Chapter 1- It’s Time
It was the date Bruno had said in his letter,
the nineteenth of April. Jack had been waiting, with a complete trust that this
was the day he needed to go to Team Teen. He stepped out onto the busy mid-morning
Drail streets where as usual everyone was focused on getting from A to B, or
were urgently using their phones. Yet his shoulders tensed as he worked his way
through the crowds, a growing feeling in the pit of his stomach that what he
was about to do was an extremely bad plan. Jack walked to the regional
headquarters of Team Teen hiding in the shadows of the grey, gloomy day. At
each corner he checked behind, scanning for the figure that had been lurking at
the edge of his vision for the past few weeks, following him.
As far as he knew it wasn’t a crime to watch
the meetings, not yet anyway, but when he arrived his heart began to palpitate
and he felt distinctly sick. He wanted to go home. Before Team Teen had started
he’d walked past the ramshackle square building every day without giving it a
second thought, except for noticing that it was tightly nestled between two towering
bronze metallic high rises. Then last year it became the headquarters for the
new children’s initiative and consequently bars were fixed at the windows, weeds
pulled from the cracks in the uneven paving out the front and the whole place given
a lick of gold paint. Flashing in mid-air outside, bold gold letters informed
of upcoming events.
“Watch-your-parents Day, Wednesday 22nd!”
Followed by several holographic images of children
listening in at bedroom and living room doors. The holograms faded, replaced by
the little boy that Jack seemed to see everywhere now, the creepy cartoon
little boy with the rosy cheeks, cheeky smile and army hat. The Team Teen
slogan shimmered gold.
“Instilling Values, Ensuring Futures!”
Jack tip toed reluctantly towards the building.
He had to do what Bruno said. Staying
close to the metallic wall of the high rise to his left, he ignored his glowing
reflection. He darted across to the Team Teen window, crouched under the ledge,
leaning up against the gold, flaky paint. As he attempted to slow his
breathing, he stared at the bush in front of him with the yellow shiny plastic
flowers that was hiding him from the street. Straining to hear over the traffic
and the drilling of road works, he felt like one of the holograms, listening
in.
“You’re efforts are truly beginning to show,” he
could just about hear a man saying. “Well done to the security committee for
the campaign this week, raising awareness of the need for metal detectors at
school entrances!”
A short burst of applause followed, ending abruptly. Jack judged by how loud it
was that there were a lot of people inside.
The clapping stopped and the man began to speak
again but Jack didn’t hear what he said because at the same moment his
backpack, which was wedged between his back and the wall, began to shudder.
“Seriously, now?”
he pulled the shuddering bag round to his front and opened it.
Inside the flute thing was shaking much more violently
than it had before. He took it firmly out and held it with both hands, trying
to get it under control as it shook manically. Pulling him every which way,
soon Jack was grappling with it on the floor.
“Stop it,” he said through gritted teeth.
To his relief,
the flute abruptly lay still, as if obeying the command. He’d gone against his better instincts by bringing it with him. After
finding it last week, he’d looked up the penalty for possession of a musical
instrument under the amended Drail law. Six months in a juvenile maturity
centre and almost complete isolation from his family. As he admired the
flawless shiny silver casting fragments of light like a halo around it, all
anger melted from him. It was so beautiful that for a moment he forgot
everything.
“Chill out, OK?” he said.
The flute didn’t move. Jack put it back in his bag as it shimmered up at him. He
hugged the backpack to his chest and counted to three, breathing deeply. When
he got to one he turned around and sat up on his knees. Through the metal bars
he could clearly see the hall full of kids, facing away from him in rows
towards the stage.
The man speaking was skinny, with the look of
someone who was in need of a good night’s sleep. He was wearing an oversized
suit jacket, a blue spotted tie and faded jeans.
“…To the recreation committee for developing
the interactive classroom baseball app!” he said, as the crowd erupted into another
short, sharp applause.
From what Jack could tell, the children’s ages
spanned the whole of secondary school. With a jolt he spotted his old friends
Eric and Bill, near the front. He didn’t even know they’d joined, but now it
made perfect sense. The way they’d distanced themselves from him was exactly
what had happened with Fay.
“And last but not least,” the man peered over
the top of his glasses at his phone. “A huge thank you to the management team
for your continued commitment to recruitment!”
The crowd applauded again, this time louder and
for longer. The man stepped down from the stage and beckoned to someone that
Jack couldn’t see to come up and take his place, before leaving through a door
to the right.
It wasn’t until she was standing up there with
a proud grin on her face and waving at the crowd of onlookers, that Jack
finally knew how deep Fay was in it.
She’d been taking more and more care over her
appearance in the past few months, but now, Jack hardly recognised his sister.
Sandy hair that used to be unruly like his, was now sleek and straight. Her
eyes were dark with make-up and her lips deep red. And as if all that wasn’t
enough, she was wearing a mini skirt and high heels.
So this was what Bruno had wanted him to see.
The clapping stopped all at once, without a
single straggler.
“Thank you, thank you!” Fay spoke in a fake,
butter-wouldn’t-melt voice, whilst curtsying. “It’s a huge honour to be the spokesperson for the committee. I
owe a big thanks to my team- to Shane, Seeta, Jermaine and the rest, who’ve
been working so hard on the recruitment drive. And may I say, on behalf of all
of us, that we couldn’t have done it without you.” Palm up, she swept her arm out
across the audience. “We’ve noticed your enthusiasm; we’ve seen your
persistence. There were countless people handing out application forms at
school this week, encouraging, convincing, watching. And I’m pleased to
announce we’ve recruited fifty eight new members this week-“
An impressed “ooooh!” went through the crowd.
“—which is twenty more than last week. You are
all vital to Team Teen and its future, and I thank you for your loyalty. Well
done everyone!”
Another clap followed, this one the loudest of
all. When it stopped, Fay’s expression soured.
“But it’s not enough,” she pointed her finger. “It’s
not enough for success, not enough to transform the face of young people in our
city. We need results and we need them now.” She banged her right fist into her
left hand. “We need the cooperation of every last one of you, we need one
hundred percent loyalty.”
A murmur went through the
crowd.
Fay smiled, her voice returning to
butter-wouldn’t-melt. “Which is why we will be conducting a sweep of our area.
Door to door spot checks and encouraged recruitment. If you have nothing to
hide you have nothing to fear. Thank you.”
Everyone clapped again, although this time it
didn’t seem as loud. Fay curtsied a final time before leaving the stage, taking
the steps slowly and carefully in her heels.
“It really is quite a club,” a soft voice spoke
behind Jack.
Jack turned sharply, his heart leaping into his
mouth as he found the man in the oversized blazer and spotted tie crouched
right there. They were so close that Jack could see every last line on the man’s
face and the deep shadows under his hazel eyes.
A small, breathless “uh” escaped Jack’s mouth.
“Apologies for startling you,” the man stood up
to the side of window, holding his back and groaning slightly as he did so.
“I’m Alfred East,” he held out his hand.
Jack stood up too, backing away to the other
side of the window. “I should get going.”
“Are you thinking of joining?” Alfred said.
“Well… I don’t know…maybe,” Jack took another
step away. He wanted to run but his legs felt like jelly.
“You’ll have to join eventually, sweep or no
sweep,” Alfred took a handkerchief out of his pocket, removed his glasses and
wiped his brow. “Funny I should find you peeking in at the window, when I came
outside for the exact purpose of seeking out spies.”
“I’m not a spy,” Jack said quickly, shoving his
sweaty hands in his pockets.
“Indeed,” Alfred put his glasses back on.
“Looking in at a window generally falls under the category of spying, but no
matter.”
“I was checking on my sister.”
“Your sister?”
“Mum said to come and check where Fay was
because-”
“Fay!” Alfred East studied Jack’s face. “Of
course. How could I be so… You have the same blue eyes, the same sandy hair. And
I have to say you share that same troublesome cheeky look.”
“OK,” Jack managed.
“The great Fay March’s little brother,” Alfred
said with a small smile. “She’s climbed the ladder ever so quickly. Really
helped this thing move along. Oh, there won’t be any getting out of it for
you.”
“I should be getting home,” Jack said, panic
rising in his chest.
“That’s not a good idea,” Alfred took a large
stride towards Jack, clenching a fist around his forearm before Jack had time
to react. Jack squirmed with terror, but the skinny man was stronger than he looked.
You’re first on the list, you know,” Alfred
hissed.
“Let me go!” Jack struggled.
Alfred seized the other arm, holding Jack close
so that their noses were almost touching and Jack could smell ginger on his
breath.
“You should go.”
“Let go!” Jack said again, trying to break
free.
Alfred’s eyes drilled right into him. “Go to
the forest.”
Jack stopped struggling. “What?” he said,
confused.
“The forest is safe,” Alfred whispered.
This was madness. Throughout his twelve years
of life Jack had been told that the forest was the most dangerous place in
Drail. And now two people had told him the complete opposite. One person that
he trusted, one that he didn’t.
“I’m not an idiot,” he muttered. “Everyone
knows you get ripped to pieces. Let me go!”
Alfred’s grip didn’t let up. He began marching Jack
towards the side door of the Team Teen building. “Come inside.”
Jack lost all sense of normality, as panic and
fear overwhelmed him. He wriggled and scratched, trying to kick and bite as he
was dragged closer and closer to the door. Was he going to be interrogated at
one of the government’s new information chambers? He didn’t know exactly what
they were, but he knew he didn’t want to go. He wished so badly that he hadn’t
come.
Then a door around the other side of the
building slammed loudly and Alfred jumped out of his skin, releasing his hold
on Jack’s arms. Alfred’s scared eyes darted left to right. He bolted for the
door, opened it and went inside.
Right before the door closed behind him, he
turned back and said, “It’s time to wake up.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Jack ran.
It wasn’t until he was two streets away from
Team Teen that he allowed himself to stop. Gasping, he leant against the wall
of a house and bent over, hands on his knees.
What had happened was all a blur. He smiled,
hardly believing that he was free. A moment later the situation crashed down on
him and the smile turned to a frown. Alfred East knew who he was, and they were
coming for him.
Why had Alfred told him to go to the forest? It
made sense that a leader of Team Teen would be happy to send him into the place
where children were ripped limb from limb. But why would Bruno want that? It
made no sense that they would give the same advice. And on top of that, he’d
also used the words that Bruno had ended each and every one of his letters
with. It’s time to wake up.
Filling the wall opposite, a news report leapt
to life.
“Child dead,” the
words flashed, with an image of the thick evergreen trees of the forest. A deep drum beat ominously over and over.
Then the image changed to a snarling beast, all teeth and claws.
“Twenty-ninth animal attack of 2015.”
With a final bang of the drum the picture
disappeared, replaced by bold black capital letters.
“STAY AWAY, STAY SAFE.”
Jack’s mind was so full of buzzing questions that
he didn’t notice the familiar whirr of the tiny Drail CCTV camera until it had
slid along the invisible wire above and lowered itself to his eye line, close
enough to touch. Although he was used to the citizen checks of the cameras of
Drail, an uneasiness swept over Jack as the lens squeaked into focus on him.
Sure that guilt was written all over his face, he looked at the floor and walked
briskly away.
Three streets later he was home, waving his
fingertips gratefully over the identity pad outside, the doors mechanism unlocking
with a clunk. Jack heaved the door open and went in, closing it as quickly as
he could. He leant his head against the door, momentarily safe.
It was Sunday which meant his parents were at
work. Jack used to love Sundays, when he and Fay would watch films and eat
junk, or plot how they were going to make their parents quit their jobs. But since
Fay had joined Team Teen six months ago she’d been busy on Sundays. She was
like a different person and never wanted to hang out with him anymore, let
alone help him rescue their parents.
For once, however, Jack was grateful for the
solitude. He went into the kitchen, dropping his backpack on the floor. He plonked
himself down on a tall stool at the table, which was clear except for a vase of
putrid smelling fake purple flowers and a neat stack of magazines. The
adrenaline had faded and he felt zapped of energy. Now that he was calmer, his
stomach growled angrily, reminding him that he had been too nervous to eat that
morning. The board on the fridge was flashing green, signaling a new message.
Jack pressed his fingertip to the pad, to which his Mum’s voice rang out.
“We’ll be back later than usual today, so feed
yourselves. Do your homework! Mum.”
This hardly came as a surprise, as his Mum
regularly had to stay late on Sundays to attend extra meetings.
Jack took the butter and jam out of the fridge and
slathered it on some bread, missing Fay’s aptitude for cooking. The ticking of
the clock filled the room as he ate. He rifled half-heartedly through the pile
of papers in the vain hope of a decent magazine. He pulled one out- Quick Riches. A man’s face smirked out from
the front cover, the caption reading “Jordan Sommers- how I got really rich,
really fast!”
“Urgh,” Jack tossed the magazine back onto the
pile.
Further down was one of Fay’s recent favourite
magazines, Beautiful Celebrity. It
wasn’t so long ago that they used to laugh at these stupid magazines together.
He flicked to the contents page- How to
get flawless skin. Say no to calorific temptation! Teentastic plastic surgery!
He clapped it closed again, reaching out to replace it in the pile. As he did a
piece of paper inside came loose, revealing the Team Teen logo.
He pulled the paper out and threw the magazine back
down.
Sweep Priority,
the title read. Then underneath- Recommendations
Name. Written in the space in the wobbly writing he could never mistake,
was his name, JACK MARCH.
Briefly explain your reasons, specifically why this recommendation
would be an asset to the Team.
NEEDS TO FOCUS, his sister had written. DRIFTING
AWAY, HAS WRONG PRIORITIES. HARD WORKING AND GOOD AT TALKING TO PEOPLE, BUT DESPERATELY
NEEDS INTERVENTION.
Well at least some of it was complementary,
Jack thought grimly. He re-read Fay’s words until they bounced around in his
head. “Drifting away…getting lost…wrong idea……intervention.”
Bruno had told him this would happen and that
it would begin today. Jack hadn’t wanted to believe it. He’d gone to the meeting
hoping to prove Bruno wrong, hoping that there was a chance Fay would come with
him.
But there was no denying now that Fay was part
of the problem.
At that moment two things happened at the same
time. The front door unlocked with a clunk and Jack’s backpack on the floor began
shuddering.
Jack shoved the application form back in the
pile and lurched down to grab his bag, clutching it as Fay click-clacked into
the kitchen.
“Hi Jacky!” she said brightly, going over to
the kettle and flicking the switch. “Tea?”
“Um, no thanks,” her old nickname for him
jarred.
“What you been up to?” she smiled.
“Nothing,” Jack said sharply, holding the shaking
bag as still as he could.
Fay held her hands up defensively, “Just trying
to be nice.”
“I’m going upstairs,” Jack hurried out of the
kitchen.
Safely in his bedroom he threw his backpack on
the bed, where it instantly lay still.
“Perfect,” he said. “Cheers for that.”
He was angry. How could Fay pretend to be nice
when she was planning to sweep him? Whatever that meant. What annoyed him the
most was that she hadn’t even told him to his face.
He slid open the bottom drawer of his desk,
reaching expectantly underneath his history text book, Drails Big Victory, 1981-1988. His hand found nothing. Flustered, he heaved
the text book out, dumped it on the floor and looked again. The letters were
gone.
There was no way he could leave without Bruno’s
instructions, without the clues. It was Fay, it had to be. Although how she’d
known about them he had no idea.
He was running out of time. Tip-toeing across
the hall, Jack stood outside Fay’s room, with the full knowledge that she would
kill him if she found him in there. Even back when they were good friends Fay
was private about her room, but now… He pushed the thought to the back of his
head; he needed the letters.
Slowly, carefully, aiming for silence, he pushed
Fay’s bedroom door open. Inside was neat and tidy, everything in its proper place.
Perfectly made bed, shoe collection lined up neatly by the door, colour coded
make-up filling the dressing table. The room smelt of lemon and flowers. The
boy with the rosy cheeks looked down from the wall with his mocking smile.
Jack went to the desk, which used to be piled
high with doodles and ideas for stories but was now clear except for three pens
in a pot and a recruitment flyer for Team Teen. For want of a better plan he opened
the bottom drawer, finding only school books. The letters were not there, nor
were they in the middle or top drawers. He moved to the bed, pulling a
cardboard box from underneath. He rifled as fast as he could through the
teddies and old toys. A photo caught his eye, the two of them sitting on a wall,
squinting in the sun and eating ice creams. For years it had lived on Fay’s window
ledge. He shoved it back and slammed the lid on the box.
He was never going to find them.
“Looking for something?” Fay was standing in
the doorway, waving Bruno’s letters.
“Give them back,” Jack said quietly. “You had
no right.”
“And you’ve got no right to be in my room,” Fay
retorted. “Anyway, chill out. I only borrowed them for a project.”
“What
project?”
“Handwriting.”
“That’s dumb.”
“It’s history. History isn’t dumb, it’s who we
are.”
Jack considered reminding Fay that she always
hated history; that she used to complain the teacher smelt of old coffee and
that the subject was irrelevant.
“Your friend Bruce has quite beautiful
handwriting.”
“His name’s Bruno.” Jack got up. “Can I have
them back please?”
“What’s so important about them?” Fay’s heavily
made-up eyes narrowed.
A car pulled up right outside the house and
Jack heard the doors opening and shutting.
Fay pressed her fingertip to the pad to the
left of the window, the metal blinds turning smoothly upwards into slats,
revealing the street.
“He’s here,” she said, smiling. “Come and meet
my friend, Jacky.”
Jack could see a white-silver car with blacked
out windows parked in his Dad’s spot. The man walking towards the house was instantly
recognisable in his oversized jacket and spotted tie.
The doorbell buzzed loudly and a voice came out
of the intercom speaker in the corner of Fay’s room.
“Fay, it’s Alfred. It’s sweep time.”
“Here,” Fay held her arm out to Jack. “Take
your precious letters.”
Jack grabbed them as Fay spun on her heel and
left the room, click-clacking down the stairs.
This was it, Jack thought. Alfred had come for
him and he was going to be part of the sweep and recruited into Team Teen, or
worse. He felt sick. It was time to make a choice, to either go downstairs and
face the consequences or follow Bruno’s advice. The problem was that following Bruno’s
advice meant following Alfred’s too. The
forest is safe. Who was telling the truth?
Clutching the letters, Jack went back to his room.
His backpack was shaking again and had consequently worked its way across the
bed, now teetering on the edge.
“Easy there,” Jack pulled it back.
Thankfully, he’d packed most of his stuff last
weekend, just in case. Clothes, non-perishable food, his phone. He wouldn’t be
calling anyone but at least the Trail Tech might help him figure out where to
go. He reached up, taking his piggy bank off the shelf above the bed. The pig
was wearing shirt and tie and had always reminded Jack of his Dad, only fatter
and friendlier looking. He held the shiny pig that had lived up there for so
long, slowly collecting money for no particular reason. Then with a swift
motion he brought it down on the corner of his desk, the crash filling the room
as it smashed into hundreds of pieces.
“Jack!” Fay called from downstairs. “What’re
you doing? Come and meet my friend!”
“Be there in a minute!” Jack shouted back as coolly
as possible, as he frantically scooped up the coins and notes that constituted his
life savings. He put them into a small pocket inside his backpack, next to the
flute thing that was shimmering bright, shaking. As he went to zip his bag up, the
flute flung itself out, landing on the bed. Spindly string arms and legs shot
out from the metal, bending and moving freely. Each had knots at the end, like
tiny round hands and feet. The flute thing stood up straight, leaning forwards
in a sort of bow.
Jack was so surprised that he laughed. Finding
the beautiful, banned object on the street had been weird enough, but now it
had sprouted arms and legs and was running around his room.
“This is crazy,” he whispered.
The flute sprang from the bed over to the window
sill, where it began clunking its head against the glass.
“Shhh!” Jack said urgently, succeeding only in
making the flute clunk the window harder and faster.
“You’re gonna break the glass,” Jack went over
and grabbed it away, to which the flute began to pummel his fingers with its knot
fists, pointing frantically at the window.
“Stop it!” Jack felt weird talking to it. “I
get it. Let’s go.”
He threw Bruno’s letters in his bag and zipped
it up.
“Jacky!” Fay shouted again.
Jack put the flute back on the window sill. “Take
it easy, would you?”
He opened the window, pushing it as far out as
it would go. The flute sprang out and stood on the ledge outside. Jack went out
slowly, one leg at a time. The flute jumped away and slid down the drainpipe to
wait on the ground. Once he was out Jack closed the window as quietly as
possible and began to shuffle along the ledge. He’d done this so many times
before but it seemed like a million years ago since he used to sneak out to
meet Bill and Eric after curfew to play football. That was way back before this
had started, when he hadn’t known anything at all. Everything was different now
and he had to get away before he became trapped. He had to find out the truth.
Chapter 2- Out and In
Jack clung to the bricks with his fingertips, his
feet sideways and flat against the wall. Time seemed to slow down as he edged
along the ledge, sure that at any moment Fay or Alfred would stick their heads out
of his bedroom window. It was slow work, every second like an hour. Finally he reached
out and clamped his arms around the drain pipe, beginning to shimmy down. As he
went past the kitchen window he didn’t dare look in, painfully aware that he
was in plain sight. Instead he concentrated on his movement, on pressing his feet
against the drainpipe as he went steadily down. The flute whistled a clear, pretty
note of encouragement from where it was waiting on the ground. When Jack was
close enough he jumped down, his shoulders tightening as he thudded onto the concrete
patio of the yard. Without looking at the kitchen window he unlocked the gate,
the flute bounding straight out into the hustle and bustle of the street.
“Wait!” Jack called as loudly as he dared,
“Someone’s gonna see you!”
He glanced nervously at the people walking
past, sure that someone would notice, but everyone was either absorbed on their
phones or staring straight ahead. The flute weaved undetected between their
legs and off down the road. Jack followed, dodging in and out of the crowd, trying
not to bump into people. It would only take one of them to look down and notice
the flute... How had it happened that he was not only in possession of an illegal
instrument, but it had now sprung to life and he was following it through the
streets of Drail? It was totally surreal, not to mention dangerous. And if Fay
and Alfred caught him now… He kept glancing back into the sea of anonymous
faces, expecting to see them.
They passed Jack’s school, the tall iron gates
padlocked for the weekend. After that the huge domed hypermarket, a stagnant
queue of cars leading up to the entrance. High rise after high rise towered
above, the metallic walls reflecting the dreary sky. Once they entered Freedom
Park there was no doubt in Jack’s mind that they were heading east out of the
city towards the forest. The park was almost empty, except for a couple of Bird
Patrollers skulking near a pristine flower bed, necks craned as they inspected
the tops of the identical trees. One of the men took his gun out of its holster
and Jack’s heart skipped a beat. The man held the gun upwards and pulled the
trigger. Jack ducked. The bang reverberated around the trees as a dead bird plummeted
to the floor.
On the other side of the park there were less
people on the street, meaning that the flute was clearly visible to anyone who
cared to look. Jack sprinted in an attempt to catch it, but the flute’s spindly
legs only ran faster in response. Exasperated, Jack slowed to a walk.
“Run off, see if I care,” he clutched the cramp
in his side.
The flute stopped a few metres ahead, beckoning
him on with a stringy arm. A business woman came hurrying past, stopping
exactly where the flute was. Jack looked on helplessly, sure the game was up
but then the woman lifted her leg to inspect the sole of her stiletto shoe.
“Chewing gum,” she grumbled, rubbing her foot
roughly against the curb before marching past Jack without giving him a second
glance.
Jack and the flute walked on, the flute
remaining a few steps ahead.
Were they really going to the forest? To the
place where stupid children dared each other to go, the place where no one ever
came out alive?
It’s safe, Jack told
himself firmly. Bruno had reassured him repeatedly that it was all a con. On
the other hand he couldn’t get the news reports out of his head. For as long as
he could remember he’d watched the TV reports of the harrowing deaths and
disappearances. And now he was about to enter it.
Was it too late to turn back? He was following
an illegal flute towards a forest teeming with vicious monsters. Was that really
a better option than Alfred and Team Teen?
The grey clouds in the sky were growing
thicker, the air damp. Jack pulled his hood up and zipped his coat to the top,
hoping it wouldn’t rain because if it did he would be nowhere near a safe place
to hide from the burning acid.
A shrill siren filled the air, approaching fast
from behind. Jack’s whole body tensed, but then the huge military jeep roared
past, the siren going off key as it faded into the distance. Military jeeps
were a recent addition to the police force, the machine gun clad officers often
staying hidden behind the blacked out windows. Their purpose was for population
protection, but Jack had never felt safe around them, least of all now.
Around the next corner Jack found himself at the
T-junction where he’d first discovered the flute, shining enticingly up at him
from the pavement. It was a Friday night and his Dad had been drinking as
usual, watching the football in the living room. He’d gotten angry and shouted
at Jack to get lost so Jack had gone for a long walk, even though it was after
curfew. When he found the flute everything in him told him to leave it alone and
yet somehow he couldn’t. He needed to touch it, to hold it and before he knew
what he was doing he’d put it in his bag.
Jack crossed the road to where the Great Wall
stretched out either way. He recalled from his studies that it was five metres
tall and two metres thick, that it was there to keep them safe. But right now
it looked pathetic. The yellowy-brown surface was crumbling, the looped barbed
wire running along the top rusty. It didn’t even seem that tall.
Jack soon found the football sized hole in the
wall he’d seen last time. He peered through it expectantly, but saw a desolate grey
landscape scattered with rocks and lifeless trees.
“That’s not right,” he said.
A black shape began moving in the shadows on
the other side of the wall. More joined it, sleek, muscly bodies moving towards
him. White teeth snarled in the gloom. They stopped all at once, raised their
heads to the sky and howled, before rushing forwards as a pack.
Jack forcefully pushed himself away from the
hole, slipping into the road. A car beeped as it swerved to avoid him.
“Watch where you’re going!” the driver shouted
angrily.
“Sorry,” Jack stumbled to the opposite side of
the road, his heart thumping.
This was definitely the same hole, so where
were the luscious green meadows and hills? He shuddered as he thought of those
sharp teeth and drooling, hungry mouths.
The flute, a few steps to his right, sang a light
note and pointed a knotted fist towards the hole in the wall. Jack went to the
where the instrument was standing, watching the hole as he went. To his
amazement the grey and black melted away to sun, grass and patterns of bright light
dancing across water. Wanting to go closer he stepped into the road, but the
beautiful scene vanished back to grey and black. It was only in the exact spot
where the flute was standing that it looked this way, everywhere else it
changed back to desolation.
“How is it doing that?” Jack puzzled.
He took Bruno’s letters out of his bag, quickly
locating the one he wanted, the one he’d probably read the most times out of
the thirteen. The blue handwritten swirly address on the front had become a
comfort to Jack in the last few weeks, a reminder that he had a friend,
somewhere out there. This letter was the first one that had made him realise
that Bruno was someone special.
Everything you think is inverted.
Colours on grey on colours.
Covers, over everything.
The hole in the wall exposed the lie being fed
to the people of Drail.
Each of Bruno’s thirteen letters contained a
message to decipher. The codes were all different, some easy to crack, others
seemingly impossible.
Jack put the letters back in his bag, thinking
about Bruno. They’d met on holiday last year, thick as thieves from the beginning,
playing cards, drinking milkshakes and attacking Fay with water guns around the
pool. He’d had no idea that his friendship with Bruno was going to be the start
of a whole new life. Part of him wished he could go back to being that innocent
boy, the boy who hadn’t questioned his reality.
The flute whistled and bounced across the road,
heading right. Jack followed and together
they walked next to the wall until it came to an abrupt end in an unceremonious
heap of stones. It was replaced by closely packed emerald evergreen trees, tall
and thin, each the same height and breadth as the next.
The forest.
Like in Freedom Park, the trees were perfect,
not a leaf out of place. In stark contrast the fence that ran along the front
was in major disrepair, white paint chipping off all over the place to reveal
rotting wood. There was more rusty barbed wire curling along the top and a metal
sign creaked from a branch.
Keep Out. Danger of Death, it read, a skull and crossbones underneath
along with the number 29.
The flute went through a gap in the fence, shimmering
on the other side in the gloom of the forest. The gap was just about big enough
for Jack. Pushing away the many doubts, he crouched and ducked low to avoid the
barbed wire. Standing up on the other side, he was immediately enveloped by the
close dinginess of the trees. Cars and people continued past, none noticing
that he was about to enter the forest. A man walked by close enough for Jack to
touch, but was preoccupied with holding his jacket hood up from the cold.
Jack turned and went in.
One step at a time, he relied on the shimmer of
the flute to guide his way. The regularly scheduled TV warnings kept flashing
through his head. Ravaging beasts, child massacre, vicious monsters.
And yet his legs kept moving forwards. A quiet like
he’d never known before descended around him, free from traffic, drilling road works
and whining sirens. As he listened to the soft sound of his own footsteps, he
felt like he was in another world.
Thick, twisting roots stuck out of the ground,
making his progress slow. The green canopy was thick and unyielding, the forest
void of almost any light. Jack remembered his phone, taking it out of his bag
and clicking the Trail Tech app. No data, it said.
“Fat lot of good that was,” he put the torch on
instead.
A strong beam fell on the flute, the bright
silver reflection forcing Jack to cover his eyes. The flute did the same,
holding its string arms up to the hole at the top of its body.
“Sorry,” Jack aimed his phone a little to the
left.
It was only then that he saw the forest
properly. The floor was a bed of a thousand tiny purple flowers, which
reflected an oyster shell rainbow tint as he walked through them. Thin silver
lines ran up the roots and trunks of each tree, luminous in the torchlight. A long
line of electric blue ants marched along a root and away up the trunk of a
tree.
“Wow,” Jack watched.
He’d only ever seen black ants before, in a
swarm outside the house, right before his Mum poured boiling water on them.
He walked on. A few minutes later something on
the ground caught his eye, drab amongst the vivid purple and silver. A dirty
teddy bear with matted hair smiled up at him, one button eye missing. Jack picked
it up, but as soon as he did, something cold and hard smacked him on the arm.
“Ouch!” he dropped the teddy.
The flute was standing in front of him, tapping
a stringy knot foot impatiently.
“What was that about?” Jack said.
The flute turned and began to run across the
springy flowers. Jack left the teddy leaning up against the trunk of a tree and
went too. Only a few steps later, however, he found a small red jumper, dirty
and ripped in half down the middle. A lump rose in his throat. The flute sang a
note at him and waved his arms in big sweeping motions, as if to say no. They moved on, only to find a kid’s tattered
trainer a little further on. The flute sang again, encouraging him to continue.
“It’s a trick,” Jack whispered, tearing his
eyes away.
But what if it wasn’t?
He flashed his phone around, expecting
something terrible lurking in the darkness. Speeding up, he went after the
flute, hoping they would be out soon.
A sharp, mechanical whistling broke the
silence, getting quickly higher pitched and louder before ending with a dull
thud on the ground.
Jack shone his phone around in the flowers,
finding nothing. Seconds later it happened again, the whistle getting louder,
then a thud. Whistles came more and more frequently after that and Jack started
to run, as best he could. He tripped on a root, the soft flowers luckily
cushioning his fall. Next to his nose was a bullet, shining silver like the
flute. He held it as he stood back up, thinking of the gun in his Dad’s desk
drawer at home.
At that moment bullets began to fall all
around. With a thump a large black bird fell from a tree, its dead glassy eye
open wide.
Jack started running again, shielding his head
with his arms as if that would be enough to save him. To his great horror
another sound became audible over the whistles. The unmistakable padding of an
animal’s footsteps. In a flustered panic Jack dropped his phone, not stopping
to pick it up. On he ran in the darkness, the flute the only light. A low,
rolling growl came from close behind. Jack thought of the wild beasts he’d seen
on the news so many times. It was all true after all, and he was the idiot who’d
believed Bruno’s lies. No wonder Alfred had wanted him to come into the forest.
The beast sped up, in clear pursuit. Not even sure anymore where the flute was,
Jack ran, stumbling, tripping, grazing his arms and legs.
The beast was gaining on him. He dared to look
back, glimpsing a flash of orange and black between the trees. Any second it was
going to pounce. He had no chance of making it out alive, but somehow his legs
kept moving, propelling him on.
All at once, like a mirage, a patch of blue appeared
through a gap in the trees ahead. It got bigger and bigger until it was
impossible to mistake the edge of the forest. With a last surge Jack leapt out
of the trees onto the grassy bank of a thin, shallow, snaking river. The water gurgled
happily over rocks as it wooshed downstream. Jack half ran, half slid down the
bank into the knee-deep water. He forced his way through, fighting against the
pull of the water, expecting sharp claws to dig into his back at any second.
He emerged gratefully onto pebbles, crunching
his way up to the grass verge, his saturated jeans weighing him down. Once on
the grass he stopped and looked back.
A huge, muscular tiger sat watching him from
the edge of the forest. It was much bigger than the one Jack had seen in Drail
zoo. Why wasn’t it coming after him? He
stared, confused, until suddenly the tiger cocked its head to the side, mouth
curling into what could easily be a smile. As soon as the smile had appeared it
disappeared again, the tiger’s face growing angry. It snarled, baring its teeth
and moved its front leg forwards. Jack stood frozen, his heart in his mouth. He
didn’t have a hope of outrunning the beast if it came for him. Then the tiger
made a soft, bored “humph” sound, turned on its haunches and padded slowly back
into the forest.
Jack’s eyes stayed on the spot where the tiger
had been. Moments later he heard a pained yelp, followed by a whine. It had no
doubt found its lunch after the chase.
Jack turned his attention to his surroundings,
noticing for the first time where he was. A wide open meadow stretched far and
wide, to distant lines of bushes and trees. The overgrown grass was nothing
like the well mown grass of Freedom Park, and was moving as one in the light
breeze. On the horizon to the right were black pointy mountains, which Jack
calculated were even bigger than the skyscrapers of Drail. He turned around
several times, scouring the meadow for people. There was not a soul in sight,
other than the flute, which didn’t count.
He was completely alone.
Any thoughts of returning home were dashed.
There was no way he was going back into that forest.
He flopped down into the lush green grass to
rest. Its softness enveloped him, and soon he felt close to sleep. It was
probably only a couple of hours since he’d left home and yet it felt like a
lifetime. Was he really here, in this place?
He was thirsty, and annoyed at himself for not
bringing something to drink. He briefly considered drinking from the river, but
it was probably polluted. With some difficulty he peeled off his uncomfortable
soggy jeans and laid them on the grass to dry in the sun, putting a pair of
shorts on instead.
The sun was out!
Jack lay back and shielded his eyes. Unlike the
Drail sky which was always grey, this one was bright blue, with scattered fluffy,
white clouds. Bruno had been telling the truth after all.
Everything was exactly like he’d seen through
the hole in the wall, only so much more magnificent. Jack ran his arms up and
down, the grass tickling his skin. Next to his head was a thicker piece of
grass with a white fluffy ball on top. He picked it and blew, the ball separating
into hundreds of pieces that flew away on the breeze. Why was this place
hidden?
The flute was submerged in the grass next to
him, shimmering boldly in the sun. Jack picked it up, with a sudden
unexplainable urge to play it, even though he didn’t know how. Willingly, the
flute retracted its stringy arms and legs. Jack remembered how Fay used to hold
her flute, all those years ago before they were banned. Placing it to the side,
his fingers awkwardly pressed the buttons as he blew gently into the hole near
the end. He’d had no real hope of anything happening and yet, to his surprise, a
strong note came out, singing across the meadow. He stopped and held the flute
at arms-length.
“Amazing.”
He played it again. This time the note turned
into a melody, slow and bold. As Jack kept going the tune transformed into an angelic
voice.
“There are places in this…”
He dropped the flute into the grass. Was he
going mad? Perhaps the stress of the day
was causing him to imagine things.
He did it one more time.
“There
are places in this world you could never imagine,” the flute sang.
“Places
of your wildest dreams.
Follow
me Jack, I will show you, I will help you.
Follow
me Jack, and your dreams will come true.”
Jack stopped, awestruck. “You know my name.”
The flute’s arms and legs popped out again and
it jumped up, clunking Jack playfully on the head.
“Hey!” Jack rubbed the spot. “What were you singing
about anyway?”
Without any attempt at a reply, the flute
bounded off up the hill. Feeling much better now, Jack got to his feet, put his
jeans in his bag and went after it.
A couple of minutes later they arrived at the
top of the hill. Jack was mortified to find that on the other side the lush
green grass gave way to a desolate grey plain, with nothing but rocks and dead
trees as far as the eye could see. Nervously, he scanned the landscape for the black
snarling animals he’d seen through the hole in the wall.
So the lush green hills were not the only
reality after all.
In the distance was a town, which the flute
began running towards.
“Are you sure?” Jack called, wishing he could
play it to see what it had to say.
Figuring there was a chance that someone in the
town would know Bruno, Jack began walking.
The sun was beating down and soon he began to
sweat. The uneven rocky floor made walking difficult. Eventually a path emerged
in the grey dust, leading to the town. It was a small place, with only a scattering
of houses, each with a red triangular roof. There was a low wall running around
the perimeter of the town. The path led them to the entrance, an unelaborate red
brick archway. There was still no one in sight.
The main road had a handful of houses lining it
on either side. Something cracked underfoot, the skeleton of a rodent.
They came to a town square, a stone pillar in
the middle, engraved with intricate twirling patterns. As Jack neared he saw a tattered
piece of discoloured paper attached to the pillar, flapping loosely in the
breeze. The words written on it were faded to the point of being barely
visible.
“Stand up against intrusion. Defend what is
ours!” Jack read aloud. He looked around at the deserted place. “I don’t think
they did a very good job.”
A grey bird landed on top of the pillar, looking
down its beak at Jack.
“Pigeons,” Jack wrinkled his nose.
“Caw,” the pigeon answered back, before flying
up and away across the rooftops.
The houses all had front gardens, many with
washing lines with clothes attached, swaying rhythmically back and forth in the
wind. The flute ran over to one of the houses and Jack went too, peering
cautiously through the window. Inside was a cozy living room, with a sofa and a
tall armchair set around a fire place. Bookshelves and pictures lined the walls.
But where were the people?
A loud bang made Jack jump, looking urgently up
and down the street. Other than a sock that had come loose from a washing line and
was now rolling on the wind along the floor, there was nothing.
Bang! It
happened again, this time followed by a rattle. Bang, bang! Jack went round
the side of the house to the overgrown and weedy back garden with a chicken
coop littered with skeletons.
Bang! The back
door of the house swung on its hinges, the wind slamming it shut again.
Jack opened it tentatively. “Hello?”
When there was no answer he added, “Your door
was slamming.”
There was music coming from inside, music that
Jack remembered as jazz.
“Hello?” he said again.
The flute jumped through his legs, running into
the house.
“Hey!” Jack hissed. “We haven’t been invited
in.”
Not even sure why he was doing it, he stepped
inside too, the door banging closed behind him. The air was musty, the flowery
wallpaper in the dingy hallway faded. To the left was a kitchen, a rotten smell
filling Jack’s nostrils as he went past. Flies buzzed around the pans on the
hob, a stack of dirty, chipped plates to the side. The flute went into the room
at the end of the hallway, the living room Jack had seen from outside, which
was where the music was coming from. His
feet took him down the corridor before he’d decided whether he wanted to go or
not. And then he was in the room with the flowery sofa that matched the wallpaper
and the tall green arm chair, facing away towards the dusty, grey fireplace. The
music emitted from a gramophone, exactly like the antique his Mum had owned
when Jack was young. Without thinking what he was doing he went over to it and picked
up the arm with the needle on the end. The music ended with a sharp scratch, plunging
the room into silence.
“I was listening to that,” a man said, rising
up out of the tall green armchair.
Chapter 3- Hoven Notes
The man was old and scrawny, wearing a tattered
long coat and tweed flat cap. He grinned, displaying gappy yellow teeth, his white
moustache turning upwards slightly at the sides. His beady green eyes twinkled.
“I didn’t mean to—” Jack started.
The old man wheezed. “No matter, dear boy, no
matter.”
He spoke quickly, his voice raspy but soft,
waving his walking stick in the air. “As a matter of fact I’ve been expecting
you.”
“You have?” Jack was taken aback.
The man took a round golden watch out of the
top pocket of his jacket, inspecting it closely. “You’re a bit late, although I
suppose you came as fast as you could. Get caught up on the way?”
“On the way from where?”
The man wheezed as he laughed, throwing his
right arm above his head, the stick banging the ceiling. “Why, Drail of
course!”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t know you.”
The old man wheezed again and came round the green
armchair to Jack, hobbling quickly on one leg shorter than the other. He
stopped opposite Jack and grinned again.
“I do apologise, how very rude of me. How can I
expect you to, without an introduction! My name is Hoven Notes, otherwise known
as the Keeper.”
He held a bony hand out, the thumb nail long
and pointy, grabbing Jack’s hand enthusiastically and pumping it up and down.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Notes,” Jack said.
“I’m—”
“Jack! Of course you are. And you can call me
Hoven.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I know plenty more besides.” Hoven finally let
go of Jack’s hand, his eyes twinkling again. “What do you want to know?”
“Who are
you?” said Jack.
“I am Hoven Notes, the Keeper.”
“What’s a keeper?”
“I am. I keep all things musical and booky,
trinkets and treasures and the such,” Hoven rolled his bony hand over and over.
“I regret that I am not at liberty to show you my trove, but another time will
allow me the pleasure, I’m sure.”
“Great,” said Jack, sarcastically. He couldn’t
deny that he was glad to see another human being, but he didn’t know what to
think of this lively, scrawny old man. “I need to get going.”
“Ah, that’s right,” Hoven narrowed his eyes.
“My little helper has told me you have a tendency towards impatience. Still,
it’s no bad thing, I suppose.”
“Your little helper?”
“Yes. He’s learnt a lot about you.”
Jack wondered if this ‘helper’ was the person
who’d been following him for the past few weeks.
“Are you satisfied
with my answers?” Hoven hobbled quickly back around the armchair. “Come, sit
down. You can ask me anything, I’m like an open book,” he let out a single
burst of a laugh, as if highly amused. Slowly he lowered himself back into the
chair, resting his stick to the side. “Would you care for tea?”
“No,” said Jack, despite his thirstiness. “Thanks.”
Was this man a friend or an enemy? Jack didn’t
want to get into another situation like with Alfred East, although at the same
time he was intrigued to hear more.
“Just give me five minutes,” Hoven picked up
the teapot, pouring steaming tea into two white china cups with pink flowers
around the rim. “I promise that if I can’t convince you in that time, you are
free to go. I mean you no harm, I’m only asking that you hear me out.”
Jack was at the door, unsure of what to do. He
didn’t particularly want to stay with the old man. On the other hand he was
alone and friendless and had no reason to distrust.
“I believe you’ve met my helper, my instrument
of help?” Hoven chuckled.
“No.”
“That’s strange,” Hoven said. “Because I’m
quite sure he’s in your bag.”
He took a thin wooden pipe out of his top
pocket, about the size of Jack’s forefinger, and played a fast jingle on it.
Jack’s backpack immediately shook violently.
“Just as I thought,” Hoven said.
“You
mean the flute?” Jack moved back into the room, wanting to see Hoven properly.
“How did you know?”
“A flute?” Hoven exclaimed, tutting over and
over as he picked up a steaming cup of dark tea and sipped it. “Honestly, what
are they teaching you in those Drail schools these days?” He tutted more.
“Well, get him out, if you don’t mind, I’ve been missing the little fellow.”
Jack took off his madly shaking backpack. He
had only unzipped it a fraction when the flute jumped out, up onto the arm of
Hoven’s chair, bowing as he had done to Jack back in his bedroom.
“Why, hello!” Hoven tapped the instrument
affectionately. “I was starting to wonder where you’d got to. Jolly good job, I
must say.”
“That’s my flute, I found it,” Jack said more
sullenly than he’d intended.
“I’m afraid you have made not one but two mistakes there my boy. He is neither
a flute nor is he yours,” Hoven said.
“Yes he is,” the childish words escaped Jack’s
mouth.
“Wrong!” declared Hoven “He is a piccolo and
he’s mine.”
“What’s a piccolo?” Jack asked sheepishly.
“What’s a—?” Hoven tutted again. “Dear, dear,
dear, dear, dear. This is a Piccolo,”
he pointed to the instrument on the armchair. “And this particular specimen is
called Pic.”
The piccolo bowed to Jack.
Jack was suddenly overwhelmed with worry that
he was going to lose the piccolo. “Can I have him back please?”
“Splendid idea!” Hoven tossed the piccolo lightly
to Jack.
Jack held it, relieved.
“He can show you the way,” said Hoven. “This is
excellent, excellent!”
“The way to where?” said Jack.
“You could stay with me here,” Hoven offered.
“And I’ll take you to the lake tomorrow. It’s really up to you which way you
want to do it.”
“I’m not going to any lake,” Jack protested.
“Not going to any lake!” Hoven’s eyes widened.
“I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life! Of course you are! We’re
here to help, and help you we will! Ask Pic if you don’t believe me. Now, for
goodness sake, come and sit down and have some tea.”
Jack didn’t know what to think. He held the
piccolo up and blew into the hole.
It began singing at once.
“He
is right, he is just, go his way we must, we must.
Listen,
learn and you will see. The Keeper holds the key.”
“See,” Hoven folded his arms.
The piccolo perched itself on the edge of the
arm of Hoven’s chair, gangly legs dangling down.
“I’m trying to help you,” said Hoven. “We both
are.”
Jack looked from Pic to Hoven, who grinned
again, his white moustache pointing upwards. For all Jack knew, this man could
be telling the truth. With a sigh of resignation he slumped onto the sofa.
“I want to find my friend Bruno.”
“They’ll be able to help you with that at the
lake,” said Hoven.
“What’s at the lake?”
“The answer to all your problems. It’s
beautiful, amazing, indescribable. A piece of heaven on earth. Nothing like the
grotty streets of Drail. Now drink your tea, there’s a good lad.”
“Why do they tell
us not to come here?” said Jack.
Too thirsty to
resist longer, he picked up the dainty china mug and sipped the dark, bitter
contents.
“Well, my dear
boy,” Hoven replied, “It wouldn’t work out for them if everyone started leaving,
would it?”
“So they lie?”
“Regularly,”
Hoven wheezed. “In fact, I’d be willing to bet that half the things you believe
to be fact are not actually true at all.”
“Like what?”
“Well…” Hoven
drummed his finger-tips rhythmically on the arm of the chair. “What do you
suspect to be a lie?”
Jack thought about it. His old dog Fletcher popped into his head, his dog that
was taken away when they banned pets.
“Is dog hair
really toxic when inhaled?”
“Not in the least,” Hoven shook his head.
How could that possibly be true? Jack thought.
“Is organic fruit bad for your health?”
“Not unless by some strange coincidence it
happens to be radioactive,” Hoven smiled.
“Does playing a musical instrument dumb your
brain?”
“For goodness sake!” Hoven hooted.
Jack’s mind was reeling. He thought about the
restrictions enforced on extra-curricular activities in recent years.
“Is creativity the root of all evil?”
Hoven snorted with laughter, then looked
serious, stroking his moustache. “That’s a tricky one. I suppose it can lead to
evil sometimes, although not in the way they say. They’ll tell you anything so long
as it keeps control. That’s all they want, after all.”
Jack didn’t know what to think. Had the school
been right to modify the curriculum into only fact driven analysis? Or was
everything they said a complete lie?
“What’s the point of Team Teen?” he asked.
“Team Teen,” Hoven spat. “Poisonous, dirty
thing. Couldn’t have a bright young thing like you stuck in their clutches now,
could we?”
“What’s it about?” Jack edged forwards in his
seat.
“The clouding of minds,” Hoven passed a bony
hand in front of his face, fingers outstretched. “Control and manipulation. The
big vision to imprison the youngsters from the inside out.”
Jack didn’t totally understand Hoven’s words,
but felt that what he’d said made sense.
“You’re better off out of there Jack,” Hoven
said. “You’ll be much happier at the lake.”
“What makes you think I’m going to the lake?”
Jack said, irritated.
Hoven took a slurp of tea. “Oh, you’ll see for
yourself, don’t worry.” He tipped the cup, drained it and replaced it with a
clang on the saucer. “Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?”
“For goodness sake, lad, to go to the lake!” Hoven threw his arms up, before pushing
himself awkwardly out of his chair.
“I keep telling you,” Jack said. “I’m not going
to the lake.”
“Just come with me,” Hoven tapped him on the
head with his stick. “I want to show you something.”
Jack didn’t move.
“Have a little faith,” Hoven straightened his
cap and hobbled to the door, Pic bounding afterwards. “You won’t regret it.”
“Fine,” Jack sighed, getting up.
In Drail what he was doing would be considered
incredibly dangerous. Hoven was clearly mad by normal standards, and any rational
thought was screaming at Jack that he should get away. But he would need
friends if he was going to find Bruno.
He marched down the corridor and back outside.
The air felt fresh after the staleness of the house, and he breathed in
gratefully. Hoven was already down the road at the monument, waving his stick
in Jack’s direction. Jack carefully avoided the small animal skeletons as he
went.
“Come on! Come on!” Hoven waved his stick
wildly.
He hobbled over to a stone well with a miniature
red triangular roof to match the houses.
“Look!” he pointed into it with a bony finger.
Jack arrived and leant on the circular brick
wall next to Pic. He peered over into the wells depths but instead of the black
he’d expected, the bottom of the well was flickering with all the colours of
the rainbow. Brightness bounced off the walls all the way up, shining like hundreds
of tiny bright diamonds.
Jack peered down in wonder, as an intense
feeling of contentment washed over him, assuring him that everything was going
to be OK.
“What is it?” he asked, dreamily.
“You like it?” Hoven was also leaning over the
edge. “It is but a fraction of the beauty of the lake. And that calmness you
feel is a fraction of the peace you’ll feel there.”
Jack didn’t want to imagine a time when he
would no longer be looking into the well. The desire to get closer caused him
to lean further over the wall. If he could just reach out and touch the colours…
Suddenly his feet left the ground and he
lurched, falling. He called out, startled, before a bony hand grabbed hold of
his shoulder and pulled him back.
“You wouldn’t be the first,” Hoven said kindly.
“The pull is powerful. So what do you say? Will you give the lake a go?”
Jack’s head was fuzzy and he already longed to look into the well again. “I
could, I suppose.”
“Excellent!” Hoven wheezed triumphantly,
jumping a little off the ground and plunging his stick into the air once more.
“Pic will show you the way. You won’t regret it, not ever, I promise!”
The piccolo sprang to the floor, ready.
“And for a bit of company,” Hoven tapped the
instrument lightly with his stick, fiery sparks shooting out of its buttons and
holes.
Pic immediately began to play a happy, bouncy
tune, so light and lovely, the most beautiful sound Jack had ever heard. As Pic
began on his way, and the music got quieter, Jack went willingly after.
“Safe journeys,” Hoven called, donning his cap.
Jack pursued Pic’s beautiful song out of the
town, the opposite way from where they had come in. They emerged out into more
barren wasteland, heading in the direction of the black mountains. Jack bounced
along after Pic without a worry, following for hours through the dirt and dust.
He didn’t mind that he was thirsty and tired, or that he didn’t really know
where he was going.
They passed a dead tree with two vultures
sitting up in its spiky branches. Their beady yellow eyes pierced Jack as he
passed. One of them let out a low squawk, but neither moved from their perches.
“This is a weird place,” Jack remarked, picking
up a stick and following the piccolo’s happy sound.
A strip of green finally became visible running
along the bottom of the nearing mountains, taking shape into trees and bushes.
The red sun dipped low, fading behind the mountain tops. Out of nowhere, one of the vultures swooped
down towards them, and both Jack and Pic had to dive to the floor.
“Ahh!” Jack shouted, grabbing Pic and looking
around for a place to shelter, expecting the bird to swoop again at any second.
When he looked up, however, it had gone back to
sit with its friend on the dead tree.
“Strange,” said Jack, holding the trembling
Pic, whose tune had stopped. “It’s OK,” he comforted.
Doubts seeped into his mind and he began to
feel awful. Who was Hoven? Why was he going to this lake? Where was he going to
sleep? Perhaps in a tree, he thought, grimly imagining jamming himself awkwardly
between two branches, being attacked by bugs and then falling out once he
finally got to sleep. He thought of his bed at home.
It’s not safe there, he told himself sternly.
Jack looked up at the mountains and saw a trail
of smoke snaking up into the sky from a source hidden under the trees. People
were up there, people who might know Bruno. Without thinking he altered his
direction and began towards it. As soon as he did, Pic stopped, beckoning him
in the direction they had been going before.
“No Pic,” said Jack. “I wanna see what’s up
there.”
Pic beckoned again, persistent, and bounded on.
Jack stayed still, looking up at the trail of smoke. There might be a bed to
sleep in up there. There might be someone to talk to, someone who could help.
Pic came back and clunked him on the leg.
“Seriously!” Jack said, grabbing Pic so he
couldn’t move his stringy arms. “What’s with you? That’s really no way to make
friends. I’m not gonna follow you just because some crazy old man told me to. I’m
looking for Bruno, remember?”
The piccolo squirmed in his hand.
“What is it you want to say?” Jack said.
Pic retracted his arms and legs willingly and
Jack blew into the hole.
“Smoke
leads to fire and fire leads to trouble.
Let
me take you away from the rubble.”
“I just want to look,” Jack said. “Anyway, I’m
sick of talking to you, you’re making me feel like a nutter.”
Pic’s arms and legs came out again. He dropped
to the ground, drooping sadly.
“C’mon mate,” Jack said. “I need somewhere to
sleep, that’s all. We can always go to the lake afterwards.” He took his bag
off his back. “I’m gonna put you in here for a bit. Can’t be doing with you
hitting me again.”
Pic didn’t protest.
Soon Jack reached the trees, which had emerald
green heart shaped leaves the size of his head. The smell of fire was in the
air as he climbed up the mountain towards the trail of smoke snaking up into
the sky.
A few minutes later faint singing became
audible through the trees. A slow, wordless chant, with a deep drum keeping
time. It got gradually louder and louder as Jack climbed, until it was all
around. He emerged out of the trees onto a flat rock, the entrance of a cave.
The large cave opening was lit up with coloured
fairy lights and flickering flame torches. Inside were a group of about twenty
people, sitting round a camp fire, singing. Shadows danced on the walls,
mirroring the swaying people. They all had bushy dark hair and were wearing
brown or green clothes. A man in a bandana and gold hoop earrings was banging
the beat on a large drum. Another man played a handheld one, his head bowed as
he concentrated on tapping out the rhythm. A man and woman on the other side of
the circle had guitars. The sound was repetitive and comforting and before Jack
realised it, he began to bob up and down on the balls of his feet.
Along the inner left wall of the cave a long
table was piled with the leftovers of a feast. Jack’s stomach growled, the
bread and jam he’d eaten back at home feeling like a long time ago. In another
world, in fact. He wondered then if his Mum and Dad even knew he was gone.
He considered going into the cave and saying
hello. The people didn’t look unfriendly and would hopefully give him some
food. But his Mum had always taught him and Fay about stranger danger. Years
ago she’d caught them talking to a woman on the street who was engaged in
conversation with a black cat. Their Mum had dragged them away by the scruff of
their necks, livid. “Don’t you know you could’ve been abducted!” she’d
said.
What must she be thinking now? Had she called
the police? To be fair, she was probably still at work and didn’t even know
yet. Although soon enough she would be going out of her mind with worry. Jack pushed
the thought away.
He was so preoccupied that it was only then
that he noticed a girl standing a few metres away, watching him. She was
barefoot and still as a statue, her shadow magnifying a huge mass of dark,
curly hair.
“What’re you doing?” Jack said, louder than
he’d meant.
“What are you
doing?” the girl said back.
“Why are you watching me?”
“You’re the one who’s looking into my house,”
the girl came closer.
“You live here?” Jack asked.
The girl tilted her head slightly. “Of course I
do. But you don’t.”
“No, I don’t. Why aren’t you in there?”
“I don’t have to be,” the girl said.
“Sorry,” Jack shrugged. “It looks like fun,
that’s all.”
The girl turned towards the cave, her dark eyes
shining. “Where are you from?”
“How do you know I’m not from here?”
The girl looked at Jack’s hoody and backpack
with a lopsided smile, tilting her head again. “You look funny.”
“So do you,” Jack shot back.
But the girl’s attention was on the cave again,
on a woman who had entered from one of the hallways at the back. She was
totally unlike the others and was wearing a short, sequined red dress and
sparkly high heels. The thick dark braid of hair that reached down her back was
scattered with red flowers and dots that glimmered as they caught the light.
The dark eye make-up and red lipstick reminded Jack of Fay.
The music and singing stopped, as everyone
watched her. She clip-clopped to the entrance of the cave, swaying her hips and
pouting. Then she posed and walked back, twirling and running her hands up her
body and through her hair with a radiant smile.
“Thank you! Thank you!” she waved, as if to a
crowd.
“Urgh,” Carla looked away.
“What?” said Jack, still watching.
The girl gritted her teeth, looking out into
the sky.
“What’s the big deal?” asked Jack.
“Stop looking at my Mum!” the girl yanked
Jack’s shoulder away.
“Sorry,” Jack rubbed the back of his neck,
embarrassed. “I didn’t know.”
“Just go home,” she didn’t look back towards
the cave.
“I can’t really do that.”
“Why?”
“I’m from Drail.”
“Where?”
“Haven’t you heard of Drail?” Jack was sure she
must be messing with him.
“No,” the girl raised an eyebrow. “It sounds
ridiculous.”
“Well—” Jack was about to retort, but then
thought about it. “Yes, it is.” He gestured out down the mountain. “It’s
somewhere out there. Past the wastelands and the forest with the tigers. I was
there this morning.”
“This story gets more and more unbelievable,”
Carla reached down to pick up a pebble, throwing it out into the darkness. “Do
you wanna come and see Mother Gray with me?” she said, offhand.
“Who’s Mother Gray?”
“She’s great,” the girl leapt onto a ledge of
rock behind Jack, pulling herself up effortlessly. “Unless of course you’d
rather stay here and watch my Mum.”
She climbed nimbly up the rock, her dark curly
hair cascading down her back. Soon she had disappeared out of sight.
Jack peered up. The music in the cave had begun
again and the woman in the red dress was gone. Momentarily he glanced at the
food, but didn’t do anything about it. He
wanted to know more about the girl. The girl with no shoes and bushy wild hair
that looked like it had never been introduced to a hairbrush. The girl who
claimed to never have heard of Drail.
“I don’t wanna watch your Mum!” he
called, cringing at the high pitched tone of his voice.
He found a piece of rock to grab on to, but as
he pulled himself up it came away in his hand and he stumbled back down. A playful
giggle came from above.
“Whatever,” he grumbled, trying again.
This time the rock face held still and allowed
him to climb. He’d only done this once before on an indoor activities trip with
school and now he remembered why he had never wanted to do it again. The
intense effort of holding his own weight with the tips of his fingers and edges
of his feet was almost too much to take. He wished he at least had a harness on.
After a few very long minutes, he gratefully
reached the top of the rock. With a final push he scrambled to his feet,
brushing his stinging hands together lightly to get rid of the dirt and small
pieces of rock, trying not to show the pain.
The girl was standing there, hands on hips,
grinning. “Glad you could join me.”
“What are you, some kind of monkey?” Jack said.
“It’s this way,” the girl continued to grin.
Then she was off again, skipping weightlessly across the rock.
Jack followed behind, feeling clumsy and
awkward. They came to a thin rickety bridge with planks missing, which led to
another platform and cave. Below was a drop of at least twenty metres into the
treetops.
“Can you handle this?” the girl teased.
“Course I can,” Jack lied.
The girl stepped nimbly out onto the bridge, as
if she hadn’t even noticed the drop. Jack gripped the rope sides as he stepped
one plank at a time. The whole thing juddered as the girl practically skipped
across. Jack didn’t let himself look down. His knees were shaking and he had stopped
breathing altogether, sure that he was going to slip.
The girl was on the other side, watching him
with a big smile on her face. Finally Jack stepped out onto solid ground.
“Don’t like heights much, do you?” she said.
Jack didn’t trust his voice to answer.
The girl ran off through the trees. Jack went
slowly, glad that she wasn’t watching him anymore. He came out of the trees
onto another flat opening to a cave, where the girl was talking to an old,
hunched over woman, with lots of deep wrinkles in her skin and long white hair
braided down her back. She was dressed in black baggy trousers and a black
t-shirt, also with no shoes.
“Here he is,” the girl said. “He’s a bit slow.”
“I’m not, you’re stupidly fast,” retorted Jack.
The old woman smiled a shiny white smile.
“Nice to meet you,” her voice sounded younger
than she looked. She came forwards and held out her old, wrinkly hand. “I’m
Mother Gray. I can see where you’re from.”
“I’m Jack,” he shook her hand lightly. “What do
you mean?”
But before Mother Gray could reply the sky
darkened as a huge moving black mass filled it, getting rapidly bigger until
Jack could make out the flapping wings and sharp beaks of hundreds of birds.
The cawing and squawking got louder and louder as they flew straight towards
him.
The last thing Jack saw before he crouched and
covered his head was Mother Gray laughing.
“No!” he shouted, as claws dug into his skin.
Chapter 4- You’re From North West?
Jack stayed crouched, head huddled in his arms,
as the cawing, flapping and scratching continued. He was so sure that he was
going to be pecked to pieces that he didn’t stop to think if they were actually
hurting him or not. Arms pulled him up and he didn’t resist, allowing them to
guide him away, whilst he kept his head covered.
“You came just in time,” Mother Gray said,
pushing him gently into the mouth of the cave. “Not a fan of birds I see,” she
chuckled. “It’s a terrible shame, they love socializing with humans.”
Only then did Jack take his hands away from his
face. “What?”
Mother Gray was standing close, a kind
expression on her wrinkled face. “Oh they love to chatter.”
The birds were flocking around the entrance to
the cave, circling the flat platform where the girl was standing, unfazed.
“If you give them a chance they’ll tell you all
sorts of stories,” Mother Gray said. “In fact, I bet they’ve got a story or two
about you.”
Jack watched the birds flying around, flinching
as they swooped and dived. They were mainly pigeons, grey and black. There were
so many that he couldn’t see the edge of the platform, or the trees on the
slope of the mountainside.
“Nice to meet you Jack,” the girl came over.
“Jack’s a funny name.”
“No it isn’t,” Jack retorted.
“Were you at the party with Carla?” Mother Gray
asked.
“Kind of,” Jack said. He looked back at the girl.
“Jack isn’t as funny as Carla.”
“Yes it is,” Carla said. “So what’s the big
problem with birds?”
“They’re vermin,” Jack couldn’t disguise the
disgust in his voice.
“Don’t you know this, Carla?” Mother Gray said.
“Where Jack’s from they kill birds.”
“No!” Carla said, shocked.
Mother Gray frowned. “I thought you were a good
student.”
Carla made a face.
“If we didn’t we’d be overrun,” said Jack.
“There are so many pigeons in the Grand Square, it’s disgusting. The shooters
would have this lot in minutes.”
“I’m quite sure they would,” Mother Gray said.
“That’s why these darlings are here, they’re refugees.”
Jack fought back a laugh.
“It’s not funny,” Carla said.
Mother Gray shuffled inside the cave,
disappearing into the darkness and reemerging moments later with a bulbous brown
paper bag. She bent and placed it carefully on the floor. Carla undid the
string around the top and opened it a fraction, plunging her hand in and
pulling a fist back out. She went onto the platform, throwing her hand up and
sending thousands of tiny yellow seeds into the air. They fell, scattering to
the floor like the patter of rain. The birds dived madly and Jack instinctively
dived too, behind a boulder at the mouth of the cave. Carla and Mother Gray
laughed.
“Don’t you want to have a go?” Carla called
over the noise as she enthusiastically threw more seeds in the air. “They won’t
hurt you, they’re only birds.”
“Gross,” Jack said under his breath, staying
safely crouched behind the boulder.
“I think he’s the one you’ve been waiting for!”
Mother Gray called to Carla.
Carla looked embarrassed. “I don’t think so.” She
threw more seeds, the birds trying to catch them in mid-air. “They’re getting
better at this, Mother Gray!”
“Yes,” Mother Gray agreed.
The feeding went on for ten minutes and gradually
Jack began to relax as he saw that the birds were not interested in him.
“They’re never gonna die out if you keep
feeding them,” he said, but no one heard him.
Eventually Carla and Mother Gray stopped
throwing the seeds. The birds continued to search and peck at the floor for a
while, then after seeming to come to an unspoken consensus, they took flight, a
mass of grey and black soaring off into the sky.
“You can come out now,” Mother Gray clapped her
hands together to get the leftover seeds off.
Jack stood up and came out of the cave,
straightening his hoodie.
“How can you not like birds?” Carla said.
“I didn’t think anyone liked them,” said Jack.
“Especially an army like that.”
For the first time, Jack was able to see the
view. The platform ended about five metres away, giving way to a steep
downwards slope, covered in emerald green trees. Out beyond that, far away at
the foot of the mountain was a wide plain of grey rock and barren land, dark
with the shadows of dusk. It was the wasteland he’d come through earlier that
day. In the distance he saw the town, with its tiny red bricked houses and
surrounding wall. He wondered what Hoven was doing now. He also wondered if he
should’ve gone to the Lake of Colours.
Further away than that was a mass of green that
had to be the meadow and the forest. It seemed impossible he’d come all that
way in a single day. And beyond that…
“What’s that tall shiny thing?” he pointed at
the tower that shimmered gold in the fading light.
“That’s the Watch-Tower,” Carla said matter-of-factly. “And to the left’s the
Ever Turning Wheel, see?”
Jack looked in the direction Carla was pointing
and sure enough, he saw a glistening golden circle.
“It’s not moving,” he said.
“You can’t tell from this far away,” Mother
Gray said. “It turns though, always. Of that you can be sure.”
“It never stops,” put in Carla.
Jack looked at the two colossal golden
structures, so bright that he had to squint to look at them.
“Where’s Drail?”
“Not that again,” Carla sighed.
“It’s where I’m from!” said Jack.
“What is Drail, exactly?” Carla said
loudly.
“It’s what we call North West,” Mother Gray
answered, turning her attention back to Jack. “You mean to say you’ve come all
this way on your own?”
“Yes.”
“Well that can’t have been easy,” Mother Gray
stroked her long white braid of hair. “How did you find the way?”
“I don’t know,” answered Jack. “I just did.”
He didn’t want to tell them about Pic, not yet anyway.
“You’re from North West?” said Carla, amazed. “Is
it true that North West people never stop working? That they bow to the
all-powerful small, round, golden shiny thing?”
“What?” said Jack.
Carla clicked her fingers trying to remember.
“You know, that thing that you have, it’s small and round and shiny and golden
and everyone needs it to do things and they want more and more of it.”
“Are you’re talking about money?” said Jack.
“Yes!” Carla jumped and pointed her finger at
him.
“We don’t bow down to it,” said Jack.
“Do you need it for clothes?” Mother Gray asked.
“Yes,” replied Jack.
“And for food?”
“Yes.”
“And what about if you don’t have any of it?”
Jack considered the question. “Then you’re in
trouble.”
“Is there anything that people want more than
money?” Mother Gray continued.
Jack thought again. “They want nice houses and
stuff.”
“And how do you get nice houses and stuff?”
Mother Gray said.
Jack paused. “With money.”
“So you do
bow down to mo-ney?” Carla said the last word slowly, as if testing it out.
“No,” Jack said quickly. “I don’t.”
“I bet you even carry it round with you,” said
Carla.
“Yes,” said Jack, but that doesn’t mean—”
“I bet you’ve got it with you right now!” Carla
hopped up and down on the spot. “Show me!”
Jack sighed, taking his backpack off. He pulled
out a few Drail dollar coins and held them in the palm of his hand.
“Ooh, shiny,” said Carla. “Can I have it?”
“No!” Jack closed his fist.
“Ah-ha!” said Carla. “You do worship it!”
“No I don’t. I just need it.”
“It’s OK, Jack,” said Mother Gray. “That’s just
how it is in Drail, isn’t it?”
Jack hesitated, then handed Carla a dollar. She
took it disbelievingly.
“Really?”
“Have it,” Jack put the rest back in his bag.
Carla gazed admiringly at the coin, holding it out
towards the Ever Turning Wheel, rotating it slowly. “I’ve never met a person
from North West before.”
“Yes you have,” Mother Gray corrected. “You’ve
met me.”
“You’re from Drail?” Jack asked, amazed.
“Yes,” Mother Gray nodded.
“Oh yes, I forgot,” Carla said. “But I meant
I’ve never met someone new, someone young.”
“Well thank you very much,” Mother Gray smiled.
“Of course I don’t blame you for valuing youth. Us oldies are so very stuck in
our ways and opinions.”
“And armchairs,” Jack spoke without meaning to,
thinking of his Grandma.
Carla laughed, slapping her hand over her mouth
to stifle it. Mother Gray on the other hand gave Jack a disapproving look.
“We don’t all lock our elderly up to rot in
homes,” she said.
“I...I didn’t mean it,” Jack backtracked.
“No harm done,” Mother Gray shuffled over to a
wood pile in the corner. “You don’t know any better.”
Jack wanted to ask what she meant by that, but
didn’t want his big mouth to get him in any more trouble.
Instead he said, “Why is everything so dead
over there? What happened to the people in the town?”
“Ran away, didn’t they?” Carla spoke proudly.
“Yes,” Mother Gray nodded. “And can you tell us
why?”
Without waiting for an answer, Mother Gray shuffled
over to the shallow pit in the middle of the platform and threw some wood in
it. Going into the cave, she came back with three soft purple cushions, placing
them around the fire pit. She sat down, leant forwards and from nowhere
suddenly a healthy fire was burning.
Carla sat down too. “It was near the end of the
Great War,” she said confidently. “North West was losing, so they invaded
Neem—that’s the town down there—and cut down all their trees for weapons.”
“So you do pay attention to your
lessons!” Mother Gray patted Carla on the shoulder.
“Yes, I do.”
Mother Gray looked at Jack. “In the eighties it
was a wonderful place. Lush green trees, fields, a thriving community. They
never bothered anyone and no one bothered them. But of course, they had the
soil.”
“What—” Jack stopped, as he realised that he
didn’t know which of the many questions in his head to ask first.
“And in the end none of it helped,” continued
Mother Gray. “At least it didn’t help Drail. They still lost.”
“What war are you talking about?” Jack was utterly confused.
“The war,”
Carla said.
“The great war of the eighties. Don’t you know
it?” said Mother Gray.
“Of course I do,” Jack didn’t want to look like
an idiot. “We didn’t lose though.”
Mother Gray chuckled. “I suppose that’s what
they would teach you. Now come and
sit by the fire.”
The air was quite cold in the fading light and Jack
was glad of the invitation. He sat on the remaining cushion, instantly warmed
by the heat emanating from the flickering orange flames. Carla and Mother Gray
were both quietly watching the fire. Jack rested his head on his hand and did
the same, the crackling and dancing of the flames soothing. Then Mother Gray
threw something into the fire, causing bright crackling sparks of blue to shoot
out.
“Woah!” Jack leant back.
“So why are you here?” Mother Gray reached into
her pocket and threw another handful of whatever it was into the flames, this
time resulting in green sparks.
“I’m—” Jack started.
“Wait
boy, give me a chance!” she cut him off. “It’s not every day I get an
opportunity like this.” Mother Gray closed her eyes, concentrating, her hands
going to her temples. “You’re on a quest. You feel pushed out by your family,
especially your sister.”
Jack’s mouth dropped open. “How did you
know?”
“I’m not finished,” Mother Gray said. She threw
another handful, sending out purple sparks. “But why…why…I can’t put my finger
on it.”
She blew on the fire and the flames tamed back
to normal.
“I’m losing it. It’s my age I’m sure,” she
looked exasperated. “What are you looking for, dear? I’m afraid you’ll have to
tell me.”
“Well,” Jack thought about it. “I don’t really
know.”
“A-ha!” Mother Gray beamed. “No wonder I
couldn’t figure it out. You have to give me something to work with, for
goodness sake.”
“I’m sorry?” said Jack. “I’m looking for a friend.
His name’s Bruno.”
“Fascinating,” Mother Gray’s eyes glistened
over the flames of the fire. “And this Bruno, is he human or animal?”
“Human!” said Jack. “I met him on holiday. He’s
been writing me letters and that’s how I found out about everything. That’s why
I left.”
“Wonderful,” Mother Gray nodded as if she
understood.
“Do you know him?” asked Jack.
“No, I can’t say that I do. But then unless he
lives in the mountains I’m not likely to.”
“Maybe you can help me,” Jack took his backpack
off, feeling a twinge of excitement. “He writes in codes, and sometimes I can’t
work out what he’s on about.”
He rifled through his bag, catching a shimmer
of Pic, lying there motionless. Taking the wad of letters out he found the one
he wanted and passed it to Mother Gray. She surveyed it at arms-length,
squinting.
“It seems your friend Bruno is a clever one,”
she said. “A code is of utmost importance in delicate matters such as these.”
“Do you know what it means?” Jack moved closer,
pointing at the holes in the bottom of the page, small squares running across
the length.
“I’m afraid to say I don’t,” Mother Gray said.
“Oh,” Jack couldn’t hide his disappointment.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, at the right
time.” Mother Gray ran her hand along the holes. “So what’s your plan? Where
will you go?”
“I don’t know,” Jack said, taking the letter
back.
“Let’s see if I can help with that.” Once again
Mother Gray picked something out of her pocket and threw it in the fire. This
time, a silver orb the size of a baseball hovered near the top of the flames,
swirling slowly round and round.
She closed her eyes, concentrating and when she
spoke her voice was softer. “He’s here, somewhere, of that I can be sure. It’s dark,
too dark to say where, exactly.”
“Are you talking about Bruno?” said Jack, not
sure what was going on.
“Your friend, yes,” said Mother Gray. “Seek out
an old friend of a new one. They can help.”
“You could go and see Mo!” Carla jumped up.
“Hmmm,” said Mother Gray, as the hovering orb promptly
sank and melted to nothing.
“He’s my Dad’s friend,” Carla said. “He’s
really clever and knows loads of stuff. I’m sure he could help you.”
“A great idea,” said Mother Gray. “Which would
make you the new friend, I suppose?”
“No!” said Carla.
“Perhaps it would be a good idea for you to go
too.”
“I’ve got school!” Carla shot back.
“Ha!” Mother
Gray’s eyes sparkled in the firelight.
“I don’t know
anything about him!” said Carla. “How can I just go with him? He’s strange!”
“Thanks a lot,” said Jack.
“Oh, I think he’s alright,” said Mother Gray.
“I told you he might just be the one you’ve been waiting for. Have you
forgotten what the orb said last time? You’re not the only one who has trouble
with their parents. Might be you’re after the same thing.”
“Has your Mum—or your
Dad—got Spratsy?” Carla asked.
“What—? No.” Jack said quickly, adding, “At
least I don’t think so.”
“See,” Carla snapped at Mother Gray. “He
doesn’t have my problem. No one does.”
“Isn’t there a part of you that’s curious about
whether I’m right?” said Mother Gray. “Strikes me as the perfect opportunity.
You know you haven’t got much time.”
“But my brothers—”
“I’ll look after Tak and Finn while you’re
gone. Little tykes don’t mess around when they know I’ve got my beady eye on
them. Nor does your mother, for that matter.”
“You’re crazy,” said Carla. “I bet Jack doesn’t
want me tagging along with him, anyway.”
“I don’t mind,” Jack studied a small stone on
the ground near him. “Only if you want to.”
He couldn’t help thinking that having someone
who knew their way around, who knew where to sleep at night, might be really
good, but he kept his face neutral.
“Maybe,” Carla narrowed her eyes at Mother
Gray. “Why do you want to get rid of me so badly?”
“You’ve been waiting for this,” said Mother
Gray. “We both have.”
“Why don’t you go then?”
“You know I would if I could. I’d do anything to
help you. But I’m old, Carla.”
Carla sighed. “It’s time to be getting back.”
She looked at Jack. “You can stay at our house if you want?”
“Oh,” the invite filled Jack with surprise,
followed by intense relief. “Would that be OK?”
“It’s fine. My Mum won’t care. And we’ve got a
spare room.” Carla said. “We’d better go. See you soon Mother Gray. Or not, if
you’ve got anything to do with it.”
“It was just a suggestion,” Mother Gray pulled
Carla into a hug. “You know I’ll miss you terribly if you go. I just don’t want
you to leave it until it’s too late.”
“I know,” Jack heard Carla’s muffled voice, her
head buried in Mother Gray’s hair.
“It might help the restlessness. I don’t believe
Jack landed here by accident.”
She let Carla go, and Carla wiped her eyes roughly
with her fist. “You’re probably right.”
“Promise me you’ll think about it?”
Carla nodded and began walking back to the
trees.
“It was nice to meet you Jack,” said Mother
Gray. “Take care of yourself.”
And before he knew what was going on, she was
hugging him. As embarrassed as he was, he didn’t fight it, taken aback by how
comforted he felt.
When Mother Gray let him go, Jack turned and
walked to the trees, muttering, “Bye.”
He wasn’t keen on going back over the rickety
bridge, but Carla was already on the other side waiting for him. Below was
black now, the prospect of falling even more terrifying than before. Again he clutched
the ropes and tried not to look down. Even though it was a little easier this
time, he was glad when he reached the other side.
Carla craned her neck, looking up at the sky. Jack
copied, a gasp escaping his mouth when he saw the thousands of twinkling stars.
“That’s wicked,” he said. “Is it real?”
“Of course it is!” said Carla.
“Nothing but clouds in Drail.”
“You haven’t got stars?”
Jack shrugged. “I guess they were always up
there somewhere.”
“Let’s lie down,” said Carla.
“Isn’t it dirty?” Jack looked around them at
the hard, rocky floor.
Carla laughed. “No. Come on.” She stretched out
on the ground with her hands above her head. “It’s the only way to take them in
properly.”
Jack stood their awkwardly.
“Come on!” said Carla. “Lie down!”
Figuring there was no one there to judge him,
Jack lay down. He could hardly believe how many stars there were. Twinkling
dots that stretched the length of the sky.
“This is so cool.”
Carla pointed out some of the constellations
while Jack listened, taking it all in. They stayed for ages until a cold wind
made Carla shiver.
“Let’s go,” she said.
They climbed back down to the entrance to
Carla’s cave. The party was still going, although the music had mellowed and
there were less people. Carla’s mum was twirling and dancing around the fire.
“Hey Mum,” Carla touched her lightly on the
arm.
Her Mum stopped and wheeled round, her eyebrows
creasing as she looked at Carla. Then recognition flashed across her face.
“My baby!” she cried. “Dance with me!”
“I’m OK,” Carla stepped back.
“And who’s this handsome young man?” her Mum
shrieked excitedly.
She took Jack’s hand and turned herself under
his arm, with some difficulty as she was much taller than him in her heels.
“This is Jack,” said Carla. “He’s gonna stay at
ours tonight, if that’s alright?”
“Wonderful!” Carla’s Mum smiled. “Why don’t we all move to North West together in
the morning? The parties are much better there, and everything is cleaner and
more organized and much, much more elegant! Oh, say you will!”
Carla frowned
as her Mum giggled and danced
away. “She’s obsessed.”
A couple of steps later Carla’s Mum lost her
footing and fell heavily onto one of the musicians, knocking the guitar clean
out of his hands.
“How mortifying!” she scrambled up from the
floor, brushing the front of her dress with her hands. “Please forgive me.”
“It’s fine,” said the musician, picking up his
guitar.
Carla went over to her. “You should go to bed
soon.”
Her Mum tipped her head back and laughed, as if
this were the funniest thing she’d heard in a long time. When she recovered she
leant in close to Jack. “You don’t get this sort of caveman gathering in North
West. We have to go there.”
“Goodnight Mum,” Carla said.
Her Mum’s face changed, eyes glazing over. “Why
are you always so patronizing?”
“I’m not,” Carla’s voice was small.
“I don’t appreciate it. I’m a somebody, you
know!” her Mum said angrily. “I’m famous and you have to do what I say!”
“I’m your daughter.”
“You’re nothing!” Carla’s Mum was irate now. “I’m
the one who matters. You don’t matter if nobody knows about you!”
At that, Carla turned and walked deeper into
the cave. “Come on Jack.”
“What was she on about?” Jack asked as he
followed, but Carla shook her head hard, her dark curls swaying fast from side
to side. At the back of the cave was a corridor lit with hovering
multi-coloured lights.
Carla led Jack to a round room with more lights and a window that looked out on
a forest. There was a round desk, a fluffy purple rug and a bed with soft
silver pillows.
“You can sleep here,” said Carla. “Are you
hungry? I’m sorry, I forgot to ask.”
“I’m fine,” Jack fibbed, suddenly very hungry
and tired all at the same time.
As if sensing the lie Carla said, “Wait here,”
and rushed out of the room.
Jack lay on the bed looking out at the stars,
incredibly grateful to be there. Soon Carla came back with a glass of water and
what looked like a burger, only with orange meat.
“It’s fakey,” she said, but when he looked at
her blankly, added, “It’s a meat substitute?”
“Thanks,” said Jack.
“Well, goodnight,” Carla went to the door and
stopped. “Jack?”
“Yes?”
She looked like she was deciding whether or not
to say something. A few moments passed until she said, “Do you mind if I come with you?”
“Not at all,” Jack tried not to smile.
Carla nodded once, deliberately. “I’m just
thinking,” she said, leaving the room and closing the door behind her.
Jack sat on the bed eating his burger, which
tasted a lot like beef. He thought sleepily about what had happened in the last
twenty four hours. Had he really been at home this time last night? It seemed
impossible. Spying on the Team Teen meeting seemed like ages ago. And then
there was Alfred and the things he’d said. Jack still hadn’t digested the fact that
he’d actually plucked up the courage to go into the forest. Then there was the
tiger and the bullets and Hoven Notes, and now Carla. He felt so much better
knowing that she might come with him, that he might not have to be alone. Wherever
he was headed and whatever he might find, he could certainly do with some
company.
He finished his burger and put the plate on the
side, clambering into bed. As tired as he was, however, he couldn’t sleep. He
lay there wondering what Mo would be like and whether he would have any of the
answers Jack was after. He’d discovered so much in one day that he couldn’t
imagine what the next day had in store. Then he thought about his parents. Did
they know he was missing yet? Had they informed the authorities? If so, a
search party would be already be out. Would they think to look for him here?
Would they even know how?
His final thought as he fell asleep was of his
Mum whispering goodnight to him in the darkness of this strange, wonderfully
new place.
Chapter 5- Two’s Company
Jack awoke from a deep sleep to the sound of
Carla shouting elsewhere in the cave.
“Get down! How many times do I have to tell
you? And you! Yes, you have to go to school!”
He sat up, rubbing his groggy head, the sky
outside the window still dark. After shoving on his clothes and attempting to
sort out his sticking up hair, he grabbed his bag and left the bedroom, heading
down the corridor in the direction of Carla’s voice.
“Seriously, I won’t ask you again. Get down!”
Jack turned right at the end of the corridor
into the kitchen. It had a huge fire oven, with pots, pans and utensils hanging
all over the walls. Carla was standing next to the counter in the middle,
looking angrily upwards.
Above the counter a rack hung from the ceiling,
also covered with utensils. A skinny boy with the same dark, wild curly hair as
Carla was swinging upside down from it by his legs, laughing. There was
another, identical boy in the corner, jumping up and down wearing nothing but
his underwear. He was grinning from ear to ear and clapping his hands together.
“Do the monkey!” he giggled. “Do the monkey!”
To which the boy hanging upside down put one
hand on his head and the other under his armpit, proceeding to make monkey
noises, “ooh ooh ah ah!”
“For goodness sake,” Carla rubbed her head, then noticing Jack standing in the
doorway. “Oh, hi, good morning. Welcome to my life,” she sighed. “Boys, this is
just embarrassing now! This is my friend Jack. I’m sorry,” she looked at Jack.
“Did you sleep well?” She looked up again. “Could you two try and act like
humans for a minute and say hi?”
The boys glanced at each other, as if silently
discussing what their answer would be. Simultaneously they shrugged their shoulders
at Carla and said, “Sure.”
With that the one on the ceiling flipped
himself upright and back down to the floor, landing perfectly on his feet.
The two boys, who Jack guessed were about eight
years old, were exactly the same height, with the same curly unkempt dark hair and
the same front tooth missing. The only difference was that one had green eyes
and the other dark brown, like Carla’s.
“This is Jack,” Carla said.
“Hi Jack!” the boys chimed.
“Do you like climbing?”
“Do you like adventures?”
“Do you like monsters?”
“Do you like dragons?”
Jack laughed, not knowing which of the boys to
focus on or which question to answer.
“What are your names?” he asked.
“I’m Tak and he’s Finn,” said the one with
green eyes, who’d been hanging upside down on the ceiling.
“Carla’s brothers?”
“Well actually she’s our sister,” said the one with the dark brown eyes, Finn.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Jack.
“Pleased to meet you to,” the boys said, again
together.
After that the questions began again.
“Are you going to school today?”
“Do you go to the same one as Carla?”
“Do you use the link up or do you go there in
person?”
“Do you hate it too?”
“No,” said Jack, answering all the questions at
once. “I’m not going to school today.”
“See,” Finn stuck his tongue out at Carla.
“School’s stupid.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Carla let out another
exasperated sigh. “You have to go.”
“You can’t make us,” said Finn.
“Yeah,” agreed Tak. “You’re not Mum.”
“I know I’m not,” Carla said, tiredly. “Where
is she?”
“Dunno,” Tak shrugged. “She’s not in her bed.”
“Can it get any worse?” Carla whispered to
herself. “Have some breakfast, Jack. I just need to pack some things.”
She went out of the kitchen, leaving Jack with
the two boys.
“What do you want?” asked Tak. “We’ve got kinkle,
kane, snaffleberries, wheat gern flats, fried fakey…” he pointed as he spoke at
the vast array of bright foods on the counter, none of which Jack recognised.
“I don’t know,” said Jack. “I’m pretty thirsty
though.”
“One mixed mountain shake coming up!” announced
Finn, as the pair of them began throwing random ingredients into a blender, as
if playing basketball.
“That’s enough!” Finn slammed the lid on
protectively, as Tak made to throw something large and squishy in.
Finn pressed the button and the blender whizzed
loudly for a few seconds. He poured the smooth, luminous turquoise mixture into
a tall glass.
“What is it?” Jack took it tentatively,
inspecting it closer.
“It’s a high powered fruit ‘n’ root shake,”
said Finn.
“Respected and regularly drank throughout the
mountains!” added Tak.
“One a day keeps the Spratsy away!” they sang
together, finishing with a laugh.
“Great,” Jack took a cautious sip.
To his surprise it tasted amazing. It was sweet
with a hint of sour and a vast array of fruits, with an intriguing hint of what
Jack could only describe as earth. He
drank it until it was finished, clapping the glass back down on the table and
wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve.
“Thanks, that was great.”
“What do
you want to eat?” asked Tak. “How about fakey cutlets and hollinger sticks?”
Despite his misgivings, Jack had enjoyed the
fakey burger he’d had the night before, although he had no idea what the other
thing was they were offering him.
“Yes please, why not,” he said.
The boys looked delighted at this and proceeded
to bounce around the kitchen as they prepared the food. Only ten minutes later they
proudly presented him with a richly colourful meal, piled high with unfamiliar
food, all cut into triangles and stars.
“Thanks,” Jack began eating. Once again,
despite his misgivings, he found that everything on his plate tasted great.
“This is really good,” he mumbled through a mouthful.
Carla returned then, a satchel made from weaved
leaves slung over her shoulder.
“Well it’s true,” she said. “She’s gone again.
I can’t be doing with it. Boys—” she looked solemnly at her brothers who were
both now sitting on top of the kitchen counter. “Mother Gray will be here soon.
Get dressed and make sure your link up’s ready for school. You can do it here
at the counter.”
“Yes Carla,” they both said, and Carla looked
at them suspiciously, as if wondering what they were plotting.
Suddenly she looked teary eyed. “Look after
yourselves,” she leaned over the counter and grabbed them both into a hug. “Be
good.”
“We will,” the boys said together. “Gerroff!”
Carla let go of them, wiping her eyes roughly.
“Let’s go.”
“Bye boys,” Jack made towards the door. “Thanks
for breakfast.”
“Are you sure you want to come with me?” said
Jack as they went into the corridor. “You can still change your mind.”
“Yes,” Carla said without hesitation. “If I
don’t do something to help my Mum, she’s going to die.”
They didn’t go back to the room the party had
been in the night before, but rather went the opposite way down the corridor. A
door led outside, where it was now beginning to get light. They went through a
small garden, busy with twisting vines, cracked coloured pots and wild bushes.
Carla picked her way through the bushes to the
end of the garden, where it gave way to the steep edge of the mountain. They
took a path meandering quite gently left and right over the black rocks. Jack
tried his best to keep up with Carla, slipping occasionally on loose stones as
the slope propelled him forwards. At first it was cold, but he soon warmed up
as he trotted downwards. The ground levelled at the bottom of the mountain and
they came out of the trees into a meadow, much like the one Jack had been in
yesterday after he came through the forest. The sun was peeping out over the trees
in the distance ahead, sending lines of an orange glow across the wispy clouds
in the sky. Jack looked behind him at the huge, imposing mountains.
“How far up do you live?” he asked, breathing
heavily.
“There,” Carla pointed to a gap in the foliage
in the middle mountain, seemingly nowhere near as out of breath as he was.
“About three quarters of the way up.”
“Wow,” Jack looked up at how far they had come.
They walked through the meadow, coming to a
small brook that again reminded Jack of the one he’d seen the day before, only
this one was overgrown with thick greeny-brown reeds. The water was just as
lively, bubbling and sloshing noisily on its way downstream.
“Does it always move like that?” Jack said.
Carla laughed. “Of course it does. It has to go
down towards the sea. Don’t you know that?”
“Yeah,” Jack didn’t make eye contact.
Drail had plenty of water, held in sharp sided man-made
canals and immense reservoirs. None of it moved, though.
If Carla sensed he wasn’t telling the truth,
she didn’t seem to care. She was busy glancing around, up and down the banks of
the brook, in amongst the reeds. “Where is he?”
“Where’s who?”
“He’ll be here,” she took an empty bottle out
of her bag and went to the water, leaning down to fill it up.
“What are you doing?” asked Jack.
“Filling our water bottles,” said Carla, taking
another bottle from her bag and doing the same. When she’d finished, she
offered one to Jack. “Here.”
“No thanks,” said Jack.
“Aren’t you thirsty?”
“Yes, but…” Jack didn’t want to say.
“But what?”
“Isn’t it polluted?”
Carla smiled, glugging from her water bottle.
Then her hands went to her throat, pretending to choke.
“Alright,” said Jack.
He took the other bottle as Carla smirked at
him. Slowly, he took a sip. The water was cool and refreshing.
“You really are strange,” Carla shook her head.
“No I’m not,” Jack said. “Thanks for the
water.” He leaned back in the grass, enjoying the relaxing sound of the
babbling brook.
“There’s something I… something I want to tell
you about,” he found himself saying.
“What?” Carla sat up.
“I have this thing, a piccolo, well its name’s
Pic, and it wants me to go to the Lake of Colours, and it talks when I play it
but it’s a sort of poem, not really talking…”
Carla tilted her head to the side, thick eyebrows
furrowed.
“It’s hard to explain,” Jack said.
His hand hovered over the zip of his bag, again
unsure if he was ready to share piccolo.
“Show me then,” said Carla, sensing his
hesitation.
Jack opened his bag, the piccolo springing out
of its own accord, doing a double flip and landing perfectly on thin stringy
legs. It bowed to Carla, who laughed.
“Nice to meet you to too!” she said, as Pic
sprang up onto her hand. “Where did you get it?”
“I found it on the street.”
“Oh,” said Carla. “That’s lucky.”
“It’s not really lucky,” said Jack, pleased
that there was something Carla didn’t know. “Musical instruments are banned in
Drail. I could’ve been in big trouble.”
“What!” Carla raised her voice. “That’s crazy.
How do you make music?”
“We download it.”
“And where does it come from before that?”
“I don’t know, the computer.”
“No, before
that,” Carla persisted.
Jack shrugged, irritated that somehow he had
ended up looking like the ignorant one again.
Carla was twizzling Pic around in her hands,
its arms and legs now retracted. “No one in the mountains has a piccolo. It’s
wonderful.”
“Check this out,” Jack took Pic and held him to
his mouth, blowing eagerly into the hole. The piccolo’s high, sweet voice rang
out.
“It’s
nice to meet you on this fine day,
Although
I fear you’re going the wrong way.”
Jack stopped.
“How is it doing that?” said Carla.
“That’s how it talks,” answered Jack.
“Can I try?”
Jack passed Pic back to her and she did the
same.
“I
can show you which way to go,” Pic sang.
My
way is best, I know more than you know.”
“Ooh!” Carla looked delighted. “It talked to
me! But I wonder why it thinks it knows its way around more than I do? I’ve
lived here all my life.”
“What do you think it is?” asked Jack.
“Well, it’s a musical instrument,” said Carla.
“Obviously,” Jack clicked his tongue.
“What would you know, North-West-boy!” Carla
poked his arm. “Where does it want you to go?”
“The Lake of—” a noise made Jack stop.
An all too familiar soft padding in the grass
nearby, coming closer. Jack’s eyes darted around, sure the tiger had found him.
Before he had any idea where it was, the beast had pounced on him, pushing him face
down onto the floor and pinning him there. He couldn’t breathe. It was only
after a few moments of sheer panic that he realised the weight was far too
light to be a tiger. Still, the grip was firm and he couldn’t move.
“Get off, would you?” there was amusement in
Carla’s voice.
Immediately after she said it the pressure on
Jack’s back released and he was able to roll over. He groaned as he slowly sat
up, rubbing his back.
A ginger cat was sitting next to Carla,
innocently licking its white front paws, its white and ginger stripy tail flicking
sharply from side to side.
Jack rubbed his shoulders. “What was that
about?”
Carla smiled.
“He’s so small,” Jack said, feeling stupid.
The cat hissed, fixing his dark yellow eyes on Jack with a sharp “meow.”
Carla laughed. “He says you’re smaller.”
“I’m not,” bristled Jack. A moment later
adding, “How do you know what he said?”
“Meow,” the cat said again, even more sharply.
With a sound like an unimpressed sigh, it turned away.
Carla giggled. “That’s not very nice!”
“What did he say?” Jack found himself asking.
“He said that not everyone is so ignorant,”
replied Carla.
“He
pounced on me!” Jack was annoyed.
Carla huffed impatiently. “That’s how he greets
people. They all do it. It’s really quite polite.”
“Oh,” said Jack. “Really?”
“In cat world Freddie’s almost full size, which
makes him bigger than you.” Carla looked sternly at the cat. “But honestly Freddie
that wasn’t a nice thing to do. You know humans don’t like it.”
To Jack’s great astonishment the cat opened its
mouth and instead of meowing, he spoke, in a voice deep and gentle. “I feared
you were in danger.”
Jack stared, mouth open.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Carla said. “Anyway, you
know I can look after myself. I think you need to apologise.”
The cat’s ears pricked up and he hissed again,
to which Carla gave him a stern look, her hands on her hips. They stood facing
each other for a moment, and Jack didn’t know if either one was going to back
down. Finally, Freddie’s ears flattened and he looked away.
“Fine.”
He padded over to Jack, circling him slowly
where he sat on the floor. “I hereby profusely apologise for ambushing you. It
was not my intention to hurt, scare or startle, I merely wished to protect.”
“It’s fine,” said Jack.
First he’d talked to a musical instrument, now
a cat.
Freddie went to stand next to Carla, who rubbed
his head, to which he purred.
“Are you going to introduce us properly then, Carla dear?” the cat asked.
“Well, when you’ve quite finished getting at
each other,” said Carla. “This is Jack, we’re going on a quest together to find
Mo and the cure for Spratsy.”
“How marvelous,” said Freddie.
“And Jack, this is Freddie.”
“A pleasure,” Jack scrunched up his nose.
“What’ve you been doing this morning?” Carla
asked.
Freddie had gone back to licking his paws, now
using them to wipe his ears. “Oh, the usual,” he said, offhand. “Fishing. I’ve
caught dozens already. Perch, cod, haddock, salmon, paddock, calmon, kerch…”
“That’s not even a real—” Jack started but
Carla cut him off.
“Of course you have,” she stroked Freddie in
between his ears, making him purr some more. A smile danced on the edge of her
lips.
“Where are they?” asked Jack.
“I ate them,” said Freddie. “I was extremely
hungry.”
“That’s a lot of fish, even for a cat,” said
Jack.
“And how would you know how much cats can eat?”
Freddie hissed.
“It just sounded like a lot,” Jack threw his
hands in the air and stood up, patting the back of his trousers.
Freddie flattened into the grass, his eyes
focused on an object close by. His shoulder blades began to move in circular
motions as he prepared to pounce again.
“What’s he after?” Jack looked around, shouting
too late, “Don’t even think about it!” as Freddie pounced on the unsuspecting
Pic. Claws out, Freddie swiped at Pic, meowing ferociously as Pic’s stringy
arms and legs flailed helplessly.
“Get off him!” Jack lunged in to try and pull
the cat off.
All at once Freddie stopped and sat up
casually, with one paw pinning Pic down.
“Who is this imposter?” he said with a growl.
“It’s a piccolo,” Carla laughed. “It’s not
dangerous.”
“What’s your problem?” Jack was seething.
“My problem, boy, is that I recognise a problem
when I see one.”
“You’re the problem,” said Jack.
Freddie ignored the comment and addressed
Carla. “Would you like me to dispose of this…this creature for you?” he held
Pic up, arms and legs now flailing in thin air.
“It’s Jack’s, not mine,” said Carla.
“Very well,” said Freddie, and without another
word, he dropped Pic into the grass and pelted away up a nearby tree.
Pic promptly scampered back into Jack’s bag.
Jack was angry. “What’s up with your stupid
kitty?”
“He’s not stupid,” said Carla. “He’s just
looking out for me.”
“What, by beating up me and Pic?”
“Are you saying you got beaten up by a tabby
cat?” Carla said playfully.
“No,” Jack crossed his arms.
“He’ll
be helpful to have with us,” said Carla. “He’s knows a lot of useful stuff. He’ll
get used to you.”
“Great,” said Jack.
“Look, don’t worry about him, we need to go and
find Mo.”
“Is Mo a place?” asked Jack, still annoyed.
“No.”
“So where are we actually going?”
Carla narrowed her eyes at him, then looked
into the distance over the brook and the field. “He lives that way.”
“Have you ever been there?”
“No,” Carla got to her feet. “But my Dad told me
about where Mo lives tons of times. I’ll know it when I see it. Come on.”
“OK,” Jack followed. Had these people never
heard of Trail Tech? “What’s so good about this Mo guy, anyway?”
“He’ll know what to do,” Carla seemed annoyed
now. “Is that alright?”
“Fine,” said Jack.
“We need to head away from the mountain,” Carla
hopped lightly over the brook on stepping stones.
“You don’t say,” mumbled Jack, wobbling behind
her.
He stopped in the middle of the river and
crouched down, holding his finger in the water, the rush of the current cold as
it streamed past.
“Where’s it coming from?” he said under his
breath.
They walked on in silence for a while, the sun shining down on them from
the blue sky.
“So how did
you get here yesterday?” Carla asked suddenly. “Mother Gray says hardly anyone
has ever come here from North West.”
“I dunno,” said Jack. “I went through a gap in
the fence and through the forest…Is that really true?”
“What?”
“That hardly anyone’s ever come here from North
West—” he corrected himself, “I mean Drail?”
“Yes, Mother Gray said so.”
A sense of pride rushed through Jack and he couldn’t help smiling.
“If it’s so easy, why don’t more people do it?”
asked Carla.
“It wasn’t that easy,” said Jack. “Anyway, I guess they don’t know the way.”
“Wait,” said Carla. “Did you go through bullet
fur forest?”
“Maybe.”
“Well you’d know if you’d gone through it or not!
It’s meant to be really dangerous.”
“It was, kinda,” Jack acted like it was
nothing. “The bullets rained down around me.”
“How did you get out without getting hit?”
“I had to run. Fast. Which was easy because
there was this huge tiger after me.”
Carla didn’t look as impressed as Jack had
hoped. “I’ve heard bullets fall from the trees like pinecones,” she said.
“They’re meant to whistle as they fall.”
“Yeah, they do.”
Carla
stopped. “This is amazing,” she shook her head. “Mother Gray told me about my great,
great uncle Rufus who tried to get to North West but got hit with a bullet.
Then again, he was completely deaf so he wouldn’t have heard the whistles.”
“Oh,” said Jack.
He could’ve died in that forest, died before
he’d even had chance to see the meadow or the sky or the brook.
They carried on walking and after a while saw a
road up ahead.
“Perfect!” Carla announced, “This will take us to where Mo lives!”
“How do you know?” Jack couldn’t help himself.
“I’ve got a feeling, OK?”
Jack didn’t bother to argue.
No sooner had they got onto the road than the
air around them became thick, the sky turning an ominous grey. A second later
there was a loud rumble of thunder and the heavens opened, rain pouring down on
them heavy and fast.
“Ahh!” Jack shrieked, pulling his hood up tight
over his head, as the rain wasted no time in soaking him to the skin. “We need
to find cover!”
“What?” shouted Carla, who Jack could barely
see through the torrents of rain.
“We need to find cover!” Jack shouted louder.
“The rain’s gonna burn us!”
“What are you talking about?” A bedraggled Carla came closer, her wild curly hair
stuck to her forehead and hanging flat down her back. She was laughing.
“What are you talking about?” she repeated.
“The acid!” Jack said, covering his head with
his arms and running about left and right, frantically looking for an escape.
“The acid in the rain!”
“You’re nuts,” said Carla. “It’s only rain, it won’t hurt.”
“It’s acid!” shouted Jack, head bowed. “Don’t
you know anything?”
Carla had walked away, and if she did hear him
she didn’t reply. Jack went after her as quickly as he could, expecting to feel
the searing burning he’d been warned about over and over in the rain drills at
school.
As he struggled forwards, he felt the hard patter
of rain hitting his body, but no pain.
Why didn’t it hurt?
Gradually he took his hand from its hiding
place in the sleeve of his hoody and held it out. He didn’t breathe as he
waited for the burning. The rain pelted onto it, creating nothing more than a
tickling sensation.
It didn’t hurt!
In a moment of pure adrenaline he tipped his
head back, baring his face to the downpour. The heavy drops pummeled him as he
kept his eyes tight shut. It felt wonderful.
Finally walking on, he continued up the path
alone until it came to an abrupt end, out onto grass. As soon as Jack stepped
off the path the sky cleared, the rain stopped and the sun came out. A drenched
Carla was waiting for him. Jack turned to look back at the road, seeing a
massive grey cloud raining heavily over the path but nowhere else. The rest of
the sky was clear.
"Well that was totally unnecessary!” he
said, although he didn’t regret it one bit.
Carla shook her head from side to side,
spraying Jack with more water. "That must’ve been Downpour Drive!"
"Downpour Drive?" Jack said, wringing
out his t-shirt. “You knew what it was?”
“Not exactly,” Carla shrugged. “At least I
didn’t think it was really real.”
Jack rubbed his hand through his soaked hair.
“That was crazy.”
“What were you talking about in there?” Carla
asked.
“Oh,” Jack said, embarrassed. “Nothing.”
“You said something about acid. What did you
mean?”
“In Drail they tell us…I thought it was gonna
kill us.”
“You’re insane!” Carla said, not unkindly.
As if from nowhere Freddie appeared, sidling up
to them, dry as a bone.
“Had a bath have we?” he purred, his tail high
in the air.
"What do you want?" said Jack.
"I’m sure you’ll dry in no time,"
Freddie ignored the question.
After Jack finished wringing out his clothes he
finally paid attention to what was ahead.
“What is that?” he said.
A few hundred metres away was a town. At least
Jack thought it was a town, only it was surrounded by a thick cloud of fuggy
smoke, rising like a monster high up into the air.