by James Erith
Isabella stared numbly at her lifeless sister. A feeling of intense anger rushed into her until she felt she simply had to do something.
She directed her hands towards Daisy, closed her eyes and screamed, ‘STOP BEING SO STUPID, DAISY DE LOWE, YOU WILL NOT DIE ON ME. IS THAT PERFECTLY CLEAR? I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!’
A strange, pink glow emanated from her hands, cocooning Daisy’s body.
‘YOU WILL NOT GIVE IN,’ she continued.
Daisy’s eye’s flickered.
Isabella reeled. Blimey, she thought, it worked. What had she done? Had her words really had that effect?
Whatever she’d done, she suddenly felt desperately tired. She stumbled and collapsed to the ground.
Old Man Wood put the bottle to Daisy’s lips and found that it opened. He gasped. ‘Come on now, just a drop is all you need.’ Moments later, they could see the colour in Daisy’s cheeks returning.
Isabella smiled weakly and tried to hide a huge yawn.
‘I think you could do with a drop of this too,’ he said, and he applied the Resplendix Mix to Isabella’s lips. ‘Is there any shelter?’ Old Man Wood asked. Isabella pointed towards the rock.
Old Man Wood scooped Daisy off the rocks and carried her in to the cave. Isabella followed. As soon as she stepped inside, the warmth made her feel drowsy and tired and hungry. She sat down and closed her eyes.
Old Man Wood shone his torch around the chamber and gasped. The whole place was covered in paintings that seemed familiar – as if he’d seen them somewhere before, a long time ago.
In the middle he found a small, circular recess – like a large fire pit, but empty. It seemed a good place to rest and, more importantly, as he stepped inside to inspect it, it was deliciously cosy and warm, a covering of a soft, sandy, dust-like substance on the bottom that was as fine as talcum and soft as a mattress.
He lowered Daisy in, making sure her head was propped up, and started back out of the cave. From the corner of his eye he spotted Isabella, slumped and fast asleep on the floor. He moved her into the same pit. It seemed the right thing to do – a place where they were warm and away from danger, where they might sleep – while he searched for a way out.
Two were alive by the skin of their teeth. Now, he had to find Archie.
Archie was spinning so fast that he felt he might start doing some serious damage, not only to himself, but to anything unlucky enough to cross his path. Now his body twisted, then steadied, and as he levelled out he realised he was flying. He soared like a bird, swooping first one way then another. He shot high into the air, twisting as he went, enjoying the marvellous sensation of weightlessness. Each gust of wind caressed his body and he cried out at the freedom and the speed. Now he was diving, and flying fast, as fast as an arrow. He screwed left and found himself heading, at breakneck speed, towards a rock face, a large boulder, as if he was a bolt of lightning. Maybe he was a bolt of lightning. He couldn’t stop, he couldn’t turn fast enough and there wasn’t enough room for him to manoeuvre. But he wasn’t afraid. He would wallop into it with his head. That’s right – it wouldn’t hurt at all.
BANG! The rock shattered into several pieces.
In place of the boulder was the entrance to a cave. He looked inside. Isabella and Daisy were there, with Old Man Wood. They were so excited and wanted to tell him something. They beckoned him, teasing him to step in and join them. They were laughing and smiling and looked so happy and content.
He raised his foot and carried on through the entrance. But as he did he felt the anger of Cain smash into him and he fell to the ground. Cain started kicking him – smashing him in the ribs, in the chest, and then to his face.
He gasped, struggling for air.
Why would Cain want to hurt him? They were on the same side, right? He felt air leaking out of him like a balloon with a small hole that was getting bigger all the time. He gulped. He needed to breathe so badly, so badly it hurt, like his body was crying out …
Archie surfaced and thrashed the water, desperate to find a hold. His fingers touched on a rock. He pulled himself up. He felt sick. He vomited, expelling the water from his gut – but it felt as though he’d swallowed a full bathtub and he retched and hacked until it felt as though his internal organs might come out as well.
He lay panting on a stone. His head throbbed like crazy. He could feel drops of rain on his face, though not as hard as before. His stomach churned and he shivered. Daisy? Isabella? He couldn’t see anyone close by, in fact, he couldn’t see anything at all.
He shuffled out of the water, and slowly up onto a boulder where he pulled his legs into his body. Cold, so cold.
In his mind he wondered if he could hear things. ‘Help,’ he called out. But he had no way of telling if the word was coming out as a sound.
He wanted to yell out for one of his sisters, for Old Man Wood, but instead, he knew there was only one person who could help him.
Cain.
‘Cain!’ he yelled. ‘CAIN, HELP ME!’
And through the cracks in his eyes, he swore he could see someone appearing. Was it Cain? It had to be. Perhaps he would survive after all.
And then it went black.
Archie’s head swam. How long had he been out cold, minutes, hours? In fact, was he actually alive? A vicious pain rocked through his skull, like an out of control pinball. He felt his head and found a bump the size of a golf ball at the base of several of his hair spikes.
Something must have hit him hard … he couldn’t remember. Did you get headaches when you were dead? He tried to think, but he couldn’t. In any case, surrounding him was a warmth and dryness and softness that was comforting and soothing – like his bed at home.
He slipped away but was jostled back. He stirred. Maybe the warmth meant he was in Hell.
Then again, perhaps Cain had rescued him after all.
He tried to open his eyes but they were stuck down, as if with a powerful glue.
What time was it and … Daisy? What about Daisy? He swore he could smell her sleepy smell, the one he’d noticed when the strange creature was over her.
40
Why Cain?
Old Man Wood sat on the edge of the pit and studied the children who lay sleeping in the strange soft substance in the base of it. The sound of their gentle breathing was the sweetest music he had ever heard. He reflected on his extraordinary fortune. It was a miracle that he’d found them, he had the curious bed panel to thank for that, and then there was the amazing re-discovery of the Resplendix Mix.
He whistled. The torrential rain, the lightning, the mud slides and the cold. Old Man Wood shook his head. How, in all the apples in the world, were they alive? And how had Daisy come back when he’d felt no pulse. Had Isabella clawed her back from death’s door, or had Daisy done it through sheer bloody determination?
And what about Archie? He’d seen a body at the other end of the ledge on top of a rock. As he approached, his heart had fallen; the boy was delirious, curled up and shivering, his mouth foaming and his eyes staring wildly in different directions. His body was battered to bits.
But what was so strange was that, with his first glance, he could have sworn it wasn’t Archie at all, it was his friend – the one with the ginger hair who was always so unpleasant to the girls. That’s right, the boy Archie liked to go fishing with. The boy called Kemp. He wondered if he’d been washed up on the shoreline – the first of many, he presumed.
He’d rubbed his eyes and looked out over the water. In the next blink of his eye it was Archie. And Archie was calling out ‘Cain, Cain,’ over and over again. But who on earth was this Cain, and why did that name strike a chord deep within him that was not at all pleasant?
Old Man Wood searched his memory. Why did Cain seem so important to Archie and, oddly, to him as well? That one name, Cain, dredged up a confusing sense of love and anger and it didn’t feel comfortable at all.
Now the children were asleep, he lowered himself into the pit and studied them in more d
etail. The bruises and cuts on their bodies were quite simply astonishing. On each he found signs of terrible burns; no doubt from the lightning bolts. How in the blazes had they survived them? Daisy’s legs were entirely black and blue, criss-crossed with cuts – some deep and some sharp, like punctures, and others raked by thorns. Her fingernails were black, and on her ring finger and index finger the entire nail had detached leaving only bare, raw skin. Her shoes had long gone and her feet looked as though they had been forced through a blender. Her tracksuit bottoms were non-existent apart from the elastic, and one of her football stockings was attached by a few threads and it flapped off her bright red and raw shin.
Old Man Wood wondered if he should give her some more Resplendix Mix. But, then again, he knew deep down that any more so soon wouldn’t be a wise idea. Resplendix Mix was powerful stuff, and powerful potions, he suspected, needed careful portioning.
But as he thought about it, his attention drifted back 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 stood on end in spikes exactly as he’d seen in the panels, when he’d thought it was a hat. The effect looked similar to a medieval mace club the children had pictures of in their history books.
He ran his hand across Archie’s head and was amazed to feel that the spiky parts were fused together. It was as if it had been done with superglue or a whole pot of Daisy’s hair gel. Old Man Wood couldn’t understand it. He tried to bend a section of hair but it was set tight.
He inspected Archie’s hands. They, too, were terribly cut and bruised. He suspected a broken finger or two by the way his digits were angled. And on his palms there was a raw streak, like burning – probably from pulling the rope, he thought. His head bore the blows of rocks as did his body – as if he’d been sprayed by a rock gun. Some of his cuts seeped, others had congealed already. Old Man Wood sucked in a deep breath. How on earth had he survived?
Most extraordinary of all, perhaps even odder than Archie’s hair, were Isabella’s hands. The palm of each one bore a hole that looked as if they had quite simply been burnt through. The marks looked so symmetrical that it was as though they had been painted on with black marker pens. And the flesh around each one had been burnt through as though punctured by a red hot poker, so that he could see light coming through on the other side. Old Man Wood stared at them for some time.
He shook his head. How would they get home? They’d be safe enough here for a while – he certainly wouldn’t attempt it now – not while they needed to sleep and recover as best as they could. He’d address their wounds in the light of morning and they’d need another drop of Resplendix Mix. Then he would have to find a way out. He climbed out of the pit and headed towards the cave entrance, grateful for the moonlight flooding in. The water reached near to the top of the stone ledge in front of him, gently lapping at the edges. If the water continued to rise, would it reach into the cave and fill it? No, it was impossible.
He returned inside and searched for higher berths, just in case. Good, there were plenty. They would do in an emergency. He slipped back out to the cave entrance and pulled himself up onto a higher rock to the side and sat back.
Using the grey moonlight, he tried to envisage how far the water must extend; two hundred, three hundred metres, perhaps more – a mile or two? And everything in its path destroyed in the space of a few hours – just like that. The power and the fury of nature, he thought.
Why did he feel so especially linked to it?
Before long, Old Man Wood found himself dozing off, his mind racing from Archie’s shouts about someone called Cain and the boy with the red hair, to the terrible injuries of the children. And then his dream flashed to the strange bed panels and his old cellar and the pictures on the cave walls.
He was awoken by a fizzing, gurgling noise. He opened his eyes and his first thought was to wonder how long he’d been asleep. He checked the sky, and the moon had disappeared behind a cloud higher up. Rain was falling again, slightly harder than the drizzle earlier and, as he jumped down, his feet splashed in the water. His heart missed a beat. Apples alive, he thought, how had the water level risen so high so fast? Had he been asleep for hours?
The children! He’d left them in the pit! He sped round to the entrance from where the peculiar sound was coming. A strange mist floated out, like a huge, billowing steam cloud. Cautiously, he peered in, his face a picture of confusion. Where was it coming from?
He entered the cave to find that it was dry inside. Water was flowing rapidly along a neat, straight channel that led, he presumed, directly into the pit. Old Man Wood’s heartbeat raced. He followed the channel on his hands and knees through the thick mist. As he crept closer the colour of the water changed from blue to pink and it was gently bubbling. He put his damaged hand in and touched it. The water tingled on his cut and sent a warm buzz through him.
He leant over the edge of the pit, his heart thumping. He couldn’t bear to think what had happened to the children. Were they still alive?
He pulled his hand out and gasped. The wound was healing in front of his very eyes.
Then he heard a voice. Or was it laughter?
‘What on earth are you doing?’ Daisy said.
Old Man Wood reeled.
Daisy giggled. ‘Hey, why don’t you get in?’
Old Man Wood felt himself choking up. ‘Goodness me. Daisy!’ he cried. ‘Is that you? Is that really you? I can’t see you.’
‘Yeah, it’s me alright. Come on in. It’s gorgeous and warm and fantastic,’ she replied. ‘And it smells delicious, like lavender and pine needles.’
‘Are you alright in there?’
‘We’re absolutely fine,’ Isabella said. ‘Come on in – see for yourself.’
Old Man Wood was confused. ‘Are ALL of you fine, I mean, well, in there? Isabella, Archie?’
Old Man Wood heard a splashing noise and Archie’s strange head popped out. ‘Yeah. You … alright?’
‘Apples alive! It IS you.’
Archie smiled. ‘Well, it’s good to see you too. How long have you been here?’
‘Your head?’
‘Yeah, I know. Something’s happened to my hair. I think it was a lightning bolt.’ And he patted his spikes before drifting back into the steam.
Old Man Wood didn’t know what to think. Perhaps he was dreaming. ‘Isabella?’
‘Uh-huh,’ she responded lazily.
Old Man Wood’s heart leapt for joy. It was impossible; a miracle. He had to see it to believe it. ‘Right then, you lot, I’m coming in.’
He could hear them laughing. ‘About time too, there’s masses of room!’ Daisy said. ‘And watch yourself as you get in or Archie will puncture you with his idiotic hairdo.’
41
Bailing For Their Lives
How many more bucket loads could she do, Sue wondered? It felt like she’d scooped out enough water to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool three times over. Her arms ached so much she thought they might simply drop off.
Gus had started out holding onto the oars just to keep the boat steady in the water. Then, he tried to row with the flow but the current was too strong and, besides, he had no idea where he was going. When he stole a look from under the canopy, he was met by a wall of water sluicing from the sky so he pulled in the oars, inspected the canopy and drove a couple of nails into the areas where he sniffed a weakness. Then he returned to the bench and helped Sue bail water out. And, for the amount coming in, it needed both of them working flat out.
Sue couldn’t believe how vital Gus’s canopy was. If it hadn’t been there, the boat would have filled with water and plummeted to the river floor. What a stroke of luck she’d bumped into him.
As The Joan Of pitched through the waters, the storm smashed down upon their tiny vessel so hard that Sue couldn’t help thinking about Isabella, Archie and Daisy. They wouldn’t stand a chance out there in this, and every time
she imagined them trying to soldier on or getting swept away in the flooding, her heart sank. She hoped like crazy that they’d managed to get home in time, but it didn’t seem possible. She bottled up her grief and concentrated on keeping herself and Gus alive.
Every so often, the boat would bash into something hard and solid, like a wall or a car, and they would be thrown forward. It was at these moments that both of them knew the strength of the boat would be tested. All it would take was a crack or a small hole and that would be the end of it. At other times, The Joan Of seemed to grind against something, or spin as it diverted off an object, the water tossing the boat one way and then the other.
Several times, Gus managed to lever the boat away with an oar, pitching it back into the swell. Gus would grab Sue and hold her, staring into her eyes reassuringly – his eyes wide but not so much in fear, she thought, but more in excitement. To her, Gus seemed to be having the time of his life. He seemed to be almost … enjoying himself. When he started singing a hearty sea shanty as he tossed the water out with his bucket, his singing got louder and louder until it was in direct competition with the rain. Sue didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, join in, or hit him. But, for a while, at least it stopped her thinking about the disaster and her friends.
After three hours, Gus pointed upwards. The rain seemed to be a little less brutal. He sidled up. ‘I think we’ve moved away from the main rain belt.’ She nodded in agreement. ‘Problem is – how far do you reckon we’ve gone?’
She shrugged. ‘No idea,’ she said. And it was impossible to tell.
Gus put his head out of the canopy and took a look around. ‘Still can’t see a thing,’ he reported back, ‘apart from muddy water. Fancy some grub?’
Sue was starving. Gus opened a tin of tuna and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps and took a swig of water. When they’d finished, he had an idea.