by James Erith
She charged off, gritting her teeth and running as fast as she could through the mud and spitting rain, jumping and hurdling branches and boulders with ease. She was amazed at how little time it took her to get there, how her feet seemed to take on a life of their own. She knew the distance was about five hundred metres. And she reckoned it took less than a minute. Was that right? She did a quick calculation. That’s around thirty miles an hour. That’s faster that Usain Bolt!
She stood by the remains of the old stone wall, which jagged here and there, its grey stones covered in ferns and creepers and small trees that had tucked their roots deep into the crevices. The battlements jutted out before disappearing into the grass below, then rose up like dark shadows until they ran along at twice her height for several metres.
Isabella followed the stones, looking for footprints. Had only two days passed since they had limped home from the cave? It felt like a lifetime; so many confusing, bewildering events crowding her brain. She stopped by a section of masonry, half-submerged in the ground, layered with moss and lichen. Was this the entrance into the old body of the castle? A gateway? She checked for footprints. There weren’t any, just large, tyre-track markings, that weaved in and out of the scattered boulders. Maybe, she thought, these were the residual patterns made by the movement of water finding its route.
Isabella called out, but the sound of her voice bounced back off the walls. She hurried on. It was hauntingly silent, too silent, even with the rain pit-patting onto the leather rim of her hat.
She walked through the centre of the ruin towards the gnarled battlements on the far side. As she went she wondered where the cave entrance might be.
She followed the thicker walls, turned the corner past the low-lying walls, until eventually she was back in the same place. Had she missed it?
Isabella circumnavigated the ruin again, this time paying even closer attention. No gaping holes nor tell-tale tracks where a boulder had once been were in evidence at all. But the cave had to be there – the old ruin wasn’t that big – and there were only three places where the walls were thick enough or tall enough.
Isabella sat on a rock and stared out into the valley at the hulking grey body of water. Had they imagined the cave or emerged from an alternative pile of rocks? She turned her hands over and for a brief moment her heart leapt as she thought she saw skin covering her palms. Her heart sank. The neat, symmetrical holes were still there, reminding her.
What if some parts were real and other bits … made up, invented? What if the terrible experiences they’d had, had made them imagine things? What if they had some kind of post traumatic stress disorder? She’d read about this kind of thing in her textbooks. The brain was a powerful tool, a living computer with an unlimited ability for imagination. Perhaps that would explain the dreams and things like the bed and Daisy disappearing.
She took a deep breath, put her hands out on the rock and leaned on them. As she did, a strange noise interrupted her thoughts. She gasped as a terrible chill ran through the very marrow of her spine and the image of a vast serpent with glazed green eyes flashed into her head. Her skin prickled and instantly she vomited, a nauseous feeling washing right through her.
She started walking.
It’s only in your head, she told herself – in your imagination. She stood tall and stretched her arms out wide, then swung them around in a windmill motion as if to swish away the awful feelings.
It didn’t work. She still felt nauseous and the chill remained deep in her bones. She hardly dared admit it, but the flash was identical to the image she’d dreamt about before the storm. Every bit the same, if not worse. The beast with the same green eyes that had latched on to her mind, and made her head swim. But why here, of all places?
And worse, what did it mean?
She looked around. Had the light dimmed? She noted another cloud brewing overhead. Wasn’t it strange how this once happy place now had such a deep aura of evil, of darkness?
A rustling noise further along reminded her to check on Old Man Wood’s cattle. She followed the strange tyre-track markings a short distance until they ran under a large rock. She thought briefly about her theory of how channels of water made the marks. But if this was the case, then wouldn’t the tyre-track marks be in a different place?
She hurried on and, before long, came to the other section of the ruin, a large, rectangular courtyard dotted with crude rocks and the occasional scraggly bush and tree. Almost certainly this would have been the outer courtyard to the main castle keep. At the far end in the corner was a shelter for the herd, crudely constructed by Old Man Wood from large rocks and tree trunks and covered by a moss-covered roof of jumbled slates and tiles.
As Isabella approached, a terrible noise erupted – a frantic mooing and bleating building up and up. She crept forward, wondering what had unsettled them, only to hear a stampede of hooves as the cattle bolted, scattering in different directions, mud flying.
Isabella knew the animals well; they were never afraid of her. But now they looked terrified, their eyes wide and shining more than she could ever remember. She talked to them in a soothing voice, and slowly they calmed down. As the noise abated, and they moved back under the shelter, she counted them.
Two missing. How come? She counted them again. Perhaps the noise of the storm had incited two of them to bolt. They might escape from the rough enclosure of the courtyard, but the ground slipped away sharply on each side. In poor weather they always came up here.
Isabella tried to work out which ones were missing and, holding her nose, she took a step inside to see if they were hiding at the back. No luck. She made a mental note to tell Old Man Wood and offered some comforting words to the herd. Then she headed back towards the house.
And still, no sign of Daisy.
SIXTY-EIGHT
DAISY’S DISAPPEARANCE
Isabella quickly removed her waterproofs. Noting that the kitchen was empty, she reckoned Archie had sought the warmth of the cupboard.
“The cupboard” drew its warmth from the flue-pipe of the range cooker directly below in the kitchen. It was a small room, used by Mrs Pye as a walk-in airing cupboard, for drying and storing towels, sheets and linen, and the children used it as their own personal snug – for chatting, hiding and warming themselves up on a cold winter’s day.
Isabella approached, knocked on the door three times and rattled off last week’s password, ‘Carrots, cauliflower and courgettes.’
Archie clicked open the latch, which was screwed on from the inside so that, when they occupied it, no one could barge in.
‘Any luck finding Daisy?’ Archie said.
Isabella settled in her corner on a soft bean bag and stretched her legs out. She shook her head. ‘But I know where you’ve been.’
Archie reddened. He knew this was coming. ‘Me?’
‘Yup. I saw you curled up in the shed, Arch, throwing your knives.’
Archie frowned and felt his hair starting to wire up. ‘Bells, there’s no way you could have seen me in the potting shed. You saw me coming in and before that you were in bed.’
‘You were in there, though, weren’t you?’
‘So what?’
Isabella didn’t want to upset him. ‘Look I’m not going to go mental on you, OK.’ Her eyes widened. ‘But aren’t you curious to know how I know?’
Archie was confused. ‘A wild guess?’
‘Nope. You could have been with Old Man Wood for all I knew.’
‘Well, I was, until he went crazy. He went to find some weirdo trees … have you seen him—’
‘No. And it’s him we need to have a talk about. I’m afraid there’s properly bad news.’
‘I know. He needs putting in a geriatric home.’
Isabella smiled. ‘Spot on.’
Archie cringed. ‘Bells, you’re not making sense,’ he said. ‘First you say that you’ve seen me throwing knives and then we need to talk about Old Man Wood. What’s up?’
‘W
ell, I don’t know how to explain it,’ she started, her voice barely controllable, ‘but Old Man Wood has been tracking us … spying on us, and … and I’ve found out how he does it—’
‘What are you talking about?’ Archie said. ‘That’s ridiculous. He’d never do such a thing. I’ll admit that he has gone insane, but he’s our best friend and he wouldn’t harm a bug.’
Isabella leaned in. ‘You may think so, Archie, but I have evidence.’
‘Get real!’ he replied. ‘Why would he do anything like that?’
‘Listen to what I’ve found – and trust me, every single word of what I’m about to tell you is true.’
Archie’s hair had now achieved full wire status. He was agitated. It didn’t feel right.
Isabella went on. ‘I was bored and wanted to ask him a few questions, so I went down to his room. He wasn’t there, so I let myself in and jumped onto his bed. At the end of his bed are three screens that show every move we make. EVERY SINGLE MOVE, for each one of us, Archie.’
Archie sat listening, stroking his hair-spikes.
‘And that’s how I know you were in the potting shed, bundled up in the corner feeling sorry for yourself, throwing your stupid knives. On the final panel was Daisy. I could tell by the way she moves, by her bottom. And me, I was there on one of the panels, sitting on the bed.’
Quiet filled the small cupboard, only broken by the faint sounds of the range cooker drifting up to them and the hum of the generator.
‘You’ve gone mad,’ Archie whispered after a while. ‘Just like Old Man Wood.’
‘No I haven’t, Archie. I couldn’t make this up. I don’t have an imagination, you know that.’
Archie groaned. ‘Well, if you must know, I think we’re missing a link to Old Man Wood.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, our freaky dreams showed that Old Man Wood is connected to us, so there has to be a reason for his odd behaviour.’
‘Archie, if Old Man Wood is spying on us then something is definitely not right. He might not be who we think he is—’
‘But really—’
‘Look, I’m serious – deadly serious,’ she said, her voice quivering.
‘Old Man Wood?’ Archie chuckled, his memory fresh from Old Man Wood’s fiasco with the trees.
‘Yes! Maybe he’s part of some sort of conspiracy—’
‘So why not ask him?’ Archie said. ‘I mean, he’s hardly likely to deny it.’
‘That’s exactly what I was going to do,’ Isabella fired back. ‘I mean, think about it. That medicine of his, the way he blunders about looking like he’s lost at sea, staring aimlessly at the walls—’
‘But he used the medicine to help us, didn’t he? Look, I just can’t believe he would do anything that would in any way be harmful—’
‘There’s more,’ Isabella interrupted. ‘You know I told you about these panels with each of us on.’
‘Yeah. So?’
‘Well here’s the shocking bit—’
‘Shocking—?’
‘Yes. Just listen,’ Isabella demanded. ‘One minute Daisy looked as if she was sunbathing—’
‘Sunbathing? She couldn’t have been.’
‘No, really, she was. One hundred percent the truth. And can you please stop interrupting me. Then she talked to someone or something and then she totally … disappeared.’
Archie stared at Isabella. ‘You have completely lost the plot—’
‘No I have not, Archie. Her screen went blank – I’ll show you. And anyway, why do you think I tore off round the farm, huh? To find her, of course, and she wasn’t anywhere. I checked the place over.’
‘But why would she disappear—’
‘Ssshh!’ Isabella said. ‘What’s that noise?’
Below them they could hear the sound of the door shutting followed by voices, as though the telly had been turned on. They listened.
‘It’s only Mrs P,’ Archie said.
‘It isn’t. Mrs P headed off ages ago. Old Man Wood doesn’t watch telly and Daisy’s missing.’
Archie frowned. ‘Then I think we’d better investigate,’ he said.
They flicked the latch and slipped quietly down the stairs.
THE KITCHEN WAS in its usual immaculate condition but with no sign of Mrs Pye.
Splashes of neon from the TV lit the otherwise dark room as the latest news bulletin showed pictures of the disaster.
Archie and Isabella sneaked in.
Archie crept past the oak table and chairs, past the island and looked beyond it. Nothing. He moved farther forward, turned to Isabella and shrugged.
Then they heard a sniff. Archie took a pace forward as Isabella went for the light.
In a wet heap on the floor beneath the island sat Daisy, watching the news. Archie gasped. She looked terrible.
She turned her head as she heard him but quickly refocused on the news, ignoring him.
Archie didn’t know what to think. She was drenched from head to toe, and shivering, but she wouldn’t take her gaze off the pictures.
‘You alright?’ he said softly.
‘Sssshhh,’ she replied and with a shaking hand she pointed towards the screen.
Archie turned his gaze up.
On the screen, the image of a room inside a hospital showed a patient lying in a bed. The patient’s eyes were open but dulled. A caption ran along the bottom of the screen in big letters.
LIVE: FLOOD CHILD OUT OF COMA
Archie sat down next to Daisy – offering her a couple of drying up cloths. Daisy grabbed them without taking her eyes from the screen. Why, Archie thought, was Daisy so preoccupied with this bald, sick-looking boy covered in drips and bandages?
The news continued.
‘Earlier on today,’ the commentator said, ‘the miracle boy who has been nicknamed Jonah by the medical team, came out of his coma. The boy, his real identity still unknown, his body hairless and covered in mysterious burn marks, was found hanging on to a branch at the top of a tall tree surrounded by the floodwaters. Jonah, thought to be a local boy, was discovered by the air ambulance team earlier this morning suffering from serious malnutrition. Police and medical staff are urging anyone who might know him to ring this hotline number.’
The camera panned in on the boy who happened, at that moment, to blink, quite slowly.
Archie reached in a little. That movement.
Then the boy smiled faintly, his lips parting a fraction. Archie gasped and peered in even more, and turned to see the reaction of his sister. She was doing the exact same thing.
The camera zoomed in even closer. The screen filled with the lips and eyes of the child, who had no hair, no eyebrows, nor eyelashes and who bore a curious red rim mark on his head as if he had squeezed into a hat that was too tight.
The boy closed his eyes. It appeared that he was trying to speak. He swallowed, struggling to form a word. After a great effort, a sound emerged.
It was barely audible, but sounded something like Arjjie.
Archie and Daisy knelt forward, watching keenly.
A voice from one of the medical team, her face covered by a white medical mask, gently said, ‘Hello. Can you hear me?’
‘Algae,’ the boy repeated. His eyes opened wider, the struggle to talk seemingly beyond him. ‘Dunno,’ he said before closing his eyes.
The boy swallowed again, the camera highlighting his considerable effort. ‘DUNNO,’ the boy said again, with as much urgency as he could muster. Then the boy collapsed back on his bed as a machine above him started to bleep and a team of medics rushed in, surrounding him.
Immediately, the TV pictures cut out and shot back to the studio, where, emblazoned in big writing along the bottom of the screen were the words:
THE PRIME MINISTER WILL ADDRESS THE NATION AT 18:00hrs GMT.
SIXTY-NINE
HEADMASTER SOLOMON
Commissioner Stone stood up. ‘Thank you, Chief Medical Officer.’ He faced the throng of anxious faces.
‘You now have an understanding of the situation. Coming round the room is more information – essential documents – in regards to what are the likely outcomes. Also, there is an outline of the strategic operation that is about to come into place. None of it makes for easy reading. All of you have been assigned roles in relation to your skill set. When this meeting is over, please collect your briefing papers from the drawing room which is along the corridor.
‘These papers contain sensitive information, links and passwords to several Government archives and the main COBRA operations portal on the web. In order for this to remain out of the public domain, you will sign official secrecy documents before you depart, or you will not leave Swinton Park. Is this quite clear?
‘Ministers and civil servants are being briefed as we speak. Regional and emergency councils are gathering. The main headquarters for the operation will be here and at Downing Street, London. As the virus spreads, operational headquarters will be situated in locations like this outside Cardiff, Exeter, Manchester, Cambridge and Edinburgh. The heads of all the emergency services are meeting in strategic locations shortly. Across the country, emergency stores are being placed in aircraft hangers and distribution systems are being organised. In our hospitals, isolation units are being prepared. Non-life-threatening operations have been cancelled. Every town and village will run their own health centres manned by local doctors, nurses and volunteers. Only dire emergencies will be accepted into hospitals.
‘Later this afternoon, the media will be thoroughly briefed by the Prime Minister, who will then address the nation. You will not talk to the media from this moment on. All press and interviews in regards to the virus and operations will be made through official channels.
‘Most of you will be flown out of here to help. You will be given smart-phones that run on a special service connection so you can be kept up to date. Parliament went into an emergency session early this morning and the Prime Minister is chairing a cross party emergency cabinet. At the moment, other heads of state are being briefed, particularly our neighbours in Europe and in the United States.