Page 9 of The Vanishing Place
Effie rolled her eyes as she lifted the side of the tent. The rain was relentless. It lashed across the mountain in sheets, the ground wet and treacherous, and the fall of darkness wasn’t far off. She wiped her eyes, her legs not yet steady, then the blow came. Sudden and unexpected. The young man’s arm collided with the side of her head, all the sensations in her body rushing to that single spot, and a ringing shot through her skull. The force knocked her sideways, her feet stumbling on the wet rocks, and she fell onto her knee. Effie winced at the pain of bone hitting rock and tried to regain her balance, staggering as the storm hammered at her back.
“Jesus Christ,” she swore into the wind.
Her mind blanked for a second, disorientated, then she turned to look at him. He was a complete mess, crouched on the ground,knees tucked to his chest, swaying and muttering, and not in nearly enough clothes.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He looked up at her, his young face swollen and bleeding. “I panicked. I’m sorry. I wanted your tent. I didn’t mean…”
Effie touched a hand to her eye. The boy’s watch must have caught her cheekbone.
“You could have just asked,” she said as she crouched down next to him. “I mean, bloody hell, who punches someone before trying a simple ‘please’?”
Battling against the wind, Effie pulled a foil survival blanket out of her rucksack and wrapped the flapping sheet around his trembling shoulders.
“I’m sorry.” He sniffed, his jaw quivering. “I’m sorry. I’m just so cold. And I hit my head.”
“You’re an idiot. That’s what you are.”
Her tone, less than caring, got a look from him, meaning that he was lucid at least. And thankfully, the rain had been making his eye look worse than it was. The kid had given the blood vessels in his eye a decent rupturing, but it wasn’t actively bleeding. Just a nasty bruise really.
“What the hell are you doing up here dressed like that?” She handed him a Turkish Delight chocolate bar from her pocket. “Who’s with you?”
“No one. I was just…”
Effie had to stop herself from clipping the back of his foolish head.
Tears streamed down his face as he fumbled with the pink wrapping. “I thought it would be cool to run the Slabs. There was this guy on TikTok who did it in—”
“Jesus.” Effie rubbed her face. “What’s your name?”
“Craig.”
“And,” she said, trying to be gentle, “how old are you exactly?”
“Eighteen.”
“Well, Craig, despite you being a complete imbecile, there’s a chance you’re not going to die up here tonight.”
His eyes flashed with fear. Another encouraging, coherent sign. The kid was mainly just cold and wet. And stupid.
“You’re going to get into my shelter,” said Effie, “with my friend Blair. Who, lucky for you, is a nurse, and much more tolerant than me. Then you’re going to wait for the rescue team to arrive.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going to hang out here and enjoy the view.”
“You can’t come in too?”
“There’s not enough space.”
“But—”
“Just get in.” She took his arm and guided him toward the shelter. “Before I change my mind.”
—
Effie forced her saturated body into her survival bag and sat on the ground, then she tightened the cord so that only her face poked out in the rain. The small vacuum-packed item had lived at the bottom of her rucksack for over five years—an emergency backup. Maybe she was overprepared, and maybe her bag was always the heaviest, but Effie had grown up with a fierce respect for nature. She’d grown up learning how to survive it. Learning how to survive him.
Effie knew what it felt like to die. She knew what it felt like to shiver so violently that her teeth ached and her vision filled with white dots.
