THE LAST TRIP FOR GOOD

She was not his prey today. She was not the reason he’d hiked high into the hills, battling a thirst more insatiable than any normal man could understand. Because he was not ‘normal’. He had stopped being normal a long time ago, had he not? And he would never again be normal, unless endeavours like this one paid off.
The more he aged, the more his need grew – exponentially, it seemed – and now the feeding which had once seen him through long, dark months kept him satiated for less than half that time. And feeding with increased regularity brought greater risks.
As the doe meandered off to his left, he once again had an unobstructed view of a rutted track far below – one of hundreds that snaked their way around and up the hill, their sources swallowed from his line of sight by the growth of tall, majestic firs. The track he watched most closely was the flattest of them all, and, it stood to reason, was the most likely route his prey would choose. The one universal truth he had learned about all creatures, no matter the species, was that their economy, laziness, and sloth could be relied upon.
In time, a shape came into view, emerging over the brow of a rounded hill at the furthest edge of his visible horizon. He swiftly raised his binoculars and brought them into focus, taking advantage of a passing cloud which briefly masked the sun. And there – there – he saw with great clarity the reason he had come here.
He watched as, panting, she lumbered to where the track ran down on a gentle slope. She paused and looked around. Renaud the hunter wondered if she could sense his presence as the doe had done. He knew he would have to move quickly to engage his prey before she was beyond his reach, but he paused, taking a moment to study her. He had to make sure she was suitable. Ripe. She had to be ripe. She was to be the last before he moved on.
From the looks of her, he estimated she wasn’t quite ready, but she would be soon. Very soon, indeed.

With a grace and agility that belied his figure – not to mention his years – he swept downhill, slipping between the trees at pace. All the long way down the hill – almost a kilometre below in a downwards diagonal heading away from his prey – he snagged no branch nor caught his foot in any burrow. Such surefootedness would be short-lived, he knew, but while he still had the ability, he intended to take full advantage.
Eventually, he reached a clearing which marked the end of one of the forestry tracks – of which there were hundreds. His truck was parked there. He climbed in and drove the rest of the way down towards where the track he was on met the one his target was moving along. And he knew, with a growing liquid warmth of expectation and need in his gut, that unless she unexpectedly picked up her pace, he would reach the place where the tracks crossed in plenty of time to set himself up for the take.

Even though the weather had finally turned for the better, and even though Maja – a two-year-old Viszla bitch – had been desperate to get out, Linnea knew that her husband, Bernt, would be angry with her for walking this far into the forest, away from civilisation. Bernt was often unhappy about something or other these days. Linnea put it down to stress and hoped it was nothing more. Hell, she had enough on her own plate to deal with, after all – and it was only going to get worse in a matter of days. Then, both their lives would change forever.
As if that wasn’t daunting enough, both sides of the family were insisting, at every opportunity, that they should be overjoyed or, at the very least, excited by what was to come. Honestly, sometimes it felt like they weren’t allowed to be anything but unbreakably positive. The truth of it was both she and Bernt were fucking terrified. Not that they could ever say such a thing outside of their own little twosome, of course. She could almost hear the collective gasp of their combined family – what an ungrateful response to the most beautiful part of life! Nobody saw the irony in the fact that not one of the other family members had been in their position for at least twenty-four years. Linnea was certain they’d all forgotten the crippling anxiety that came ahead of welcoming new life into the world.

So rather than add to Bernt’s stress, Linnea hadn’t told him where she was walking when he’d left for work earlier that morning. Better to let him focus on tidying up the loose ends. Paternity leave or not, a carpenter like Bernt couldn’t leave any client jobs unfinished, or else it would have a devastating impact on his prospects. Living in such a close-knit community as theirs had as many downsides as it did ups.
Plus, she figured that a relaxing stroll could bring labour on. Nothing too strenuous. Nothing beyond a long, gradual climb. That was according to the online forums she’d been religiously reading, anyway. At thirty-nine weeks into her pregnancy, she was incessantly uncomfortable, and her desire to have the whole thing over and done with outweighed her fears for what lay ahead. Frankly, she was prepared to try anything. Bernt had no idea that her plans for the night ahead consisted of the spiciest dinner she could rustle up followed by a bath, either side of as much sex as either of them could manage, given her distended condition.
Now, though, she wished she’d at least sent Bernt a text from the car park, which was two kilometres behind her at the bottom of the hill. Back there, her phone could still pick up a signal, but up here there was nothing. No bars. No data. Zilch. And other than her own vehicle, the car park had been empty. This wasn’t unusual, but seeing another vehicle or two there might have helped her not to feel quite as twitchy as she had done ever since cresting the high-point of the walk before she’d started back down the other side of the hill. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what made her feel this way. Perhaps it was the Braxton-Hicks. She’d already been unsettled by a pretty severe bout of contractions at the weekend, while she and Bernt had taken the dog to the coast. They’d laughed about it afterwards, but at the time, they’d both been genuinely worried that the baby was going to arrive while they were hours from the nearest hospital.
This feeling was different, though. Not localised just to the muscles she’d need whenever Baby Anders would decide to make his appearance. This sensation was all over. Uncomfortable, and itchier. It was as though the layer just beneath the surface of her skin was being prickled by a thousand microscopic needles.

Lost in thought, she approached the sweeping bend in the track which separated her from the final straight descent back to the car park. She didn’t notice that Maja had come to a stop until she was almost beside her. The dog was staring at something not yet in Linnea’s field of vision. The prickling sensation on her skin intensified, and now she felt the first tremors of her abdominal muscles as they threatened to clench and twist. Oh, hell, not now!
‘Maja, come!’ she commanded, but the Vizsla ignored her. Instead, the dog lowered her head, ears pinned back, and bared her teeth.
Although Maja was typically placid whenever they encountered other walkers, the same could not always be said about their dogs. Linnea clapped her hands and called again. This time, Maja whirled around and ran to her at full speed, tail firmly downwards.
After a few fumbled, bent-over attempts, Linnea finally managed to clasp the lead onto Maja’s collar. She straightened, feeling breathless, a little unsteady, and wishing she had somewhere to sit down. She uttered a silent prayer that the baby would arrive soon, before yet more simple tasks became arduous ordeals. Just not so soon as right now. She let the last of the dizziness pass and set off again around the bend in the track towards whatever had brought Maja to a standstill.
A tall, broad man in his fifties was standing by a pickup truck. The truck was like the ones Linnea had seen Forest Agency workers drive. This one, however, had no logo on it. The man smiled, but Linnea was too busy processing the scene in front of her to respond.
No more than twenty metres behind the man’s truck, the track was blocked by piles of debris. As far as she could see, there were only light branches and the occasional rotten log – more than enough space on either side of the blockage for her to pass, as long as she was careful not to get too close to the steep edge of the road. She saw that, up here, the ground fell away sharply on both sides. Even so, Linnea thought she could get past the obstruction without too much risk – thirty-nine weeks pregnant or not.
Maja’s rapid barks brought her gaze back to the man, and through her pregnant brain-fog, she realised that he’d spoken to her.

‘Sorry. What did you say?’
The man smiled again, rows of perfect teeth twinkling in the morning sun. ‘No need to apologise,’ he said in perfectly correct Swedish, but there was an underlying accent that told her he wasn’t a native. ‘I was simply apologising for scaring you.’
‘You didn’t scare me,’ she lied. ‘I… I just wasn’t sure if you had a dog. You know.’
For a moment, the man’s brow darkened, and his features took on the fleeting shape of a scowl. ‘It’s not compulsory, you know. One can enjoy nature without a dog.’ The scowl disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, and his demeanour became charming again, as when he’d greeted her. She wondered if she’d imagined it.
Then Maja began barking again, and in between each bark was a low growl.
Linnea shook her head. ‘Sorry. I usually only ever see other dog-walkers up here, that’s all.’ She gestured to the obstruction behind him. ‘Any idea what happened here?’
‘Can’t be sure.’ The man shrugged and turned his head towards the debris. ‘One thing’s certain, though. It will need heavy machinery to shift.’ He turned back to Linnea. ‘I’ve been sent to make sure no one tries to skirt around this. The drop would kill you, what with all the rocks and trees you’d hit on your way down.’
Linnea’s eyes drifted to the steep drops on either side of the road, and then back to the debris. How long had it been there? There had been no wind that she could recall over the past few days, and if this debris was older than that, surely there’d have been a notice placed down at the car park warning walkers to avoid this route.
Maybe there was, and you just didn’t see it, she thought. Baby-brain will do that to you.
Perhaps. And what did it matter? It didn’t change the fact that, thanks to this man’s presence, she would have to turn back the way she’d come, and that meant another forty-five minutes’ walk rather than the fifteen she’d expected from here down to her car. All the while, the tightening in her abdomen was worsening.
As if reading her thoughts, he pointed behind her. ‘I can drive you back to the car park. That’s why I’m here.’
Linnea’s lips pressed together, and from the narrowing of the man’s eyes, she knew he’d seen it.

He tsked almost inaudibly, then shook his head. ‘I understand, Miss. You don’t know me, and I’m aware of how I look. I can appear quite intimidating, but I assure you, I’m a gentle giant.’ He smiled his wide smile and pointed a large finger at Maja. ‘Even if your dog might not agree.’
The pitch of Maja’s barks heightened at the man’s address. Linnea felt inclined to trust her furry companion. She’d never known the dog to react like this to anyone before. ‘No, thank you. I’ll just walk back down. The air will do me good—’
‘Nonsense,’ the man said. An instant later he was directly in front of her.
How could a man so large be so fast?
He thrust a hand out, almost as large as his grin. ‘My name’s Torben. Torben Sørensen.’
Ah, he’s Danish, Linnea thought, recognising the typical origin of such a name. That’s the accent I was hearing.
She smiled. ‘Honestly, Mr Sørensen, it’s fine. We’ll just walk back—’
‘Aren’t you going to shake my hand and introduce yourself?’ Again, darkness descended across his features. His brow angled downwards in the middle, seeming to intensify the brown of his eyes. ‘Where I come from, such behaviour is considered rude.’
Linnea felt as though she’d been slapped. Her hand came up to her neck, as though of its own accord. ‘I-I didn’t mean to offend you. I’ll be on my way.’ She turned away just as he spoke again.
‘You’re not going anywhere, Linnea Lindgren.’
Linnea shook as a jolt of panic coursed through her. Maja was pulling hard on the leash, trying to drag her back the way they’d come. She knew Maja wanted to get the hell out of there – but just as Linnea was about to break into a run, a dark horizon fell across her field of vision.
She felt the coarse texture closing in, and after a momentary disorientation, she realised he’d pulled a rough bag over her head. She felt it tighten around her neck. Dropping the leash, Linnea reached for her throat with both hands. They were ripped away immediately, and with incredible force.

Maja was barking, and it sounded muffled inside the hood, with the loud rustling of fabric against her ears. There was a single, gut-wrenching yelp before the dog fell silent. Linnea was suddenly certain that Maja was dead.
An instant later, she felt a great tug as the man dragged her backwards. Her stomach lurched awkwardly, full with the baby inside her, and he hoisted her into the air. She landed with a thud on a hard surface. Again, she scrabbled with her hands, but the man pinned them to her body. He held her while he bound her ankles and wrists. The clang of a tailgate slamming shut, then muffled bootfalls. For the first time, she recovered from her shock enough to feel fear – a deep, primal terror. For herself, and for the baby inside. Linnea Lindgren drew in the deepest breath she could, and let it out in a harsh scream.
When her lungs had emptied and she paused to fill them again, she heard strange, distant scuffs and grunts of exertion, which she took to be the man removing the roadblock. She released another scream.
Eventually, the man came back and started the engine. She felt the metal of the truck bed vibrate beneath her. Her last thought before the truck pulled away was that the tension in her abdomen had dropped to a lower position than she’d ever felt it before. Oh God, the baby was coming. Not yet, please!
Caught in a tangle of terror and helpless dread, Linnea let out the loudest scream yet.