by James Erith
Moments later, Old Man Wood wedged the crowbar in behind the panel and was attempting to lever the wood away by leaning on it as gently – but firmly – as he thought necessary. But whatever angle he tried, the panel would not budge. Furthermore, he was conscious that if he was too heavy handed he might damage his beautiful bed carvings.
He scratched his head and slipped out of the room, returning moments later with a flat head screwdriver and a hammer. Old Man Wood thrust the flat head into the tiniest of gaps and gave the end a smart whack with the hammer. The nails securing the panel lifted, just a fraction.
Placing the crowbar in the new gap, he levered it once more and after a few more whacks, the panel popped off.
He rubbed his chin. ‘Well, I’ll be blowed,’ he said as he ran his fingers over the three panels that now stared back at him. ‘What in the apples do we have here?’
In front of him were three beautifully inlaid panels that seemed to glow like three small monitors – rather like the children’s computers. The difference was that these ones were inlaid into the bed itself and surrounded by carvings that matched those on the bed.
He stared at them for a while, his face a picture of confusion, the wrinkles on his forehead deeply pronounced. Every now and then the images in the panels moved and, when they did, Old Man Wood could feel his heart racing. And it kept on happening with all three panels, randomly. Was he was seeing things, he wondered?
He noticed that the overlying image was hazy – like looking through heavy rain. Maybe it was mirroring the weather right now, he thought, as if it were in some way, however ludicrous, a weather forecasting unit. As he became more accustomed to the panels, the images on them became a little clearer. On each panel was a figure. Three panels, three figures, one on each “screen”. And why did each one look so familiar?
He studied the carvings to the sides of the screens. The first was an ornate pointer in the shape of an arrow. He touched one that faced away from the first panel. To his astonishment, the panel seemed to move the image out, exactly like a zoom on a camera. He did the same with the next panel, this time pressing on the arrow that turned in. Once again the picture moved, but this time closer. He studied it with increased fascination.
The person he was looking at appeared to be drenched and walking up something – tripping every now and then – as though trying to negotiate a pathway, but the image was still so hazy. He rubbed his hand over another carved icon adjacent to the arrow, which he thought looked rather like a cloud. He pressed it and magically the picture transformed, removing the rain.
Old Man Wood gasped as he stared at the new image. That balance and gait could only belong to one person, and that person was Daisy. He pressed the inward arrow a couple of times and he could now see her in quite extraordinary detail.
A thrill passed through him. He was looking at the children, right now, in real-time, and he realised that, if he could determine which buttons to press, he’d be able to see exactly where they were. He did the same to the panel on the right, this time pressing the cloud and zooming out with the away arrow.
He clapped his hands. It was Archie, definitely Archie, with a kind of spiky hat on his head – and he was standing right next to Daisy. And, just like her, he was trying to walk through something and that something, he concluded, was not in the slightest bit helpful. It was like a river of goo sliding towards them. So where were they? He pulled out and saw an image of a gully with low branches bending down.
The track! It must be the track. He clenched his fists. My goodness me! But where were they on the track? He pulled out even further. Apples alive! At the bottom! His heart sank. At least the twins were together, but what about Isabella?
He scoured the left panel and sighed with relief as he saw her outline. He honed in and pressed the cloud icon. It cleared the screen. He pressed the outward arrow to try and work out her position.
She was heading towards a large object with a sheer face, pushing past bushes and through trees. He zoomed out. Behind her, he could see something creeping up on her. Was it water? It had to be. My goodness it was flooding fast. He thought quickly. The only sheer rock he could think of was ... was underneath the ruin. So how come she was separated from the others?
It didn’t matter. She was where she was.
Old Man Wood breathed a sigh of relief. They were alive. He looked at his clock. How long was it since he’d been out for a walk? Two hours? He trembled.
Had the children been out in this for that long? Goodness gracious. Not much would survive in that.
His heart thumped. He needed to find them before they were battered and drowned in all that rain.
29
Lightning Bolts
Daisy dozed, her head resting on Archie’s chest. Her mind swam. She dreamt fleetingly of the cottage, of Old Man Wood and their parents. She dreamt of scoring a goal with a sensational bicycle-kick and Archie making a flying, fingertip save. The storm seemed a million miles away.
Suddenly she woke. A noise had clicked in her brain. She studied it, her eyes shut tight. Then she realised what it was.
‘MOVE!’ she screamed at Archie.
Archie opened his eyes. ‘Eh? What?’
‘Incoming. I can hear it. MOVE!’
‘Where?’ Archie replied.
The noise was building somewhere miles above them.
‘Down the branch. NOW!’
Archie did what he was told and shuffled his bottom as fast as he could down the branch, the rain smashing down on them once more.
‘Further,’ she screamed. ‘As far as you can.’ She was skimming along, almost bouncing when she stopped, wrapped her hands and legs around the thick branch, and hugged her body into the wood. She hoped for the best.
Archie continued on, oblivious to Daisy’s action. From out of nowhere, a terrific surge of power smashed into the tree. The branch was severed like a head being cut off by an axe and it crashed down, bridging the track just above the flowing mud. Archie flew into the air and came down into the torrent. He sank underneath the waterline.
Daisy convulsed with electricity and was filled with pain, particularly her ears. She uncurled her body from around the branch as the rain crashed onto her back and head.
Regaining her composure, she turned round. Where was Archie?
She tried to call out his name but not a single sound came from her mouth. She knew it was hopeless. Even if she could scream for help, he’d never hear her. She scanned the area. Suddenly she saw a hand struggling to grip the end of the branch. And then it fell away, caught in the torrent.
She shrieked and desperately fished her hand down into the water but felt nothing but twigs and leaves and the occasional bush flashing beneath her.
Daisy thumped the branch, tears streaming from her eyes, blending with the rain. How much more she could take? Her eyes dipped.
And now she was all on her own.
Archie was catapulted into the air. He landed in the middle of the torrent and plunged into the water. He felt his body being whipped away. He battled with all his might and when he surfaced, directly in front of him was the huge branch which straddled the track.
His lungs burned.
He reached up, but however hard he tried, he couldn’t get a hold on the bark and after several attempts he felt a pain as though the nails on his fingers were starting to detach. The force of the water was so great that he had simply no option but to give in. He let go.
He was swept away. He desperately needed to breathe. He struggled to keep his head up and every time he did, it was battered down again by the rain. And all the while he searched for buoyancy – a branch or a tree he could grab that might keep him afloat.
He thrashed out with his feet like a madman, kicking the water beneath him in a last massive effort to survive. Something caught around his left leg, possibly a root. He succumbed, shattered and beaten. He smiled ironically as he let himself go, Cain’s words coming to him as he floated away: if it wasn’t the
thunderbolts and it wasn’t the rain, it was the landslides.
But, much to his surprise, he remained bound by this thing that had snared around his leg. The current pushed him towards the bank and he made a grab for a protruding root, twisting his body round and keeping his head up. He sucked in air, coughing water out of his lungs. He gave his foot a yank and found it unyielding.
He tried again, this time holding the root on the bank with his other hand. It moved! He did it again and again. Now there was just enough slack to allow him to climb up. He bent forward to see what was around his ankle and felt into the water, pulling his left leg towards him.
He touched something coarse and thick. Archie’s mind was working overtime. Then it struck him. It was the swinging rope attached to the big branch.
He pulled harder, knowing that if Daisy was still attached to the tree trunk she couldn’t possibly know it was him. The rope came away a little more. Now there was enough slack for him to try and untie it. He reached down and figured that the end had knotted around his ankle. It wasn’t the trickiest knot he’d ever seen, but the rope was thick and the current was pulling him and the rain beating down and every time he thought he had it, the slack was withdrawn and he was back to where he started. He gave the rope an even bigger tug. The whole branch moved. This time the rope gave and slipped off his foot. He grabbed it, and tied it around his waist.
And then he heard a scream. Even above the roar of the rain and the torrent, it couldn’t be mistaken.
It was Daisy, screaming;
‘IN-COMING!’
Archie knew exactly what he had to do.
Daisy was still on the branch – he was sure of it. He tugged with all his might and felt the branch yield. He pulled again and again. Slowly the branch twisted off the bank and slid towards the torrent below. There couldn’t be much more time. One more pull was all it needed.
He harnessed the rope around his shoulders and yelled out, pulling like crazy. Suddenly the branch broke free and shot forward, just as a thunderbolt crashed into exactly the place it had been resting. Archie wondered if he’d done enough – if Daisy had managed to get out of the way. But he had no time to think, for the big branch began slipping down the slope, joining the torrent that was flushing down the lane.
Archie was whipped away behind it, trying desperately to keep himself above water, holding on for dear life as the branch joined the main body of the river. As it did, he pulled himself closer and put his left leg out, using it as a rudder. It seemed to work and the great branch pitched towards what he hoped was the bank on the left hand side.
Archie pulled himself up onto the log, shut his eyes and gritted his teeth. The rain slammed down on his back and head as if it was beating him to death, slowly and surely, with blunt nails, like Chinese torture.
Maybe he should slip back into the water to take the pressure off his body. But what if he did that and was swept away? It wasn’t worth it. He didn’t know if either Daisy or Isabella were still alive. If they were, it was a miracle. How much longer could he last? He felt his eyes closing and he thought he heard a voice. Was it Old Man Wood? No, similar but different. Cain? Archie lifted his head and swore he could see something sitting near him on the branch. ‘Daisy – Daisy,’ he groaned.
‘Come with me,’ a voice said. ‘You can be saved, Archie.’
‘Saved,’ Archie repeated. It was the best offer he’d had for a while.
‘I can lose this other boy. Say yes, and it will be done.’
Was it Cain? With Kemp? Everything Cain had said was true. What did he have to lose?
His brain swam. All he could think of was his sisters and nothing else. The branch jolted and snapped him out of his trance.
No. Archie knew he had to get Daisy off the log and find Isabella. There was no other way. They’d die together. But better to die together trying to save the world than not to try at all.
‘I’d rather be with my sisters than join with you,’ he spoke into the rain.
The voice laughed back at him, ‘I will return, Archie. You may need me yet.’
30
Isabella Gets Trapped
For every step Isabella took forward, she seemed to slide back two more. And when she was out in the open she found herself pushing blindly through sheets of water with no idea where she was heading.
She needed guidance and wondered if she could find the strange sensation in her hands that she’d felt when guiding them to the bridge. She extended her hands in front of her and felt a gentle pull, one way and then the other. With each step, her feet touched on harder ground. Sometimes her hands swung her at right angles and every so often she had to backtrack. But she trusted in it, for it was the only thing she had.
The one thing that terrified her was the thunderbolts.
Daisy had been able to hear them forming – or so she said – and it was true. Every time Daisy screamed and they ran, a thunderbolt crashed onto the spot where they had just been. But now there was no Daisy, and Isabella sensed that it was only a matter of time before another would come. And she had a deathly feeling in her gut that it would come directly at her out of the blue.
She moved forward, all the while waiting for the crack or the blast. And, as fast as she went, the trickle of water around her ankles kept gaining on her, so that for every surge she made forward out of the water, in no time it had caught up with her, sometimes as high as her knees. She hurried on.
Isabella had a sense of a thunderbolt generating in the clouds above. She didn’t know why, it was simply a terrible, stomach-wrenching fear that filled her.
She crawled fast, scampering over fallen branches and through brambles up to the base of a large tree that offered her decent protection from the rain. Almost immediately Isabella stretched her hands into the air above her head, her palms facing outwards, her fingers touching. She channelled every ounce of energy into protecting herself. She didn’t know why, but it felt as if her hands were her only hope.
She closed her eyes and waited and waited. Sure enough, and only moments before Isabella was thinking of putting them down, a thunderbolt sliced out of the sky directly upon her. A fraction of a second after she heard it break, Isabella slammed back at it.
She could feel its power pushing her into the ground as the immense voltage made to slam into her head. She gritted her teeth and pushed out harder, her hands red hot as if burning rods of molten iron were being welded into them.
And then it was over.
Isabella’s body slumped to the ground, her hands smoking, her eyes closed, a look of peace fixed on her face.
It was the water licking at her lips that brought her back.
Isabella opened her eyes and shivered. The thunderbolt! She’d survived! How long had she been out, five minutes – half an hour? She pulled her hands up to her eyes. Even in the dim light she could make out large black circles, like burn marks, on her palms. Her body tingled, the electrical charge still running through her. How – how had she done it? It didn’t make any sense. By rights, she should be frazzled.
She checked her limbs one by one. They worked, but her whole body ached like crazy and her head felt as if it was full of wire wool.
‘Keep going,’ she heard. ‘Move, now.’
It was as if someone was with her, egging her on, trying to lift her. Was this her spirit, begging her not to give in?
She forced herself forward and fell flat on her face. Again she heard the voice. She picked herself up and wondered who or what it could be. She crawled on, finding a steady rhythm that made her progress faster than before. Soon she was above the waterline and she kept on going until she cracked her head on a large black rock.
‘OW!’ she cried, as she rubbed her head. She noted that the rain had ceased pummelling her. It was a sheltered spot under a rock shelf and, for the first time in ages, she felt a little safer. She sat back, stretched out her legs and cradled her head in her hands. Where would the next meal come from, she wondered – that’s if she rem
ained alive long enough. She was lonely, terrified, lost and starving.
Isabella pulled herself together and tried to take some bearings. She was pretty sure she was on the cottage side of the river but she could be anywhere – who could tell how far she’d drifted – and the hills carried on for miles and miles. She picked up a rock. At the very least she could narrow it down by working out where rocks like these came from.
Moments later there was a terrible explosion of noise, like the sound of a train smashing and crunching into another right above her. The sound got closer and closer until it was right next to her and all around her. She shut her eyes and put her hands over her ears.
Out of the sky, a deadly surge washed over the rock. Isabella shook. She didn’t have the strength to put her hands up to protect herself, but if she had, it would have been useless. Through the veil of water something else was pouring out of the sky – darker, and deadlier – directly onto the area from where she had crawled.
It took a while for Isabella to work it out. It was a landslide. Even above the noise of the water she could hear cracking and crushing and splintering sounds as everything in its path was obliterated.
For several seconds the cascade rattled on. Isabella’s heart thumped; she wouldn’t have stood a chance. Eventually, the cacophony ceased. She ventured out into the rain and, only a couple of metres from where she had been sheltering, she encountered a vast pile of boulders, rock, mud and splintered wood.
She slunk back to her sheltered position as a terrible thought began to wash over her.
If she was underneath a cliff face the chances were that it was either a landslip off the top of a hill or, and she thought this more likely, a section of the cliff face had simply fallen away. That would explain the boulders. The only place she knew where that had happened before was below the ruin.