Page 259 of The Black Trilogy

A thought struck me, and I crawled back to the entrance where I could see a little. If I died here, I should leave a message. Finally, I had a use for that pencil. On a pale rock face, I scrawled my initials just in case anyone found me. MB. As an afterthought, I added + CB 4EVA, choking both on my fat tongue and the memory of Black on our wedding day. Well, I’d be seeing him again soon at this rate.

I took one more sip of liquid, wrapped the remains of the parachute around me, and sank onto the floor of the cave. Whether I’d see another dusk was out of my hands now.

I blinked, trying to adjust my eyes to the gloom. Was I alive or dead? My back still hurt from my adventure with the ejector seat, and I reached out until my fingers touched my new friend. Yup. Alive. I wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or disappointed.

I rolled onto my side until I saw the entrance to the cave. Orange light seeped in as the sun left for another day. Time for me to walk. Then again, could I be bothered? Soon, I’d have been searching the desert for a week with nothing to show for it but a handful of scrapes and a twisted ankle. Why not stay here? Sure, it may not have been five-star, but the company was good. Quiet, no endless chatter, just the way I liked it.

Except now he was screeching. For Pete’s sake, shut up! I turned to give him a few choice words, but he reached out and caressed my face.

“Oi, get off me!”

He touched me again, and I flipped my knife out, ready to introduce the pair of them. Only his hand had gone again. I took a step forward. What was he doing?

Then it hit me. Literally. A bat! There were bats everywhere. Somewhere deep, I found a reserve of energy and leapt at the roof of the cave, plucking my prize down by its wings.

Saved. By freaking Batman. Who says comic books aren’t real?

Within seconds, I’d drained the bat’s blood into my throat. Then another, and another. In the last of the light, I took my booty outside and skinned it, swallowing down the good bits like a glutton at a Michelin-starred restaurant.

With food came strength, and with strength came sanity. For the next few hours, I killed and ate what I could grab, and drained the spare blood into my empty water bottles. The pile of bodies made me feel guilty, but I had no choice. It was them or me. And with Black’s spirit coursing through my veins, I understood it wasn’t my time yet. As the stars twinkled overhead, I set my compass south and started walking. I didn’t want to die in this desolate patch of sand. After what I’d survived in my life, that would be insulting.

Black’s voice rang in my ears with every step.

Never give up.

Never ever give up.

CHAPTER 40

THE TINNY SOUND of “I’m a Barbie Girl” blasted through the wall behind Luke’s head, and he woke with a start. Was that Mack? If so, she had terrible taste in music.

The din stopped, and he leaned back on the pillow, but it started up again seconds later.

When Barbie wailed about being wrapped up in plastic for the third time, he gave up and swung his legs out of bed. The clock on the wall told him he’d had five hours sleep—that would have to do.

When he found Mack in the kitchen, her hair was wet, and she’d twisted it up into a knot on top of her head. Even without a scrap of make-up on, she put most other women to shame.

“Coffee?” she asked, and without waiting for an answer, she poured him a cup.

“Cheers. I’m already awake, though, thanks to Barbie.”

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” Mack admitted sheepishly. “But I’m so bad at getting up in the mornings, I set my ringtone to a song I really hate so I’ll answer it to make it stop.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“I sleep through almost anything. That’s why I have the control room call me until I get out of bed, or I’d stay there all day.”

Hang on—Blackwood ran a state-of-the-art, multi-million-pound control room, staffed with highly trained operatives, and Mack was using it as an alarm clock? Cute.

Then again, Mack really didn’t look like a morning person, judging by the way she was stumbling around the kitchen. Luke figured he’d better lend a hand.

“Do you want me to make you some breakfast?” He wasn’t an expert in the kitchen, but he could butter toast and scramble an egg.

She looked at her watch, a Tag Heuer on a slim, gold band. It complemented her eyes. “I’ve only got time for a bowl of cereal. The car will be here in five minutes to take me to my meeting.” She rummaged around in a cupboard and pulled out four different kinds of muesli. “Ugh, it’s all horrible.”

Luke picked up one of the boxes and turned it over. “Toasted quinoa, chia seeds, and dried goji berries?”

“It’s Emmy’s nutritionist. He throws the good stuff out. I’ll stick with the coffee.”

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