by Tom Mitchell
‘I wasn’t talking about the weather,’ I said. ‘I was talking about what’ll happen if I get caught.’
‘End-of-the-world-type stuff if you get in trouble again?’ said Alexa.
‘Exactly. I’m meant to be going to America in the summer. With my dad. Just me and Dad, actually. I’ve been looking forward to it. A lot. Dad moved out – we’ve not seen loads of him – and when my brother’s around it feels like – I don’t know – like it’s always about him and his amazing achievements. Which is fine. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. But New York was going to be just me, Dad and my favourite rapper of all time. And if I get caught, it won’t happen. I’d prefer Chinese water torture.’
‘My parents have separate bedrooms,’ said Ellie. ‘They leave messages on the smart speakers for each other. The only time we spend together is dinner, if Dad’s back from work. We sit in silence, chewing. It’s like we’re a family of cows who’ve learnt how to use chairs. Hot cows, though.’
‘Zed looks exactly like Mum,’ said Zed. There wasn’t much you could say to this. ‘So you’d think we’d have more in common. And you’d think she’d check whether you actually get to build treehouses or not.’
‘I feel like that sometimes,’ said Alexa. ‘I mean, the bit about having stuff in common with my parents. Not treehouses. When I get out of here, I’m not going to dress how my mum wants me to any more.’
And with that she lifted a hand to the bow in her hair and was about to pull it out.
‘Actually, no. With all this rain my hair needs securing.’
‘I think it looks cute,’ said Ellie.
But, truth be told, with soaking-wet faces like sad emojis, my team-mates were looking more pathetic than cute.
‘We should get going,’ I said. ‘I don’t think the rain is stopping.’
Ellie ignored me. ‘So, like, why do you talk in the third person?’ she asked Zed.
Zed didn’t reply.
‘I’m talking to you, Zed.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know, like “Zed is doing this” and “Zed is doing that”. Why don’t you just say “I”?’
‘Zed does say “I”. Sometimes.’
‘What do they say in your school?’ asked Ellie. ‘Don’t they think it’s weird?’
‘I’ll tell you what’s weird,’ I said, trying to change the conversation, ‘that we all go to different schools. I guess people come here from all over the county. Anyway, it’s time to start moving.’
‘Zed doesn’t even think that Zed talks in the third person that much,’ said Zed.
‘There!’ said Ellie, pointing. ‘You’re doing it again!’
Alexa covered her mouth as she began to giggle. Seeing this, I couldn’t help but laugh too. Even Ellie began, struggling to ask Zed if he even knew what ‘the third person’ meant.
‘You lot,’ said Zed, with a smile as broad as his face, ‘are crazy.’
Under the tree, shoulders squashed together, the fantasy of a solo escape was long deleted. I could no longer picture it in my mind. We felt right. The four of us. It’s hard to describe. I should get Alexa to explain, she’s the writer.
The forest flashed like a broken bulb. A second later, as Alexa opened her mouth to speak, thunder rumbled like an earthquake. I couldn’t hear what she said and I swear I could feel Zed tremble or maybe it was me.
‘That means it’s close,’ said Ellie.
‘What?’ asked Zed.
‘The storm.’
‘Isn’t it bad to stand under trees?’ I asked. If you’d imagined it as wet earlier, the rain really was beating down now, like the whole sky had turned into a huge shower head. May storms are violent, like a dam bursting. Our tree’s branches struggled to hold back the deluge. ‘I mean, like, for getting struck by lightning?’
‘That’s only if you have metal on you,’ said Ellie.
‘Zed’s got two fillings,’ said Zed, his eyes wide in terror. ‘I was addicted to fizzy cola bottles in primary school.’
‘The hard drive,’ I said, patting my pocket.
It would be bad to have made all this progress, both geographically and emotionally, only to be killed by a lightning strike and/or have the hard drive zapped.
We sidestepped to a space with slightly fewer trunks sprouting from the sodden ground.
‘The problem with forests is the amount of trees,’ said wet Alexa, and she wasn’t wrong.
The weather blurred my vision, the water streaming through my sight. The storm didn’t seem to be clearing. Had my inspirational speech all been for nothing? (Its basis, the U13 chess team talk, had been.) Were we about to taste the foul cauliflower of defeat? Rainy days always make me sad. Unless it’s double PE.
‘Look, we’re already soaked through. Let’s just run!’ I called, a thunderbolt of inspiration, and maybe another thing I’d never said before.
We splashed forward like ducklings in a rush and despite the water and the night and my brother, and Mum and Dad splitting up, and the rumbling of the thunder, I felt a weird kind of joy, like when you’re flying on a swing or, better, when your swing is rising to the top of its curve and you’re buzzing with excitement because although you’re about to fall, the wind will rush and roar that you’re alive and nothing else matters. We only needed to keep running, to outsprint our problems, and anxiety would never catch up.
And when the lightning flashed, we laughed. And, in time, the dark, angry clouds faded as quickly as they’d appeared. The sky, as orange as the fruit, announced that there was a tomorrow soon. And actually that we were in it already and there was stuff to get sorted.
Without saying anything we slowed. Okay, I’ll admit, I was out of breath, my chest rising and falling as quickly as one of Busta Rhymes’s flows. But I wasn’t the worst. For someone always banging on about tennis Ellie was noticeably shattered. She was back to resting her hands on her legs and panting.
I guess, to do her justice, she had vomited not that long ago. And Alexa, check her, put a supportive hand to Ellie’s back. Alexa, with her cheeks strawberry-red.
‘Why don’t …’ Her voice trailed off as she turned her head to inspect where we’d ended up. And her expression was enough for us to realise something was up. We looked around too, even Ellie, straightening out.
Because here’s the thing: the surrounding trees all looked dead.
I don’t even think the trees were pines any more because there was something snake-like to their branches. They twisted, stretching out for something, maybe us. They were almost – honestly – the same colour as the squirrel bones. And the trees huddled round the track like witches round a cauldron. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking: HUNGRY TREE DEMON.
I didn’t share this.
You might think I’m exaggerating but I’m not. It was super creepy. In particular, the sudden lack of colour. The trail, damp, was a faded coffee-brown. The trees, as colourless as, like, a silent film about zebras.
At least the rain had stopped or … was the water too scared to fall here?
(Cue: spooky orchestral music.)
‘Do we keep going this way?’ asked Alexa, smiling like I was a bird who instinctively knew north, which I’m not.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, shrugging.
Her face fell. ‘Are we lost again?’ she asked.
‘No,’ I said, looking to Zed for support. ‘No way. Absolutely not.’
Zed was frowning so hard he looked as if he might break his eyebrows. ‘Wait!’ he said. He swung his backpack from his shoulders to his chest, just like a French exchange student. He had the bag unzipped in double time and pulled out … a Mars Bar.
‘Wha …’ said Ellie.
I’m assuming her mouth, like mine, was too full of saliva to be able to continue speaking.
‘Whenever Zed needs a good think, Zed eats chocolate. It helps with your blood sugar level.’ As we stared, drooling like dogs at dinnertime, he ripped open the wrapper and took a huge bite. Th
ere was a decent amount of chewing before he noticed us edging closer, nervous zombies. ‘Wait. Do you lot want some?’
‘Germs …’ drawled Ellie, her desire for good hygiene in a mortal struggle with her desire for sugar.
‘I’ve got more,’ said Zed, thrusting his free hand into his bag. He pulled out three chocolate bars. ‘Help yourselves.’
We asked no questions. We took the Mars Bars. We opened the Mars Bars. We ate the Mars Bars. It was like having heaven in your mouth.
Chewing with an open mouth, sticky and brown, Zed spoke as if the words were pulled from him by a fishing line. ‘If we’re close … to town … wouldn’t we … be able to hear cars and stuff?’
Alexa held up a hand. She turned a finger next to her mouth to indicate that we should wait for her to stop chewing. ‘Where’d you get these, Zed?’
‘Home. Zed would have said earlier but Zed forgot.’
Ellie, having finished her chocolate in two bites, stroked her chin, the classic thinker’s pose. This morphed into some gentle nodding, a little grunting. She was looking up at all the dead trees and grinning and saying ‘yes’ to herself. Maybe the berries had affected her in more ways than just vomiting? Maybe she was going crazy? That’d be bad. There are wild roots that can make you lose your mind. Dad has said so. Was her apology part of the sickness? Could have been.
‘Perfect,’ said Ellie, as me and Zed and Alexa stood there feeling totally weirded out.
‘Did she just say “perfect”?’ said Zed.
‘Uh-huh,’ said Ellie. ‘Someone give me a leg up.’
She nodded at the closest tree. Its silvery trunk was as thick as a barrel and a thick barrel too.
‘Why?’ I asked, or at least the look on my face did.
Alexa sounded like someone’s mum. ‘You remember what happened last time, Ellie? Why are you wanting to risk another fall?’
Ellie looked up. ‘Because these are perfect. Look at them.’
‘But your spine,’ said Alexa.
Ellie gestured for her to zip it. ‘When I climb high enough, I’ll be able to see how close we are to town. Honestly, have you lot even got brains? We’re not lost. We just can’t see the wood for the trees. And my spine’s fine, thanks for asking.’
We three, the kids who weren’t Ellie, stood there damp and nodding because as plans went, it kind of made sense?
(And I so do have a brain.)
But as Ellie sized up the tree, I became aware of a sound. And it wasn’t the promising sound of the town’s traffic.
‘Hey!’ I said, swallowing a good chunk of Mars. ‘What’s that sound?’
We cocked our heads like puzzled dogs. To begin with it sounded pretty much like a mosquito. A big one. But as soon as you recognised it as a big mosquito it was already too loud to actually be a big mosquito.
I exchanged frowns with Alexa; a frown exchange.
‘Is it a hornet?’ I asked, not 100 per cent sure what a hornet was, to be honest.
Having asked the question, I realised that it wasn’t the sound of a single thing. It was a composite of many. An orchestral buzz.
‘Umm …’ I said. ‘I think we may be in trouble.’
‘Swarm!’ shouted Zed, face a-panic. ‘It’s a swarm of bees! Scatter and hide!’
The black cloud was about the size of a balloon. And it trembled in the air like one too. It had a weird kind of hairiness to it, if that makes sense, and seemed half attached to the side of a nearby tree.
Now, I’m sure that bees don’t speak English (do they even have tongues?) but they acted as if they could understand Zed. As we broke apart in opposite directions, diving from the trail, they did too. I pushed myself under a modest bush, not even worrying about the plague of creepy-crawlies I was probably disturbing, who were now likely sliming over my tracksuit bottoms (disgusting, I hate them).
The thick buzzing mass spread out across the track, almost as if it were melting, and the bees buzzed out, their sound like that of a giant’s electric razor. I tried to keep my head down, but whenever I looked up (and dared getting stung in the eyes), the bees’ movement looked less random and more like they were steadily being drawn towards a certain spot.
Point Zed.
‘Have you got any more Mars Bars?’ I called across.
‘What?’ He looked at me through a blizzard of bees.
‘Maybe they’re after your chocolate, mate?’
He fumbled with his backpack and pulled out another Mars Bar. ‘It’s my last!’ he called, choking up.
And there was something of a soldier preparing his final grenade in the way that Zed ripped open the wrapper with his teeth and chucked the chocolate over his shoulder and back into the trees.
Unfortunately there wasn’t an obvious instant reaction – like a caramel explosion, for instance. Nor did the bees chase after the chocolate as a dog would a stick.
‘They’re swarming,’ said Alexa. ‘They’re looking for a new place to set up a hive. If we calmly walk away, they won’t follow. They’re protecting their queen.’
Lying there, with thick foliage fringing my head, I could still see the sky that broke through the twisted dead branches and bees. It was very open and light, I thought, never one to find, like, nature poetry easy to write. It seemed to suggest hope, a way out of all this.
On the trail, Alexa was up, walking slowly away through the bee hurricane. She looked like a hostage freed from a bank heist, too terrified to run.
‘It’s okay,’ she said, as about twenty bees flew round her head like they were sizing her up for a bee crown.
I was surprised to see Ellie soon follow her. Zed got up not long after. I took a deep breath (but through my nose, so as not to swallow a bee) and followed. Although it must have been only five or so metres until we cleared the swarm, it was like driving through a snowstorm – without windscreen wipers. I could feel the little bee bodies bounce against my face and flutter through my fingers. It wasn’t 100 per cent terrible, to be honest, and even tickled a bit.
In time the swarm’s whine diminished like God had His steady hand on a massive volume control. The other three swarm walkers were waiting for me.
Their faces were long, lips tight.
‘Will,’ said Zed, ‘stay very still.’
I froze. ‘What?’
‘You have a bee coming out of your nose.’
For a second I thought I might die. And then I realised that he was joking. Laughing (we were overtired), we checked each other for bees. Miraculously we were bee-free. And there’d not been a single sting. Was our luck turning?
‘You want to know Zed’s favourite bee?’ he asked. ‘The booby.’
Ellie punched him in the stomach.
‘I didn’t like that,’ said Alexa.
‘The joke or the bees?’ I asked.
‘Neither.’
‘Shame about that wasted Mars Bar,’ said Ellie.
We carried on along the trail.
‘How did you know about the bees?’ I asked Alexa.
‘I remembered something Faulkner said,’ she admitted.
I don’t know if you’ve seen many movies set at sea. I haven’t. I don’t think I could name a single one. Titanic? Yep, not watched that. It was on TV once but Mum turned it off because of the nudity. Anyway, despite never seeing a sea story and definitely not reading one either, I have a clear picture of a sailor in a little basket (crow’s nest?) at the top of a mast, shouting, ‘Land ahoy!’
And when Ellie, at the top of a tree, pointed and shouted, ‘I can see houses!’, this is what I thought of – the little sailor. If you’d seen my face, you’d have spotted a quick and tiny grin.
She’d climbed up there despite us telling her it was, like, the worst idea ever, not including those concerned with borrowing portable chargers. Because not only had she suffered a sore spine from already falling out of a tree, but who knew what else might go wrong, like another swarm of bees, for instance? But I was learning that telling Ellie not to do someth
ing was doomed to fail.
Shimmying back to earth, Ellie pointed. ‘It’s this way. I saw houses and everything.’
‘Good work!’ said Zed, and Ellie visibly glowed.
Standing there, ready to get moving again, I checked my pocket. Not an automatic check for my phone – that impulse was fading – but for the hard drive.
It wasn’t there.
As my heart turned to ice, I pulled the pocket lining out. I did the same to the other pocket, even though it was obviously, painfully empty. Nothing. The same was true of my damp tracksuit bottoms. I spun round, looking back to the forest. The frozen centre of my chest grew larger with every heartbeat.
There was an explosion of questions:
When was the last time I’d checked? Why hadn’t I looked after it? Why did everything have to be so difficult? Why was I always such a disappointment?
‘Will?’ said Alexa.
‘What’s up, bro?’ asked Zed.
I swung round, looking back down the path with wild eyes. It was out there. Somewhere. Lying somewhere damp, as useful as the dead squirrel.
‘I …’ I began speaking but I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. ‘We’ve … got to go back.’
‘But we’re so close,’ said Zed. ‘Ellie said—’
‘Have you … lost it?’ asked Alexa, stepping closer to me, touching my arm.
I nodded. At that moment I understood that I was never going to find it. It could be anywhere.
My voice came out very quiet, my head dropped. ‘Look, I can deal with missing New York. But Robbie, my brother … he’s going to be destroyed.’ Dramatic moments can refocus your feelings. It was like a sudden flash of light through my deepest thoughts. It sounds corny, but I imagined Robbie’s face. It wasn’t a happy face. ‘It’s just so … He doesn’t deserve it. And he’d never screw up like this. I don’t know why I thought …’
My words, like my hope, faded.
‘Yo,’ said Ellie. ‘Maybe your luck’s changing?’
I looked up at her. She was holding the hard drive, still protected by the sandwich bag, between her thumb and forefinger.