Grimsdon

by Deborah Abela

  ‘We’ve become used to a strange kind of life.’

  They climbed higher into the forest until it thinned and they emerged on a narrow country lane on top of a hill. Below was a small village and beyond that, trapped by a long, rambling fence, was an endless sea of identical tents.

  ‘What is it?’ Isabella asked.

  Xavier handed her a pair of binoculars. ‘One of the tent cities.’

  Among the rows of tents, Isabella saw people washing clothes in buckets, dirt-smeared kids playing in muddy puddles and bony dogs sniffing through giant piles of rubbish. From one tent, a line of people holding bowls waited patiently. Scattered throughout were men in military uniform, rifles swinging from their shoulders.

  ‘Who are all those people?’ Isabella asked.

  ‘They’re from Grimsdon. There weren’t enough houses for everyone who was rescued, so they live in tent cities. The guys with guns make sure they don’t leave without permission.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘In case they steal stuff or cause trouble.’

  ‘There must be thousands of tents.’

  ‘More, I’d say.’

  The village near the tents was crisscrossed with narrow streets. The shops and church had bars across their windows, while the strains of children singing floated from inside the school.

  ‘It doesn’t feel real.’ Isabella frowned. ‘Like it’s some kind of nightmare.’

  ‘Come on.’

  Xavier looked around before sneaking through a gap in a hedge. Isabella followed and found herself in the backyard of a large house.

  ‘Somebody’s home.’ She pointed to an open window on the second floor.

  ‘If we’re quiet, they’ll never know.’

  ‘But...’

  He hurried to a screen door that opened into a kitchen. He slipped off his pack and tiptoed into a walk-in pantry filled with food.

  Isabella’s eyes widened.

  He grabbed jars of homemade peaches and plums and cans of food, and stuffed them in his pack. There were bags of dried milk powder and pasta, cans of condensed milk, packets of chocolate biscuits and boxes of soap.

  When their bags were full, they snuck back into the kitchen. They heard something tinkle against the floor from deep inside the house and ducked behind the door. They peeked down the hall. In a drawing room at the end of the hall, they saw the arm of a rocking chair and a woman lean over to pick up a knitting needle. With a heavy sigh she went back to knitting. When Isabella looked closer, she saw the woman was working on a scarf that was gathering beside her on a pile of others as high as the chair.

  ‘What’s she doing?’

  ‘Maybe she gets cold at night.’ Xavier was impatient to leave. ‘Come on, let’s–’ Isabella had begun walking down the hall towards the woman.

  She stopped when she had a better view of the room. Each chair, tabletop and window seat was overflowing with multicoloured scarves that tangled and dripped in great lengths. The woman had greying hair and thin, bony fingers and hummed as she rocked back and forth.

  ‘I saw scarves like those on the kids from the tents. She must sit here all day knitting for them.’

  Xavier took her arm and slowly led her away, the knitting needles clicking behind them.

  Isabella didn’t speak until they’d climbed back through the hedge. ‘She looked so sad.’

  ‘There’s nothing we can do about it.’ Xavier charged ahead.

  ‘Maybe we shouldn’t have stolen her things.’

  He turned on her. ‘They have plenty!’

  Isabella recoiled.

  ‘Sorry.’ He softened. ‘It’s just that people like that have more than enough to share. She won’t even miss it.’ He tried one of his winning smiles. ‘Come on, those kids’ll go wild when they see what we’ve brought them this time.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  A Wicked Act

  Another wave splashed over Isabella’s face. The water rushed into her house, pouring though windows and beneath doorways. It had quickly reached her shoulders and was rising even higher.

  ‘Bella!’

  She swam towards her father’s voice.

  ‘Bella! I’m in here.’

  Isabella tried to keep her head above the water, but it washed over her, filling the house, drowning out the sounds of her father.

  ‘Dad! Where are you?’

  His answer was muffled. Isabella dived down and swam through the open doorway. She tried to see her father through the floating furniture and cushions. She swam upwards to take in another breath, but the water had reached the roof. There was no gap, no air. Her chest ached. She had to breathe, she had to save her dad, she...

  Isabella sat upright in bed. Her heart drove against her chest and her throat was tight as she tried to force down deep breaths. Outside was the sickly light of an early morning filled with the grey of falling of rain. Inside and all around her was the usual confusion of sheets and blankets and pillows after another nightmare.

  Her head slumped into her hands. She began to breathe more slowly and her heart calmed. She threw her blankets off and slipped on her coat, hugging it around her. She shuffled through the dining hall towards the kitchen when she heard footsteps. She spun round to see Griffin.

  ‘Isabella?’ His face was white. ‘Fly’s gone.’

  Isabella’s eyes shot to the bay window. It was empty, the blankets in a mess on the floor, the rain falling harder against the glass.

  ‘I can’t find her anywhere,’ Griffin said. ‘I’ve looked.’

  ‘Do you know how long she’s been gone?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I woke up about five minutes ago, and when I came in here she was missing.’

  ‘Wake Bea and Raffy. I’ll get Xavier.’

  The rain fell with renewed force against the Palace as they woke the others. It echoed around them, pounding against the windows, while everyone gathered in the dining hall near Fly’s bay window.

  Isabella had retrieved her belt and boots from her room and was strapping her knife holster to her ankle. ‘Did anyone hear anything?’

  ‘No.’ Bea rubbed her eyes.

  A crack of thunder slapped through the clouds around them.

  Raffy frowned. ‘What’s happened to Fly?’

  ‘We don’t know yet,’ Isabella said, ‘but we’ll find her.’

  ‘Bea and Raffy, check the kitchen and spare rooms. Griffin, you check the greenhouse and I’ll–’

  ‘There she is.’ Griffin stared out the window.

  Across the street, on one of the rooftops opposite, disappearing in the grey veil of rain, was a small, lone figure.

  ‘Fly?’ Isabella whispered.

  Her coat swept behind her as she flew up the stairs, followed quickly by the others. She pushed open the door leading to the roof and ran to the edge. The rain was ice-cold and so thick she could barely see in front of her. She stood beneath the wings of the dragon, water dripping down her face.

  In rare moments the rain thinned and she could see her more clearly. The building Fly was on sat beside the one that had collapsed and was now dangerously unbalanced. She’d been tied to a pole and wasn’t moving. Her head had sunk to her shoulder.

  ‘Bea, Raffy and Griffin, prepare the flying fox.’

  The twins hurried to the box with the gear and began preparing the harnesses, cables and pulleys.

  ‘Xavier, you and I are going to get her.’

  ‘I’ll come, too,’ Griffin offered.

  ‘We’ll need you to help Bea and Raffy get her back.’

  Isabella sat on the edge of their rooftop and slipped on the harness. Xavier flung the cable and it hooked onto the sagging building. Griffin made sure the cable was taut. The second he gave the okay, Isabella clicked the harness onto the cable and leapt from the roof. She flew above the crashing waves and through the driving rain.

  When she reached the building opposite, she scrambled quickly onto the rooftop, released herself from the harness and slid it back along the cable to
the Palace. Her boots splashed through the rain, avoiding dangerously sagging crevices.

  She gently lifted Fly’s head. Her skin was deathly cold. Isabella’s fingers pressed into her neck.

  ‘Is she okay?’ Xavier appeared beside her.

  ‘I can feel her pulse, but it’s weak.’ Isabella stroked her face. ‘Fly, sweetie. It’s Isabella. We’re taking you home.’ She spoke softly and calmly, the rain pelting into them as she took her knife from her holster and cut the ropes.

  Xavier held Fly under the arms. On cutting the last rope, she crumpled into his arms. He swept her from her feet and, carefully stepping over the worn roof, carried her to the flying fox. He slipped on the harness, tugging down hard to check that it was clipped firmly onto the cable.

  He winked at Isabella. ‘See you on the other side.’

  With Fly cradled in his arms, he kicked himself from the wall and sailed towards the Palace.

  Griffin, Bea and Raffy reached down to lift her onto the roof.

  Xavier climbed up after her. ‘We have to get her inside fast.’

  He sent the harness scuttling back to Isabella. He scooped Fly up, sagging and limp in his arms. Raffy held open the door to the Palace while Bea jumped downstairs, two at a time, to grab blankets and warm clothes.

  Inside, Xavier lay her on a lounge in the dining room. Isabella and Bea quickly changed her out of her wet clothes and into dry pyjamas. Raffy was towelling her hair, and Griffin cocooned warm blankets all around her. Isabella took her hand, rubbing it and whispering to her, ‘You’re back with us, Fly, where you belong. We’ll be here until you wake up.’

  ‘What happened?’ Raffy asked, his sister’s arm around his shoulder. ‘Why was she out there?’

  ‘It’s obvious,’ Griffin snarled at Xavier. ‘Sneddon’s punishing us for not paying him.’

  Xavier shrank slightly. ‘I never meant for this to happen. It’s right that we don’t pay him. He’s a crook and a thief.’

  ‘You said that would be the end of it.’ Griffin’s face fired red. ‘That they were too cowardly to come back.’

  ‘I thought that–’

  Griffin lunged at Xavier. He fell back, slamming onto the floor with Griffin’s hands around his throat. ‘You did this! Everything was fine before you got here and now Sneddon’s angry with us – and Fly’s had to cop it. Next time he’s going to do something worse, and it’s all because of you. Why did you ever come here?’

  Bea hugged her brother closer.

  ‘Nothing was fine, you know that,’ Xavier struggled to speak. ‘You live in a drowned city and were being bullied by a madman on a ship.’

  ‘The same madman who attacked Fly.’

  ‘I didn’t know they’d–’

  ‘And now she’s lying here, and we don’t know if she’ll ever–’

  ‘Griffin?’ A small voice whispered from behind him. ‘Please let him go.’

  Griffin stopped.

  ‘Fly?’ Isabella asked. ‘Was that you?’

  Bea grinned. ‘You spoke.’

  ‘Please let him go.’ Fly’s voice was scratched and uneasy.

  Griffin released his hands from Xavier’s neck. Xavier coughed and rubbed his throat. But Griffin heard none of it. He smiled and leant over Fly: ‘Welcome back.’

  ‘I thought it was time you stopped trying to kill Xavier,’ she said.

  Bea and Raffy laughed.

  ‘Even though he can be annoying,’ Fly added.

  ‘What happened?’ Griffin asked.

  ‘I’m not really sure,’ she whispered. ‘I was in my window, drawing by the light of my torch. I heard a noise, like shuffling footsteps, then it went dark. Something clamped over my mouth. I was bundled into a blanket and then...’ She scowled. ‘I don’t remember anything else.’

  ‘We found you on the roof of the building opposite,’ Griffin said.

  ‘The roof?’ Fly frowned.

  ‘You were tied to a pole,’ Bea said.

  ‘In the rain,’ added Raffy. ‘Isabella and Xavier rescued you.’

  Fly paused. ‘Show them this,’ she said softly.

  ‘Show us what?’ asked Griffin.

  ‘That’s what they said.’ She pointed to her wet coat draped over a chair. ‘In my pocket. There’s a note.’

  Griffin went through all the pockets until he found a soggy piece of paper. ‘It’s from Sneddon.’ He shot an accusing look at Xavier before reading: ‘Bring me the flying machine or be ready for more of this.’

  ‘He’s used to taking what isn’t his,’ Xavier said.

  ‘Then we give it to him,’ Griffin announced.

  ‘Griff, it’s important that we stand up to–’

  ‘Not when it means Fly gets hurt!’ Griffin shouted.

  ‘We need the Aerotrope,’ Fly said.

  ‘But what if you’d–’

  ‘I’m fine, Griffin.’

  ‘I knew she was smart.’ Xavier smiled. ‘She decides to speak, and the first thing she does is agree with me.’

  ‘Not all the time.’ Fly’s smile wavered with cheeky delight. ‘Sometimes you just like to show off and impress Isabella.’

  Xavier spluttered. ‘No I ... It’s not like that ... I’d never...’

  And for the first time since they met him, Xavier fell silent.

  ‘It’s like Isabella says,’ Fly said. ‘We’re all we’ve got, and we have to stick together.’

  Isabella had been quiet the whole time.

  ‘Isn’t that right, Izzy?’

  She looked up as if she’d been plucked from other thoughts and nodded. ‘And no-one is going to break us apart.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  An Early-morning Encounter

  Isabella waited until the Palace had long settled into sleep before she left. She pulled on a beanie, tightened the belt around her coat, laced up her boots and secured the holsters around her ankle and waist.

  During the fuss of a welcome-back feast for Fly the night before, she’d snuck into Xavier’s room, searched his backpack and found his compass. She opened his drawers and looked through his cupboards but didn’t find what she was looking for until her boot kicked his spear gun that was on the floor under a bunch of clothes. Boys, she thought. Why do they always have to live like a bomb has exploded in their room?

  Now it was morning and she crept past the closed doors of the bedrooms and a sleeping Fly. She lifted a window on the lower level of the Palace so slowly that not even the hint of a sound was made. A rush of cold night air flooded over her. She drew in a quick breath, pulled the scarf up over her mouth and nose, and slipped her hands into leather gloves.

  With the strap of the spear gun across her chest, she stepped quietly out of the window and stole into the bitter air.

  The darkness of the early morning wrapped around everything. She pulled the window closed and switched on the torch. A sharp line of light directed her to the dinghy. She felt the cold of the sea seep into her as she lowered herself in. The needle on the compass jittered in the light of her torch. She found her bearings and quietly rowed away from the Palace.

  The harbour was unusually calm, with barely a stirring of wind. The oars slipped through the water, disappearing beneath the surface as if plunging into thick, black oil.

  As morning began to break, a thin line of light appeared on the horizon – and with it came the dark outline of a ship.

  ‘There you are.’ Isabella’s breath came in frosted waves. ‘You will never touch Fly again.’

  She switched off her torch.

  The ship was stolen, no doubt, from of one of Grimsdon’s old docks. It loomed large on the water, its three masts pointing into the sky, strung with a cascading web of ropes. It’s hulking body released sombre creaks as it swayed in slow motion on the gentle swell like a giant sleeping beast. It was loosely anchored by four thick chains.

  Isabella approached the boat, careful not to make any noise in case Tyran or Mouse were on guard duty.

  That’s when she felt it. A sm
all wind nudging into her. She turned towards the horizon and saw the slightest of waves. Quiet and seemingly innocent.

  She wrenched the oars through the water, aiming for the shelter of the clipper, but it was no use. The sneaker wave was gathering in the distance – and she was directly in its path.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Beneath the Sneaker Wave

  The sea churned all around her, drawn by the pull of the sneaker wave rushing toward Isabella. She held onto the sides of the dinghy as it tumbled and rolled. A wall of noise increased with the swell of the rising sea.

  Then it hit.

  The wave poured over her, slamming her down as if by a giant hand. It tore her from the dinghy, rumbling her away from the ship at frightening speed. Her whole world became a din of noise and water, with no up or down. She fought against the currents that were tearing into her. She tried to find her way out, to reach the surface so she could take another breath, but the wave kept forcing her under. Her energy drained, her limbs weakened, she gave in to its throes and was sucked downwards into the darkness – until in one erupting force she was thrown upward.

  Isabella drank in a gulp of air and tried to get her bearings, knowing she was about to be dragged under again. She stole another breath and felt her body fall once more.

  But only briefly.

  She was lifted up through the waves, only this time she felt something beneath her. Something hard and uneven.

  Before she could make sense of what was happening, another wave rose above her. She flattened herself against the rough surface and held on tight, preparing for the flood, when she felt herself hurtling forward.

  Water sprayed all around as she was driven through the wave. She emerged on the other side as it swept behind her, colliding into buildings and tossing Sneddon’s boat as if it were a toy. It finally rolled away, and the river calmed to a peaceful lull.

  Isabella collapsed, her forehead resting against the strange, knobbled surface. Was it a piece of driftwood? Wreckage from a boat? She coughed and spluttered and her throat stung from the salty water she’d drunk. Her ears rang and her body ached, but she’d made it. She’d survived being caught in a sneaker wave.