POWER AND FURY

by James Erith

  Later, she woke suddenly wondering where she was.

  She yawned and for a brief moment her excitement level rocketed as she thought she could hear tiny, shrill voices like the noises of children playing in the courtyard. She looked around searching in all the obvious spots but there was nothing. Just her imagination wanting them to appear.

  In the kitchen, she added a handful of kindling and two dry logs to the range then struck a match, the bright light extending into the large kitchen before dying back. A hot fire just in case they returned.

  She felt the familiar stabbing pain in her shoulder.

  Where were her little angels? Where were the adorable children she’d grown up loving.

  Maybe they were safe at school, playing with their friends.

  She’d get Archie a whole new uniform when their parents returned. She’d insist on it. No more patched up clothes for Arch.

  Then she thought of Isabella and Daisy. Funny, pretty Daisy with her wavy hair and red cheeks, her keen eyes and her warm smile.

  Why, they all had warm smiles, she thought, as a tear rolled down her cheek.

  Imagine being stuck out in that tempest all alone. The mere thought made her tremble.

  She pulled her woollen blanket tight as she noticed the flames taking.

  What would happen to her if no one returned?

  Seventy-Seven

  Old Man Wood Finds A Body

  At first glance, as Old Man Wood hurried towards the body, he could have sworn it was Archie’s friend, the one who was always so deeply unpleasant to the girls, the boy Archie liked to go fishing with.

  As he approached, Old Man Wood remembered the name. Kemp. That was it. The large boy with thick ginger hair, like dear Mrs Pye.

  He wondered if the child was alive and just before he made to check, his attention was taken away by a strange groaning noise, followed by a high-pitched screech coming from the flood waters. Old Man Wood gazed over the water, squinting, wondering who, or what, it might be.

  When his focus returned to the boy in front of him, he looked down upon the curled up shivering figure of Archie.

  Old Man Wood rubbed his chin. Was he seeing things?

  Kneeling down, the old man’s heart sank. Archie’s mouth foamed, and his eyes flickered in different directions. His body was battered and torn.

  Then, to his surprise, Archie called out a name, ‘Cain!’ Then he said it again, his voice urgent, but slurring. ‘Cain, Cain,’ over and over, as if he was delirious.

  Who on earth was Cain? he wondered. And why did this name strike a chord deep within him that made his hairs prickle?

  Old Man Wood searched his memory. That name, Cain, seemed to dredge up a confusing mix of love and anger, hope and despair.

  Later, Old Man Wood sat on the edge of the pit and studied the three children who lay sleeping in the strange soft substance in the base of the pit. The sound of their gentle breathing was the sweetest music he had ever heard.

  He reflected on his fortune; the curious bed panels and the timely rediscovery of his Resplendix Mix potion.

  Old Man Wood shook his head and whistled a note of relief. How had they survived the torrential rain, the lightning, the mud-slides and the cold? How, in all the apples in the world, were they alive?

  He lowered himself down and examined them in more detail. The sheer volume of bruises and cuts on their bodies was remarkable. Daisy’s legs were black and blue, criss-crossed with cuts. Some of these were deep and sharp, like punctures. Other lacerations were longer, where she must have been raked by rocks and thorns. Her fingernails were black, and on her fingers entire nails had become detached leaving red, raw skin. Her shoes had gone and her feet looked as though they had been ‘worked on’ by a garden strimmer. Her tracksuit bottoms were tattered, and one of her football socks was attached by threads that flapped against her raw shin.

  Old Man Wood wondered if he should give her some more Resplendix Mix. But this was powerful stuff; and powerful potions, he suspected, needed careful portioning.

  His attention moved to Archie. Like Daisy, the boy had been battered, beaten, and pulped to within a millimetre of death. But there was one significant alteration to his appearance; Archie’s hair, though softer than when he’d found him, the follicles were gelled together, hard and spiky like brushed strands of metal glued together. He remembered that when he’d seen him on the panels he’d presumed Archie had put on a hat.

  He inspected Archie’s hands, which, like Daisy’s bore terrible lacerations and bruises. He suspected a broken finger or two by the way his digits were angled. His head and body was marked with blows, as if he’d been sprayed by a rock gun. Some of his cuts seeped, others had already congealed.

  Most extraordinary of all, and perhaps even odder than Archie’s hair, were Isabella’s hands. The markings on her palms looked symmetrical, as if they had been painted on using a circular template and black paint.

  Now that he looked carefully, the flesh inside had been burnt through, as though punctured by a red-hot poker. He could see right through them as though they’d been drilled through.

  Old Man Wood sucked in a deep breath and, shaking his head, he started to consider how he would get them home. He wouldn’t attempt anything now, not while they needed to sleep. And they’d be safe enough where they were for a while.

  In the fresh light of morning, he’d address their wounds and give them another drop of his healing mix, but sleep was their best method of recovery while the potion set to work.

  Looking about, he noticed higher ledges; berths he could pop the children on if the waters continued to rise further.

  He climbed out of the pit and headed towards the cave entrance, grateful for the moonlight reflecting off the water just below the stone ledge in front of him.

  He pulled himself up onto a higher rock, stretched his arms out, and lay back, trying to envisage how far the water must extend. Two hundred, three hundred metres, or perhaps even a mile towards the Dales? It could be further.

  And everything in its path destroyed in the space of a few hours.

  Seventy-Eight

  Sue Wakes

  ‘The Joan of’ felt, to Gus, as if it were climbing up a small hill before skidding down the other side. And the process repeated the rising and falling sensations. Up and down. Up and down.

  For a second, Gus dreamt he might be at a funfair. He yawned, and found himself looking into Sue’s sleeping face.

  What an utterly beautiful way to wake up.

  Then he wondered what his breath must be like. Probably gross. Heck.

  Trying not to disturb her, he shuffled to the end of the boat and pushed his head out of the canopy.

  He yawned, closed his eyes, stretched out his arms, and inhaled a lungful of fresh air.

  He opened one eye, swiftly followed by the other.

  After a few seconds, he whistled.

  Okay, interesting.

  He could hear Sue stirring.

  ‘Morning, first mate,’ he quipped, dipping his head under the canopy.

  ‘Oh! Morning, Gus,’ she said, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. ‘Still afloat, still alive?’

  ‘Yep, think so,’ he said. ‘How was lookout?’

  She cringed. ‘Thought you needed company. And bodily warmth is very important,’ she said, a flicker of naughtiness in the corner of her lips. ‘Everything all right out there. Seen any landmarks?’

  He ducked inside and sat down. ‘Well, it’s fine and dandy-ish.’

  ‘Dandy-ish,’ she repeated. ‘Then I take it you have no idea where we are?’

  ‘Ab-so-lute-ly none,’ he said, smiling. ‘Take a look for yourself.’

  ‘What’s for breakfast?’ she yawned, as she crept down to the other end. ‘I’m starving.’

  She put her head out.

  Gus waited, his expectation of a verbal explosion reasonably high.

  ‘Oh!’ she said, popping her back down. Her eyes were wide open.

  ‘Oh?�
� Gus said. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, curtly. ‘Oh!’

  Gus smiled his biggest smile to date. ‘We’ve drifted possibly miles out to sea with no way of knowing where on earth we are and all you can say is “Oh”.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sue began, her face pale. ‘Oh.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Right, Gus. Now the thing is, I’ve never sworn at anything or anyone before in my life. But I’ve heard my mum do it quite a bit and from looking out there after all we’ve been through, I think it’s the perfect time to finally give it a proper go.’

  Gus looked confused. ‘Oh?’ he said.

  ‘You see, every time she properly swears, she actually begins it with “Oh”.’

  Gus raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘Really?’

  And with that, Sue slipped out from under the canopy, took a deep breath and screamed over the wide expanse of sea at the top of her voice:

  ‘Oh — $*%@!’ &^%*W$!’

  Seventy-Nine

  Kemp’s Pain

  Kemp groaned in agony.

  He’d had a chance to say no, and he blew it.

  For a brief moment, he’d been peeled out of their union and found himself lying naked on the ledge and set upon by rain that pummelled his skin. What a feeling to feel his skin again.

  In front of him lay Archie, battered and broken, his body marked by cuts and bruises, his head bloodied. His body was motionless, pale, and deathly.

  He’d looked at Archie’s strange hair and managed a wry smile. A classic bad hair moment only Archie could pull-off. Thinking of hair, he wasn’t sure that he had any left. All singed. Burnt down to his scalp.

  Cain had tried to force Archie to go with him but Archie was too far gone to make a choice willingly, and Cain knew it. Cain had miscalculated badly.

  And then the old man had appeared.

  Kemp had given himself back to Cain freely. At the time it didn’t feel as if he had an option. But now, he regretted it. He should have refused. If he had the chance again, he’d rather subject himself to the violence of the tempest than the burning hell he was now trapped within.

  Cain burned him badly after he went back.

  And now, here he was, living in the darkness of a body with no food, no water, and no sleep. Where Cain’s energy fried his flesh like hot oil. Kemp imagined it had been less than one whole day. But even now he wondered how long he could survive.

  It was like being trapped in space, he thought, with no one there to hear his cries.

  Eighty

  In the Pit

  Old Man Wood slept fitfully. His mind raced from Archie’s shouts about Cain, to the boy with the matted ginger hair, to the terrible injuries of the children. Then his dream flashed to the strange bed panels, his old cellar, the pictures on the cave walls, and scoring goals.

  A fizzing, gurgling noise woke him.

  Had he been asleep for hours?

  The moon had slipped behind a high cloud and rain was falling as a light spray. The old man jumped down, his feet splashing into water over his ankles.

  His heart missed a beat. Water?

  Apples alive! The children!

  He sloshed round to the entrance and heard a gurgling sound coming from a strange, billowing steamy cloud.

  Cautiously, he peered in, his eyes wide.

  Inside, the cave floor was dry, and water flowed along a neat, straight channel that he presumed led directly into the pit.

  Old Man Wood’s pulse raced and, crouching down, he followed the channel through the mist. As he crept closer, the colour of the water changed from blue to pink and he could tell it was gently bubbling. He put his damaged hand in. The water tingled on his cut and a warm buzz ran up his arm.

  He leant over the edge of the pit, his heart thumping. Were the children alive?

  He pulled his hand out and inspected it: the wound was healing in front of his eyes.

  Then he heard a voice. Or was it laughter?

  ‘Old Man Wood, what are you doing?’ Daisy said, her face appearing like a ghost in front of him briefly before sinking back into the steam.

  Old Man Wood reeled.

  Daisy giggled. ‘Hey, why don’t you get in?’

  Old Man Wood felt himself choking up. ‘Goodness me!’ he cried. ‘Daisy! Is that you? Is that really you? I can’t see you.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s me all right. Come on in. It’s gorgeous and warm and fantastic,’ she replied. ‘And it smells delicious, like an ace blend of lavender, pine needles and lemon.’

  ‘But are you all in there?’

  ‘Yes! And we’re absolutely fine,’ she said. ‘Come on in—see for yourself.’

  Old Man Wood was confused. ‘Are ALL of you fine, I mean Isabella and Archie?’

  Old Man Wood heard a splashing noise. Archie’s head popped out. ‘Yeah. Not bad,’ he said.

  ‘Apples almighty! It IS you.’

  Archie smiled. ‘Well, it’s good to see you too. How long have you been here?’

  ‘Your head?’ Old Man Wood exclaimed.

  ‘Yeah, I know. I think it was a lightning bolt.’ He patted his hard hair before drifting back into the steamy water.

  Old Man Wood didn’t know what to think. Perhaps he was dreaming. ‘Isabella?’ he called out.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ she responded lazily.

  Old Man Wood’s heart leapt for joy. It was impossible, a miracle. ‘Right then, you lot. Watch out, I’m coming in.’

  He could hear them laughing.

  ‘There’s bags of room,’ Daisy said. ‘Though watch yourself. Archie might puncture you with his hairdo.’

  Old Man Wood removed his coat, socks, and boots, and dipped his foot in the water. Then, ever so slowly, he lowered himself into the hot pool.

  The water, like a winning combination of champagne and cream, bubbled up and sparkled around him. He closed his eyes and let himself drift under. Almost immediately, he felt the bubbles caress his aches and pains, targeting each one like mini lasers.

  When he resurfaced and opened his eyes, the children were beaming at him.

  Old Man Wood laughed out loud. ‘You did it! You made it! How in apples’ name...? Are you better, truly recovered?’

  The twins floated over and hugged him.

  Old Man Wood inspected Archie, looking for the cuts and bruises on his head, hands, and ankles. He did the same with Daisy, but the procedure was quick and easy as their skin was smooth and clear, as though the battle through the storm had never happened.

  ‘I can’t believe it. I simply can’t believe it,’ Old Man Wood repeated. ‘I thought you were, you know, not alive, you twins! Battered to bits you were, and now look at you...’

  Old Man Wood listened attentively to their stories, noting that each one had survived an almost direct strike from a lightning bolt.

  But there was an awkwardness in Archie’s face, the same expression he’d seen when he’d handed over the strange overcoat? And he was keen to find out more about "Cain" that Archie had called out for?

  ‘You lot must be starving,’ he said.

  As one they nodded back.

  ‘I took the liberty of bringing you something special. Afterwards, it’d be a good idea to grab some rest. After all, we’ve still got to find a way out of here.’

  ‘Mmm. A chocolate brownie,’ Archie began, ‘with a spoonful of ice cream!’

  ‘Or a plate full of Peking duck pancakes with plum sauce, cucumber, and spring onions,’ Daisy said.

  ‘Or a huge slice of banoffee pie, with thick cream,’ Isabella added, licking her lips.

  Old Man Wood got out, made his way over to his coat and found the apples.

  ‘Now, before you start complaining,’ he said, ‘these are my special ones, so make sure you eat the whole thing, understand? Pips and all. They’ll fill you right up. Trust me. I don’t know how, but they will.’

  He tossed an apple at each one, and ravenously the children bit in. They were rewarded with tastes of golden syrup, honey, apple pie, and swee
t raspberries.

  Before long, the children pulled themselves out of the pit. Their bodies, now devoid of cuts and bruises, dried in the warm air. Old Man Wood pointed them towards the four protruding shelves, like stone benches, built into the walls high above the floor.

  Daisy climbed up into the one nearest her and wearily tested it, scrunching her hand in the soft velvety texture, before she lay down.

  ‘This is lovely,’ she purred as she sank into it. ‘Like amazing memory foam, really comfy…’

  Before long, her soft snores filled the void above.

  The others followed, and they too experienced the extraordinary sensation of the warm silky powder, softer than feathers, which seemed to mould perfectly around their bodies.

  Eighty-One

  Was Anyone Left?

  From his bunk high up on the cave wall, Archie peered through bleary eyes into the night sky overlooking the expanse of the Vale of York. Rippling waves caught flecks of light that flickered over the moving floodwaters which already seemed to have risen higher than the floor of the cave.

  A moonbeam radiated soft light over the walls, highlighting the lines of curious pictures sketched all around. He smiled. Strange how there was so much beauty and yet so much destruction in the world.

  The thought that someone had been here long ago gave him a fresh sense of comfort.

  He wondered about Kemp and the ghost. His memory was just a blur, an outline, but he still couldn’t work out whether Kemp had sent him on his way to save him, or if he’d done it to deliberately to take his place at Cain’s side?

  They’d passed the first test. And he remembered how Cain had told him they didn’t have a chance. His lips turned up at the thought.

  His dreams had been right all along. And wasn’t it funny how Sue had known, and tried to tell them.