He was sitting on a hill to the left of the tunnel entrance, his hands wrapped around his knees, and he was staring at her. From this far away all that she could tell was that he was a boy, probably a teenager, with sandy hair that was being tossed around by the wind. He didn't stand or even smile when he saw her looking at him, just continued to stare.

There was something odd about the way that he sat there, a solitary figure in this isolated place. Dylan couldn't imagine how he had come to be there, unless he'd been on the train as well. She waved at him, glad to have someone to share this horror with, but he didn't wave back. She thought she saw him sit up a little straighter, but he was so far away it was hard to tell.

Keeping her eyes firmly on him, just in case he disappeared, she slipped and slid down the gravel bank of the train tracks and hopped over a little ditch filled with water and weeds. There was a barbed-wire fence separating the tracks from the open countryside. Dylan gingerly grabbed the top wire between two of the twisted metal knots and pulled it downwards as hard as she could. It dropped just low enough for her to awkwardly swing her legs over. She caught her foot as she pulled her second leg over and almost fell, but she managed to cling on to the wire and keep her balance. The barbs cut into her palm, though, piercing the skin and causing little droplets of blood to ooze through. She examined her hand briefly before rubbing it against her leg. A dark stain on her jeans made her take a second look. There was a large red patch on the outside of her thigh. She stared at it for a moment before remembering wiping her hand to get rid of the sticky stuff on the carriage floor. Realisation made her blanch and her stomach heaved slightly.

The boy on the hill appraised the girl approaching him with cold eyes. He had been watching her since she had exited the tunnel, emerging from the dark like a frightened rabbit from a burrow. Rather than shouting to get her attention, he had simply waited for her to see him. At one point he had been concerned that she would head back into the tunnel, and he had considered calling out, but she had changed her mind, and so he'd contented himself with sitting silently. She would notice him.

Shaking her head to rid herself of the sick images that were swirling in her brain, she turned from the fence and fixed her eyes back on her target. He was seated on the slope about fifty metres above her. From this distance she could see his face, and so she smiled in greeting. He didn't respond. Slightly abashed by this cold reception, Dylan stared at the ground as she made her way up the hill towards him. It was a hard climb and before long she was panting. The hillside was steep and the long grass was wet and difficult to wade through. Looking down, concentrating on her feet, gave her an excuse not to make eye contact; not until she had to.

Contact made.

He was right. She spotted him and he saw the relief pool in her eyes as she waved energetically. He did not wave back. He watched her face falter slightly, but then she left the train track and began to approach him. She moved clumsily, catching herself on the barb-wire fence and tripping on clumps of wet grass. When she was close enough to read his expression he turned his face away, listening to the sound of her drawing nearer.

At last Dylan reached where he sat and was able to get a much better look at him. Her guess at his age had been spot on; he couldn't have been more than a year older than her, if that. He was wearing jeans, trainers and a warm-looking navy jumper with the word Broncos written across it in flowing orange letters. Curled up as he was, it was hard to guess at his size, but he didn't look small or weedy. He was quite tanned, with a line of freckles marching across his nose. His face was set in a hard, disinterested mask, and as soon as Dylan got closer to him, he'd began to stare off into the desolate landscape. Even when she stood right in front of him, he didn't change his expression or the direction of his stare. It was very disconcerting and Dylan fidgeted where she stood, unsure of what to say.

"Tristan," he eventually replied, glancing at her briefly, and then looking away again.

"Hi, I'm Dylan," she mumbled at last, looking down at the ground. Waiting for a response, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and stared off in the same direction, wondering what he was looking at.

Relieved that he had at least responded, Dylan made another stab at conversation. "I guess you were on the train, too. I'm so glad I'm not the only one here! I must have passed out in the carriage and when I woke up I was on my own." She said all of this very fast, nervous of his frosty welcome. "All of the other passengers had already got out and apparently nobody had noticed me there. There was this stupid woman with all these bags and stuff -- I got stuck under them. When I got out, I couldn't tell which way everybody had gone, but we must have come out of the wrong side of the tunnel. I bet the firemen and police and everybody else are on the other side."

"Train?" He turned towards her and she got her first look into his eyes. They were icy blue and cold. Cobalt. She felt like they could freeze her blood if they were angry, but just now they were merely curious. They appraised her for half a second before flickering to the tunnel mouth. "Right. The train."

The boy turned the force of his gaze back on her and she had to stop herself taking an involuntary step backwards. His eyes were magnetic, and they seemed to see through to her very core. Dylan felt exposed, almost naked, under his stare. Unconsciously, she folded her arms across her chest.

She looked at him expectantly, but he didn't seem inclined to say anything else. Biting her lip, she cursed her luck that the only other person here was a teenage boy. An adult would've known what to do. Also, although she hated to admit it, boys like this made her nervous. They seemed so cool and confident, and she always ended up getting tongue-tied and feeling like a total idiot.

"No, we can't get through there." His voice was disinterested, as if he wasn't worried at all about their current predicament. As if he could quite happily sit on this hillside for ever. Well, Dylan thought, I can't. After staring at her for another long moment, he went back to glaring at the hills. Dylan bit her bottom lip as she tried to think of something else to say.

"Maybe we should walk back through the tunnel?" she suggested. Although that would mean passing by the train again, it didn't seem like such an awful proposition with someone else. Then they could meet up with all the other passengers and the emergency services, and she might still be able to salvage her weekend with her dad.

"Oh." She was getting annoyed now. They were stuck here, on the wrong side of the tunnel, with no adults and no way to contact people and he was being no help at all. However, he was the only person here. "Well, what should we do, then?"

"Well, do you have a phone, then, so we can call someone, like the police or something? My phone died in the crash. And I should probably call my mum; when she hears what's happened she'll freak. She's very overprotective and she'll want to know I'm okay so that she can say 'I told you so'…" Dylan trailed off.

This time he didn't even look at her. "Phones don't work out here."

Instead of answering her, he suddenly stood up. Upright, he towered above her, much taller than she would have guessed. He looked down at her, a half-smirk playing on his lips, and started to walk away.

Dylan's mouth opened and closed a few times but no sound came out. She was transfixed, motionless and mute, shocked and intimidated by this strange boy. Was he just going to leave her here? She got her answer quickly. He went about ten metres, then stopped, turned, and looked back at her.

"Coming where?" Dylan asked, reluctant to leave the site of the train crash. Surely staying here was the most sensible thing to do? How would anybody find them if they went wandering off? Besides, how did he know where he was going? It was already late afternoon and it would be dark soon. The wind was getting up and it was cold; she didn't want to get lost and have to spend the night roughing it.

"You coming?"

"I think we should both stay here," she began, but he was already shaking his head. Looking as if it was extremely inconvenient, he walked back over and stared at her, so close she could feel his breath on her face. Dylan looked into his eyes and felt her surroundings fade away. His gaze was compelling; she couldn't have looked away if she'd wanted to. There was no other word for it; she was mesmerised.

But his self-assurance had her doubting herself. He seemed to see the indecision in her face. He gave her a patronising look, his voice dripping with superiority. "Well, I'm not just going to sit and wait. You can stay here if you want."

Dylan's eyes widened in fear at the thought of being left alone, waiting. What if night fell and nobody came?

He watched that comment sink in, gauging her reaction.

Her mind strangely blank, it did not occur to Dylan to disobey. Nodding numbly, she stumbled forward towards him.

"Come with me," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. It was an order and he expected her to comply.

The boy, Tristan, didn't even wait for her to catch up before he was off again, striding up the hill, away from the tunnel. He had been surprised at her wilfulness; there was inner strength in this one. Still, one way or another, she would follow him.