with her. He came up to her shoulder. ‘What do you want?’ she asked. ‘I’ve got nothing on me.’
‘I’m scared,’ said the boy.
‘You’re scared,’ said Clare.
‘Nobody helps us. Sometimes we die,’ said Lazarus, ‘but then it’s just a drunk person who didn’t mean to kill us dead.’
‘Is that what happened with Kaiser?’ Clare asked gently.
A car pulled in to the lot outside the takeaway, the shards of light from its beams raking through the trees, the glare catching the boy’s face. He looked very vulnerable, very young.
‘Kaiser, he went to stay with his sister.’ The boy blurted the words out. ‘He thought he’d be safe with her.’
‘That’s the last you saw of him?’
The boy nodded. ‘Friday morning. He went to town.’
‘What happened to him?’ asked Clare.
The boy shifted his weight. ‘I don’t know. No one saw him. He never came back.’
‘Lazarus, I’m going to start walking now,’ said Clare, moving slowly so as not to alarm him. ‘Do you want something to eat?’
‘You go home, Miss,’ Lazarus said, glancing
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