Written in Bone by Simon Beckett Page A

got to my feet. There was no question of walking to the village now. I would have to try to find the car and sit it out, hoping that Fraser or Duncan would come looking for me sooner rather than later.
    Climbing back up the slippery bank was hard work. I couldn’t see a thing, and could only use one hand to help drag myself up the slope. I had to keep resting, and my shoulder was hurting more than ever now. I wondered if I’d torn any ligaments, but put the thought out of my mind. I couldn’t do anything about it if I had.
    By the time the slope began to level out I was sweating and exhausted. I hauled myself up the last few feet and then straightened on legs that felt like water. Relief at having made it back to the top swamped out anything else. But then I realized something was wrong.
    The road wasn’t there.
    My relief vanished. I took a few more cautious steps, each time hoping to feel tarmac under my boots. But there was only turf and boggy, uneven ground. I’d obviously been more disorientated by my fall than I’d thought. Instead of climbing back up to the road, I’d clawed my way up another hummock of grass.
    I forced myself to stay calm. There was only one thing to do. The road had to be opposite me. All I had to do was retrace my steps and then go up the other side.
    I made my way down the muddy slope, slithering the last few feet on my backside. I groped around, trying to locate the slope I’d fallen down. I couldn’t find it.
Come on, it has to be here.
But the terrain at the bottom didn’t conform to such neat logic. In the dark it was a maze of humps and gullies. Wandering blind as I was, there was no way of knowing where any of them led.
    I knew I couldn’t be far from the road, but I had no way of telling which way it was. I looked up, hoping for some glimpse of stars. But land and sky merged into one single, impenetrable darkness. The wind and rain gusted first one way then another, as though trying to confuse me further.
    I’d started shivering, from shock as well as cold. Even in my weatherproof outer clothes I knew I could sink into hypothermia if I didn’t find shelter.
Come on, think! Which way?
I made my decision and started walking. Even if it was the wrong direction, the exertion would help keep me warm. Staying still now would kill me.
    It was hard going. The ground was a treacherous mix of heather and grass, threatening to turn or break an ankle at every step. I stopped dead as something rustled nearby, straining to hear against the gusting of the wind and the rain on my hood. I couldn’t see anything except darkness. My heart was racing.
It’s nothing. Just a sheep.
    But even as I tried to convince myself, I was recalling the scuff I’d heard behind me on the road. I knew I was being irrational, that even if there was someone else out here, they wouldn’t be able to see me any more than I could see them. It didn’t help. I was lost and injured, and the dark released all the primitive fears that daylight and the modern world have allowed us to bury.
    They weren’t buried now.
    I carried on walking. The turf underfoot became wetter and more broken as I blundered into a peat bog. My teeth were chattering as I splashed noisily across. Either it had grown colder or my core temperature was dropping despite my efforts. Both, probably.
    My shoulder was on fire, lancing me with white heat at every step. I’d lost track of time but I was tiring quickly, becoming careless with fatigue. Another noise came from off to one side, the sound of something moving through the grass. I spun towards it and went crashing down. Agony flared through my injured shoulder as it bore the full brunt of my weight.
    I must have passed out. When I came round I was lying face down, the rain pattering hypnotically on my hood. I could taste the loamy stink of peat in my mouth. Still only semi-conscious, I found myself thinking about all the countless dead animals, insects and vegetation it was made from: millennia