To Helen –
for everything,
obviously
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Inmate 409
1 How It Began
2 The First Day I Met Callum Brenner
3 The Hardest Boy in Barrow
4 Ceri, Orlaith and Murderous Pete
5 Why I Broke the Storm Laws
6 How I Became a Tornado Chaser
7 How Two Became Five
8 How to Get Out of Serious Trouble
9 The First Official Meeting of the Tornado Chasers
10 A Storm Approaches
11 My New Bedroom
12 How it Began, Again
13 Our Daring Escape
14 The County Officers
15 The Valleys
16 It Turns Out You Need to Eat More Than Once a Year
17 A Change in Plan
18 Skirting on the Edge of Danger
19 The House
20 The North Caves
21 The Truth
About the Author
By the Same Author
Copyright
This notepaper is kindly provided for the inmates of
THE COUNTY DETENTION CENTRE
Use one sheet per week
No scribbling
Dear Warden,
If you’re reading this letter then it means I’ve finally escaped.
It also means you’ve found the secret place behind the loose tile above the sink, which means you’ll have also found the mouse traps I put there before I left. Sorry about Actually I’m not sorry about that.
When I first came to the County Detention Centre, they said I had to tell the truth about what happened – when it all began, who did what, why we did it, why it ended the way it did. ‘Write it down,’ they said. ‘Make a poem about it all. Turn it into a story if you have to. But one way or another, you have to tell us.’
And so I did. I sat down, and I wrote a story – about everything that happened, from the beginning to the end, as best as I could tell it. The only way I could tell it. And here it is – every last word.
Which brings me to the question I know you’re desperate to ask: if I’ve run away, then where have I run away to?
Well, you’re just going to have to read my story, aren’t you?
LOVE YOURS SINCERELY,
INMATE 409
1
How It Began
MY NAME IS OWEN UNDERWOOD,
I AM 11 YEARS OLD TODAY,
AND THIS IS THE WORST BIRTHDAY
OF MY LIFE.
The last sentence I wrote in my diary, before it all happened.
To be fair it was the only sentence I wrote in my diary. The other pages I just left blank, and they stayed that way right up until the police searched my room weeks later and stamped the word ‘EVIDENCE’ on the front in red ink. I didn’t have time to write down anything else, of course, because of everything that happened that night.
I was lying under my bed, which was wrapped with chicken wire and surrounded by several dozen sandbags. This was in case the tornado ripped the roof off the house, or threw a boulder through the wall, or a ravenous bear broke the shutters and tried to climb through the window – which is why my parents had also given me a can of bear repellent. I hadn’t used it yet, which was a relief because it had a label on the side that said the spray made you go blind if you inhaled it.
You might be wondering why I had a can of bear repellent, or why my bed was wrapped in chicken wire and sandbags. Maybe you don’t live in a village like Barrow. Consider yourself lucky. When my parents told me just a few weeks before that we were moving to Barrow because of the tornado warning, I was pretty confused. No one in Skirting had ever seemed bothered about the storms. There hadn’t been one in the valleys for over ten years. If we moved, I’d have to leave all my friends behind, and my school, right before the summer holidays. Mum and Dad said they had no choice – Barrow was the only safe place left to live in the valleys. And that made me even more confused.
What was there to be afraid of in the valleys?
And that was when they told me about the bear attacks.
‘OWEN!’
The shout came from behind my bedroom door. I startled, and smacked my head on the underside of the bed. Luckily I was wearing my crash helmet.
(I probably should have mentioned this earlier.)
I suffer from something called startling. Every time something happens that I don’t expect – like a loud noise or a sudden movement – I lose control of my body for a bit. I’ve had it all my life. It’s why I have to wear a helmet all the time. Luckily people are very understanding about it. At least, they were before I moved to Barrow.
I clambered out from under the bed, shaking the twitch out of my neck.
‘Y-yes, Dad?’
‘Your dinner’s ready,’ came his voice from the other side of the door.
I glanced around my bedroom. There wasn’t much to look at. No toys, books, posters – nothing. All that was left was the bed, a single bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling, and the closed wooden shutters over the windows. Even my bedroom door handle was padded with foam. I walked over to the door and gave it a wiggle. It didn’t move. Which wasn’t surprising, given that my parents had just locked me inside.
(I probably should have mentioned that earlier, too.)
‘Everything OK in there, darling?’ came another voice from behind the door. ‘Having a nice birthday?’
‘Yes, Mum,’ I lied. ‘It’s wonderful.’
‘Well, we’ve got a treat for you!’ said Dad excitedly. ‘Are you wearing your helmet?’
I gave it a loud knock with my fist. ‘Yes, Dad.’
‘Good boy,’ said Mum. ‘Now, stand back! It’s very hot.’
I took several steps back.
‘Here we go!’ said Dad.
A ham and pineapple pizza slowly emerged from under the crack of the doorway. The ham had been arranged into a number ‘11’. It was quickly followed by a pair of yellow rubber gloves.
‘Put the gloves on before you touch it,’ said Dad sternly. ‘In case of burns. Obviously we can’t give you a knife or a fork because you might accidentally cut your fingers off and die.’
‘And don’t forget his cake!’ added Mum.
‘Oh yes,’ said Dad. ‘I almost forgot.’
A single pop-tart slid out from under the door and came to a stop by my feet.
‘Happy 11th Birthday Owen!’ said my parents in unison.
I sighed. Time for another lie.
‘Wow. Thanks, Mum and Dad,’ I said. ‘What a treat.’
‘Well, it is a special day,’ said Dad. ‘Anything else you need, Owen?’
I swallowed. Time for the truth – finally.
‘Er … there is, actually,’ I said. ‘Dad, Mum – can I ask a favour?’
‘Of course you can!’ said Dad.
‘You can ask us anything,’ said Mum.
‘Good,’ I said, ‘Well, I was wondering if maybe you could maybe, you know … let me out of my room for a bit?’
There was a stony silence on the other side of the door.
‘You know we can’t do that, Owen,’ said Dad. ‘It’s far too dangerous. There’s a raging tornado outside Barrow as we speak.’
‘Besides, darling, don’t forget about all those bears outside,’ Mum added. ‘Just because there’s a tornado it doesn’t mean they stop hunting the valleys for food. They could be outside your window right now.’
I glanced at the shutters behind me. They creaked menacingly in the wind. I gulped.
‘I … I suppose,’ I said.
‘Glad you agree.’ Mum sighed with relief. ‘Anything else we ca
n get our little birthday boy?’
I looked down at the pizza and the pop-tart. ‘Maybe a drink?’
‘Of course!’ said Dad.
A plate of water slid out from under the doorway.
‘Thanks,’ I said dejectedly.
‘Eat it quickly, darling!’ said Mum. ‘Remember the rules of the curfew – lights off at 6 p.m.’
My heart sank the moment she said it.
Six o’clock already! But then that meant …
‘Ten minutes!’ said Mum. ‘And then straight to bed. Night, sweetie!’
I listened to their footsteps fade down the corridor in despair. This really was the worst birthday of my life. Not only was I locked inside my bedroom, with no friends or presents, but I only had ten minutes left until six o’clock.
The plan was going to go ahead without me.
I stared forlornly at my birthday dinner on the floor. Two miserable plates and a pop-tart. I didn’t even have enough hands to carry them to my bed at the same time. I could have held the pop-tart in my mouth, of course – but knowing Mum and Dad, they’d tell me that I shouldn’t, in case I suddenly startled and I choked on it and died …
A rebellious grin spread across my face.
Go on, Owen. They’ll never know.
I pressed my ear to the door to make sure Mum and Dad were nowhere near. Then I carefully placed the pop-tart between my teeth, picked up the plates, and swaggered to the bed with all three together.
‘The perfect crime,’ I mumbled.
Tap tap.
I startled.
You know what that means by now. First, my whole body seized up. My teeth clenched shut, and I bit straight through the pop-tart. One hand threw the plateful of water all over my face, and the other flung the pizza across the other side of the room where it stuck to the wall with a meaty splat.
‘Who’s there?’ I cried, swinging round.
No one answered. My room was, of course, empty. It wasn’t as if there were many places where someone could hide, either. I looked down at the remains of my birthday pop-tart, which had shattered into flavourless crumbs on the floor.
‘Great,’ I muttered. ‘Well, that’s just …’
Tap tap.
I startled again, ever so slightly. This time I knew exactly where the sound was coming from. My eyes flew to the closed wooden shutters.
There was something outside the window.
‘H-hello?’ I said nervously.
There was no response. I stood, frozen to the spot, water dripping off my hair. All I could hear were the storm reports on the radio downstairs and the rush of the wind on the shutters and the quickening tap, tap, tap of my heart. Behind me the pizza slowly slid down the wall, leaving the number ‘11’ perfectly spelled out in ham on the wallpaper.
I gulped. ‘Mum? Dad …?’
And then all of a sudden it came again, louder, harder, the shutters trembling on their hinges with each strike.
THUMP. THUMP.
There was no doubt about it. It was a bear attack. Within seconds I was back behind the sandbags around my bed, wielding the can of bear repellent towards the shutters with trembling hands.
‘D-don’t come any closer!’ I cried. ‘This is highly flammable, and should never be used in an unventilated room—’
I was cut off by a loud groan from the other side of the shutters.
‘Owen, you pillock,’ said a voice. ‘It’s the secret knock. Remember?’
I recognised the voice immediately. It almost made me startle again.
‘You?’ I said.
‘It’s the whole point of the secret knock,’ the voice continued angrily. ‘I knock twice so you know it’s me, and then you let me in. Christ! I’ve only explained it to you about a thousand times.’ There was a loud sigh. ‘Look – just let me in.’
I fumbled.
‘I … I can’t,’ I said. ‘The shutters are locked from the outside. My parents decided to …’
‘Oh, forget it!’ the voice muttered furiously. ‘I’ll just do it myself.’
A plastic ruler slid between the shutters and wiggled up, lifting the clasp that held the two panels together. They flew open, and at once the room was swept with a bracing wind that sent leaves swirling in great gusts across the floor.
Standing on my windowsill, a ruler in one hand and a samurai sword in the other, was Callum Brenner. At least, I was pretty certain it was him. It was hard to tell because he was wearing a balaclava.
‘Such a pillock,’ he muttered, throwing the ruler at me.
I smiled. It was definitely Callum Brenner. He leapt off the windowsill.
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ he snapped. ‘It’s almost six! We’re supposed to be at the meeting!’
My eyes bugged. ‘You mean …’
Callum rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, wussbag, the meeting! Tonight’s the night – remember? The night it all happens! Everything we’ve been planning! You. Me.’ He struck a dramatic pose. ‘The Tornado Chasers.’
That was how it began, in one respect. How I was able to escape my bedroom, and leave the village, and go chasing a huge tornado across the valleys. But it doesn’t explain the whole story. It doesn’t say why we decided to do it in the first place – risk our lives, break the law, do the unthinkable. And most times, the why is much more important than the how. I know that now.
So I’m going to go back to the day it really began – a week earlier, my very first day in Barrow.
The first day I met Callum Brenner.
2
The First Day I Met Callum Brenner
‘Hold still, Owen!’
‘Come over here so I can tie your shoelaces.’
‘Stop moving!’
‘If your shoelaces aren’t tied up you might trip over them or get them stuck in heavy machinery and rip your legs off.’
I stood in the empty playground of Barrow Prep, my parents barking orders either side of me and pulling at my arms like two dogs with a piece of rope. I felt sick and nervous, and not just because it was my first day at my new school. We had only just moved to Barrow the day before – I didn’t know anyone yet. I had no idea what my new teacher would be like, or whether I’d make any new friends. To make it worse, none of them would know about my crash helmet. I’d have to explain about my condition to the whole class. I stepped away from my parents, smiling sheepishly.
‘Er … I should probably get inside now, Mum and Dad,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to be late on my very first day! I’m sure I look fine.’
In fact I didn’t look fine, I looked like a total idiot, but that wasn’t really my fault. My new school uniform was bright yellow from top to bottom, including the shorts. Mum leant down and smeared a spitty thumb across my cheek.
‘You’re sure you’re OK, poppum?’ she said. ‘You don’t want us to come in and tell all your new friends about your condition?’
I balked. ‘No! I mean – no thank you, Mum.’
She sighed. ‘Just remember, all the valleys are under Storm Warning 5 now. We haven’t had an SW5 for ten years! And don’t forget, SW5 means …’
‘… A tornado could touch down any time without warning,’ I said mechanically. ‘I’ll be safe, Mum, I promise.’
‘You’d better be safe, Owen,’ said Dad sternly. ‘An SW5 is no laughing matter. You were too young to remember the last one. The tornado could arrive tomorrow for all we know! At least here in Barrow people understand how serious that is. Look – see how many stormtraps they have here!’
He pointed behind me, to the hills that surrounded the entire village. Along the top ran an unbroken ring of red lights, wrapping round the valley like a net. It certainly looked impressive. Back in Skirting, we’d only had one stormtrap to protect the entire village, stuck on top of the church. Barrow must have had hundreds.
‘People in Barrow value safety above everything else,’ Dad explained. ‘That’s why they have a curfew for children every day at 4 p.m., so there’s no chance of anyone wandering
around outside too late. And being eaten by the bears.’
‘That’s right!’ said Mum. ‘So no dawdling or chatting with your new friends after school – come straight home.’ Her face suddenly hardened to stone. ‘And for heaven’s sake, Owen – no climbing trees!’
Dad grabbed me by the shoulders.
‘We mean it, Owen!’ he cried desperately. ‘Not after what happened last time! Promise us, Owen!’
‘Promise us!’ Mum wailed, grabbing my arms.
A bell suddenly rang inside the school. I pulled free and made a grateful dash for freedom before they could try to stop me.
‘I won’t!’ I shouted over my shoulder. ‘Promise!’
My parents have always been like that – overprotective. Sometimes I think if they could wrap me in bubble wrap, they would. Actually they did once. It was the worst swimming lesson of my life.
As I stepped inside the school, the nervous grip on my chest got tighter and tighter. I was obviously late, and the corridors were empty. By the time I found the room I was looking for, my stomach was almost twisting itself into knots. I looked at the poster that covered the door in front of me.
KNOW YOUR BARROW STORM LAWS!
1. Curfew begins at four o’clock each day!
2. Lights out at six o’clock!
3. Whenever you’re outside, stick with your Home-Time Partner!
4. Always wear your highly visible yellow uniform so you can be seen by adults!
5. NEVER LEAVE BARROW UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.
6. Remember, if you don’t want to follow the Storm Laws, there’s always room for you at the COUNTY DETENTION CENTRE!
I took a moment to calm myself, and knocked on the door.
‘Come in!’ a voice sang from inside.
I opened the door and peeked inside. Thirty children sat in tight rows, all wearing the same bright yellow uniform, looking directly at me. They were all holding scripts. I had obviously interrupted them. There was no sign of a teacher. I looked back at the rows of silent children.
‘Excuse me,’ I said, stepping inside. ‘Is this Miss Pewlish’s cla—?’
The Tornado Chasers Page 1