Izzy had gone unusually quiet after the episode with the fox; she jumped at the slightest sound. Ratty couldn’t blame her. He felt scared himself in case they ran into the armed men. He didn’t have a clue who the men were, but they seemed to have the advantage of being able to navigate and see in the fog. Knowing they possessed this superiority made Ratty feel naked, vulnerable and helpless.
He supposed they could be hunters, shooting for sport, but hunting what?
The fogs pervasiveness only heightened Ratty’s misery. His clothes were soaking wet. So were Izzy’s. With her hair plastered to her face, she still looked beautiful to Ratty no matter how dishevelled she was. Even though she teased him, Ratty felt an unspoken attraction between them. He was now of an age where friends of the opposite sex began to lose their familiarity; became creatures of mystery.
“What’s that?” Izzy asked, peering through the darkness.
Ratty narrowed his eyes, straining to pierce the gloom. He could just make out a luminous shape looming out of the fog. “I’m not sure,” he whispered, too afraid to raise his voice in case the hunters were near by.
They crept closer to the luminous structure, watching it slowly acquire the shape and form of a white painted farmhouse. With the first floor towering above the fog, the walls absorbed the moonlight, giving the ground floor an eerie lustre like a spectral lighthouse. Closer to, Ratty saw the front door was hanging off its hinges, and a couple of windows were broken. The state of the property suggested no one lived there, and Ratty and Izzy squeezed through into the living room. Ratty shut the door behind them.
“At least it’s dry in here,” he said as he wiped his face on his sleeve and stifled a yawn.
It was too dark to make out very much but he could see the building had been gutted; even the fireplace had been ripped out. He tried a light switch, but nothing happened. With Izzy following silently at his side, they walked carefully through the living room, floorboards creaking into life. Every sound made his heart lurch as he panicked that it would alert someone to their presence. What if someone was hiding upstairs, waiting to pounce on them? He knew it was stupid, that there wasn’t anyone there, but he couldn’t shake the notion. The men had scared him more than he realised.
Through a door at the far end of the room they found themselves in a hallway. Light flooded down the stairs and putting his fears aside, Ratty ascended, drawn to the light like a moth to a flame.
The moon beamed down, surprisingly bright after the time they had spent in the dark. From a first floor window, he could see the fog glowing around the building like a magical sea.
“We should be all right here,” Ratty said as he turned and walked into a bedroom, the partially collapsed ceiling of which lay in a heap of plaster and wooden slats on the floor.
“All right for what?” Izzy asked, scowling.
“Just, you know, all right. At least we should be able to dry off.”
“And then what?”
Ratty shrugged. He didn’t know what to say. He had never seen Izzy looking so lost and forlorn. She was usually strong and resilient. He wanted to say something to encourage her, but words failed him and so he walked away to search the house for anything they could use.
When he came back with some tatty sheets, he noticed Izzy standing looking out of the window.
“What’s that?” she asked.
Ratty stood beside her and looked where she indicated, just able to make out what appeared to be lights in the distance. He also heard a faint humming sound, carried on the wind like a sibilant lullaby and he remembered the man mentioning a generator.
“It looks like a farm or something,” Izzy said.
It was the ‘or something’ that worried Ratty.
Too tired to worry about it now, Ratty took the Swiss army knife from his pocket. It had been a birthday present from his granddad. Looking at it reminded him he hadn’t seen his granddad in ages and he felt a sudden pang of sadness.
After cutting the worst of the mouldy patches out of the material, he laid the sheet flat, and even though she pulled a face, Izzy crawled beneath the mouldy bed linen, too tired to complain.
Lying next to her, Ratty could smell the coconut aroma of Izzy’s hair; amazed that he was so close to her, he began to think that getting lost in the fog might not be so bad after all. He debated whether to put an arm around her, but decided against it. He lay listening to her breathing and the house settle until his eyes began to close and sleep laid claim.
He didn’t know how long he slept, but it was still dark when he was abruptly woken by a noise and his eyes sprang open like shutters. Momentarily disorientated, he wondered where he was; then the memory returned.
The light of the moon was just enough to allow him to see and he surveyed the room, settling on the dark area where the ceiling had collapsed. He held his breath, straining to listen when he heard voices outside.
Thinking it might be a search party out looking for them, he started to rise.
Then he remembered the men with guns, and he decided to stay still.
He wasn’t prepared to risk the second option.
Whoever those men were, he instinctively knew he didn’t want to be found by them. His heart felt as though it was being pummelled by a blacksmith. Goosebumps prickled his arms.
Paralysed by fear, he stared at the door.
At his side, Izzy stirred but didn’t wake.
Ratty shivered.
Downstairs, the front door creaked open.
CHAPTER 5
Ratty couldn’t move. He wanted to wake Izzy, but he was afraid that if he woke her, she might scream and alert the men to their presence.
Unable to tell where the voices originated, or what they said, made the situation worse. Lying as still as he could, even his breathing seemed too loud and he was terrified they would hear it.
Downstairs, a floorboard creaked.
Ratty’s heart missed a beat.
They were in the house.
But what if it really was a search party? It was only natural that their parents would be missing them and be looking for them. The thought made sense, and he had almost convinced himself that the men were here to rescue them, but he couldn’t get the vision of the fox out of his head.
One of the stairs groaned as weight was applied to it.
They were coming up.
As if confirming his worst suspicions, he heard one of the men speak. “I’m going to have a look upstairs. If I find them, get ready to grab ...”
“Hold it, Jock. Roger that control. Over. Come on, there’s a disturbance in the village. Everyone’s needed.”
The stair groaned again and Ratty lay listening as the men walked away. He let out a sigh of relief. It was a search party all right, but he didn’t feel that it would be in his best interests to be found.
When Ratty woke, sunlight had replaced the moonbeams. Izzy stirred at his side. She lay with her arm draped over his chest and he was loath to move in case it broke the spell, in case he was still dreaming. He closed his eyes once more, savouring the moment. He had hardly slept after the men left; had been too scared that they would return.
“Is that your stomach rumbling?” Izzy asked, bringing him out of his reverie.
Ratty opened his eyes. “Yes, sorry. I thought you were asleep.”
“I couldn’t sleep. You snore like a pig.” She took her arm back.
“Thanks.” But he knew she was lying, otherwise she would have mentioned last nights events, which he wasn’t going to talk about in case it freaked her out.
“I’m starving. How are we going to find our way home?” Throwing back the sheet, she stood up.
Ratty couldn’t think how to reply.
Daylight didn’t improve the decor of the abandoned house; in fact it showed up more of its faults. Cracks streaked across the bare plastered walls and cobwebs rounded out any sharp edges like grim coving. Bare floorboards creaked under Izzy’s foot, the sound less distinct in the cold light of day t
han it had been at night.
Ratty cast off the sheet and stood up and went to look out of the window. He stared down at the veil of fog, trying to see if anyone was hiding outside the house. Although the fog was dense, he couldn’t see anyone, and he relaxed slightly.
The sun had already risen, but he wasn’t wearing a watch so he didn’t know what time it was. He looked across to where he had seen the lights the night before, but couldn’t see anything save the omnipresent fog and a smudge of trees that looked like shadows in the mist. Izzy came to stand at his side.
“You look filthy,” he said.
“So do you,” she replied.
“We’d better make a move. At least the daylight will help us see a bit better.” Looking at the fog, he was unconvinced by his own words.
Izzy reached into her pocket and took out a cigarette. She lit it and blew out a steady stream of smoke. “We’re in the shit.”
Ratty bit his lip. He wanted to say something inspiring; something to alleviate their predicament, but the words just wouldn’t come. “Yes, I think we are,” he eventually said. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
The fog lingered outside the front door like a vampire, waiting to be invited in. Stepping into it, the cold chill returned and both of them shivered. Ratty had taken stock of where they were relevant to where the lights had been shining and he thought he knew the way, but now back in the fog, all sense of direction was lost. North, south, east, west, it was all immaterial, just points on a compass he didn’t have. He didn’t even know if heading toward the lights was the best option, but it was the only one they had.
He felt Izzy grab his hand, and he took support from her touch. “This way, come on,” he said as he started walking.
***
Chase woke feeling bleary eyed. She had woken numerous times during the night, partly due to sleeping in a strange house, but also because she thought she had heard someone screaming and shouting. She remembered the noise dragged her out of bed to look out the window, but with it too dark to see anything, she guessed she had imagined it. Haunted by the uneasy feeling there had been a mistake with regard the competition still played on her mind and didn’t help.
Chase pulled back the sheet and slipped out of bed, shivering at the feel of the cold floor on her bare feet. She walked to the window and drew back the curtains, surprised to still see the fog circling the village like a wolf closing in for the kill. The orange sun sat high above like a bloodshot eye.
Chase dressed quickly and then shouted, “Wake up,” to Jane who mumbled something in reply. Laughing to herself, Chase bounded down to the kitchen with a spring in her step.
She searched the cupboards, found a jar of coffee and some bread. In the fridge, she found butter and jam. After making a drink, she took one up to Jane.
“Come on lazy bones,” she said, entering Jane’s room and opening the curtains.
“Bright light, bright light,” Jane squealed, drawing the sheet over her head.
“Don’t be such a misery.”
Jane mumbled something unintelligible.
“Come on, shake yourself. I’ve made you a cup of coffee. Drink it before it goes cold.”
“Okay mother.”
Chase tugged the bed sheet down to reveal Jane’s face.
“A little bit further and you’ll see paradise all right.”
Chase shook her head and raised her eyebrows in exasperation. “Don’t you ever think about anything else?”
“What else is there?” Jane sat up, the sheet slipping down her bare torso.
Chase laughed. “By the looks of it, gravity’s a bitch.”
“These are the real deal.”
“Well they haven’t improved with age, now put ‘em away and drink your coffee.” She walked out of the room, grinning.
Downstairs, she studied the fireplace before tackling the ashes. A full bucket of coal and a pile of logs stood beside the hearth, and she set about making her first real fire. But by the time Jane came downstairs, Chase had given up, the room full of smoke and not a flame in sight.
“Sugar, you’ll freeze to death if you can’t light a fire. Open that window and let me show you how I can get anything hot.” She winked and began to redo what Chase had started. Within fifteen minutes, a fire roared away in the hearth and Chase went through to the kitchen to toast some bread.
When Chase came back with the toast, Jane said, “You should just throw your toast in the fire in future, it’s burnt more than those logs were.”
“Choke on it.”
Shaking her head, Jane said, “What will you do without me?”
“I’ll manage.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. Are you sure you want to stay here? This just isn’t you.”
Chase looked down the hillside, admiring the view. “It is now.”
Jane crunched on her toast. “Good job I like it burnt.”
After breakfast, Chase put a fireguard around the fire and then she and Jane went to explore the village and to buy some supplies. The sun hovered in the sky and the trees rustled and swayed as though in reverence.
Chase noticed curtains twitching in some of the houses, as though disturbed by a slight breeze. She didn’t mention it to Jane. Halfway down the lane, they passed the grey haired old lady Chase had seen in the church hall. She stood with her back to them, weeding her garden.
“Hello again,” Chase said.
The lady turned, looked up and nodded imperceptibly before turning away.
“Friendly old soul,” Jane mumbled.
Chase shrugged. “The city hasn’t got the monopoly on weirdoes.”
At the bottom of the lane they turned left onto a narrower lane that led to a general store called ‘Necessities’. A bell jangled above the door as they entered.
Chase stared at the shelves, surprised to see that all of the products on them were in the same white-labelled tins with only the name of the contents printed on the label. It made the store appear sanitary, like a medical room.
“Weird,” Jane mumbled, voicing Chase’s thoughts.
In response to the bell, a middle-aged woman stepped from the rear of the shop. Her long straggly hair and dark eyes unsettled Chase. The woman wiped one hand on her apron. In the other hand she had a knife. She smiled when she saw Chase and Jane and she stabbed the knife into the wooden counter, letting the handle sway like a deadly metronome.
“Anything you want, just let me know, my dears,” she drawled.
“Thank you,” Chase said as she perused the shelves. Perhaps it was the knife, but the woman made her feel uncomfortable. What was it about knives around here?
Although strangely packaged, the shop was well stocked, seeming to provide most of the necessities, if not the luxuries, needed to survive.
“Why’s everything in this white packaging?” Jane asked.
“It’s the fog my dear. Since the fog arrived, the army has been supplying our food.”
“What do they do, dip it in the fog to give it this shade of white?” Jane picked up a tin and inspected it.
The woman either didn’t seem to notice Jane’s sarcastic remark, or she ignored it. “They call them army rations. Come from an emergency supply I was told, just for occasions like this.”
Chase frowned. “Hold on, so how long has the fog been here?”
“It gets hard to remember. A long time.”
“So how do you get out, you know, to visit people?” Jane asked.
“Get out. We don’t get out, my dear. It’s the fog, you see.”
“So why hasn’t the fog disappeared?” Chase asked, interrupting Jane.
“I don’t rightly know, my dear. You would have to ask someone else. They did tell us something ...” She scratched her chin, her dark eyes distant, lost in thought.
“Now will you reconsider coming home?” Jane pursed her lips.
“I am home, Jane. Please, we agreed.”
“But the fog!” She leaned closer and whispered, “And the
people!”
“Well there must be a good reason.” She looked back at the woman behind the counter who still seemed to have a remote, frowning look on her face, as though struggling to remember something.
New Title 1 Page 5