Savage Moon

Nineteen

Ken Sutton stood looking up into the oak tree in the field above his farm. Andrew was perched on a bough, drilling a block of wood into its upper side. Once the screw was properly in he hitched the electric screwdriver on to his tool belt and looked down. 'Next.'

Ken held up the last square of wood. Keeping his grip on the bough with one hand, Andrew reached down with his other and was just able to take it. He placed the block over a cross he'd scored in the bark earlier on, positioned another screw then drilled it through and into the branch itself. Once he'd done the same with three other screws he sat back and looked around him. Four other blocks of wood were held firmly in place on the tops of neighbouring branches. 'This takes me back to building tree houses when I was younger. First plank then.'

Ken crouched down and hooked his fingers under the end of the six-foot length of timber at his feet. Standing it upright, he raised it to within reach of Andrew's hands. The weight on his fingers disappeared as the plank vanished up into the branches.

Andrew laid it between two boughs, wedging the outer edge against two blocks of wood. The screwdriver was lifted from his tool belt and the plank soon fixed in place. One by one, Ken passed up the other planks and soon Andrew had created a small platform between the tree's lower branches.

Crouching on it, he took a spirit level from his belt and placed it on the wooden surface. 'Not bad for a rush job. Right, next is the carpet. You're certain this hasn't been near any chemicals recently?'

'Only if you count sheep piss. It's been in the end barn for months.'

'Sheep piss is good.'

Ken heaved the roll of dusty carpet up on to its end. Crouching down again, he gripped the lower part in a bear hug and straightened his legs. The top of the roll was now about four feet above his head. Andrew lay over the edge of the platform, grasped it in both hands and began pulling upwards. Bits of straw, dried earth and wood lice began dropping out of the bottom end into Ken's hair.

Andrew dragged it over the edge and unrolled it across the platform, a variety of startled centipedes and spiders fleeing for the edges. 'Perfect. This'll keep the draught off my arse.'

Ken was bent over, running a hand through his hair to dislodge the debris caught in it. 'Just the camouflage, then.' He turned to a mound of netting that lay in the long grass. After scooping it up, he flung it upwards with both arms. Andrew's outstretched fingers caught a corner and he yanked it on to the platform like a fisherman pulling in his catch.

'What's the view up there like then?' Ken asked, looking across the field.

Andrew peered out from between the bare branches. 'It's fine.' He lifted an imaginary rifle and pointed to a patch of grass about thirty metres away. 'We tether up one of your old ewes there and bang, it's game over.'

Ken crossed his arms and scanned the bottom edge of the moor. Nothing moved in the brown landscape.

'Come on, you bastard,' he murmured to himself.