by James Erith
He grabbed the base of the rose and tried to swing it towards him. But the huge old rose was near to breaking point and sank further, its thorns digging into his hands. He swore.
There had to be a better way. He shuffled to a nearby hedge and noted a small ash tree. He bent down, put his hands around the trunk, and tugged with all his might. The roots slipped their anchors and, with one last effort, it broke free.
In a flash, Archie turned the tree round, ripped off some branches, and lowered it to Daisy. She grabbed hold of it and, as the rose tore into her, Archie heaved her out.
They moved under the relative shelter of a nearby oak tree and gasped for breath.
‘So,’ Daisy yelled between gasps, ‘we’ve learnt three things from that. The first is that the bank is collapsing. The second is that I’ll be plucking out thorns from my skin for the next decade, and the third is that you’ve been working out without anyone knowing.’
Taking a wider berth away from the track, they continued on all fours, rain pummelling their backs, necks and heads until they were numb.
Eventually, they reached the large oak tree with the rope, which now dangled down from its branch into the running water.
Archie pushed Daisy ahead and upwards, her hands gripping the nodules and hand-holds of slippery bark as though her life depended on it.
Where the branch with the rope met the trunk, a huge bough curved over like a mini cave. For the first time in ages, it offered them almost complete protection from the downpour. Archie sat with his back against the trunk and Daisy sat in front of him, leaning into him.
They shut their eyes and in no time, Daisy fell asleep through sheer exhaustion.
Archie didn’t mind. He checked his watch. At least an hour until sundown.
The problem with being stationary was the cold, for now the wet had soaked, sponge-like, into the marrow of their bones. Body warmth was crucial.
Archie wrapped his arms around his frozen sister, her body rattling like an old engine. A rest was a good idea, but Archie knew they weren’t safe. At some point, they were going to have to keep going.
As Daisy dozed, her head resting on Archie’s chest, her mind swam. She dreamt fleetingly of the cottage, of Old Man Wood and their parents. She dreamt of scoring a goal with a sensational bicycle kick and Archie making a flying, fingertip save. The storm could have been a million miles away.
A noise clicked in her brain. It was that same crackling sound, like sizzling bacon. She studied the noise, her eyes shut tight. Then she realised what it was.
‘MOVE!’ she screamed. ‘NOW!’
Archie opened his eyes. ‘Eh? What?’
‘Incoming. I can hear it. MOVE!’
‘Where to?’ Archie yelled. ‘We’re on a branch!’
The sizzling increased, the noise building miles above them.
‘To the end, Arch. GO!’
Archie did what he was told, and shuffled his bottom as fast as he could down the branch, the rain smashing down once more.
‘Further,’ she screamed. ‘As far as you can.’ She was skimming along, almost bouncing, when she stopped and wrapped her arms and legs around the thick branch. She hugged her body into the wood and hoped for the best.
Archie continued on his path, oblivious to Daisy’s action. From out of nowhere, a terrific surge of power smashed into the tree. The branch severed like a beheading and crashed down, bridging the track just above the flowing mud.
Daisy convulsed with electricity and her ears smashed with pain. She uncurled her body from the branch as rain crashed over her back and head.
Archie?
‘Archie!’ She called out, barely a croak coming from her. Even if she could scream for help, he’d never hear.
Suddenly, a hand flapped out of the water, and momentarily it gripped the end of the branch. Then it fell away, caught in the torrent.
She shrieked and fished pathetically into the water feeling nothing but twigs, leaves, and debris flashing beneath her.
Daisy thumped the branch, tears streaming from her eyes, rain biting into her back. How much more could she take?
Not much, she realised, especially now she was on her own.
Fifty-Nine
Old Man Wood’s Panel Falters
Old Man Wood hadn’t taken his eyes off the panels. It was impossible. How could children so young survive the tumult out there? They’re only little, he kept thinking, tears forming again in his eyes. Now the panels changed as a huge flash burst onto the screen.
Old Man Wood fell back. Lightning, again? Sweet apples! His skin prickled.
Daisy lay on the tree branch as it crashed into the bank, but where was Archie? Daisy was hanging on for dear life—so Archie must have been swept away. What was she doing? Screaming?
He couldn’t take his eyes off the scene. Another flash struck directly at Daisy. Old Man Wood shrieked and felt for his heart. He could hardly bear it. He watched as the entire branch of the tree hurtled down the makeshift drain towards the swollen river, Archie dragging behind, under the water.
Old Man Wood yelped and clasped his head in his hands. How did the boy have the strength? Daisy lay there, just as she had before. She hadn’t moved. The screen flickered, as though faulty.
Old Man Wood leaned forward, and gave it a tap in the hope that that might restore it, but it flickered again. Lines cut through the clear picture as if there was poor reception.
All of a sudden, he figured what this meant.
The colour drained from his face.
‘NO, NO, NO!’ he yelled out. ‘Don’t give up, Daisy. Whatever you do, littlun, DO NOT EVER GIVE UP!’
Sixty
Isabella Gets Trapped
For every step Isabella took forward, she seemed to slide back two more. When she was out in the open, she found herself pushing blindly through sheets of water with no idea where she was heading.
She extended her hands out in front of her and felt a gentle pull, first one way and then the other. With each step, her feet touched on harder ground. Sometimes, her hands swung her around at right angles, and every so often she had to backtrack. She trusted in it, though, for it was the only hope she had.
The one thing that terrified her was the thunderbolts.
Daisy seemed to be able to hear the thunderbolts forming. Every time Daisy screamed, they’d run away and a thunderbolt crashed into the spot where, only moments ago, they had been. Now there was no Daisy, and Isabella sensed that it was only a matter of time before another thunderbolt would come. She had a deathly feeling in her gut that it would come directly at her out of the blue.
She moved forward, all the while waiting for the crack or the blast. As fast as she went, the trickle of water around her ankles kept swelling. For every surge she made forward out of the water, in no time the level had caught up with her, sometimes to as high as her knees.
A stomach-wrenching fear filled her.
Isabella redoubled her efforts, crawling and scampering over fallen branches and brambles until she bumped into the base of a tree that would offer her decent protection from the rain.
Isabella leaned back and, instinctively, pushed her hands into the air above her head. She forced her palms outwards, her fingers touching.
She channelled every thought, every single ounce of energy she had into protecting herself. She didn’t know why, but her hands and her spirit were her last hope.
She closed her eyes and waited.
Just as Isabella thought of putting them down, a thunderbolt sliced out of the sky. A fraction after she heard the distinct crack, Isabella slammed herself towards the space in front of her with everything she had.
An intense burst of heat thumped into her hands, her flesh instantly burning, her body pushed into the ground.
She gritted her teeth and pressed against it harder and harder. The stink of burning skin invaded her, as if rods of molten iron were being welded in the place of her fingers.
As suddenly as it had arrived, it was ove
r.
Isabella slumped to the ground, her hands smoking and her eyes closed, a look of peace fixed on her face.
Splashing water woke her up. Isabella opened her eyes, aware that her body was shivering like it did after a swim in the cold North Sea.
The thunderbolt! She’d survived! How long had she been out? Five minutes, or half an hour.
She sat up and inspected her hands. Even in the dim light, she could see that large, black, circular burn marks radiated on her palms. Her body tingled, the electrical charge still fizzing through her like gas in a soda.
How? She thought. How had she done it? It didn’t make any sense. By rights, she should be frazzled.
She checked her limbs one by one. They worked, even if her body ached like crazy, and her head sizzled as if someone had opened up her skull and given her brain a scrub with wire wool.
‘Keep going,’ she thought she heard from somewhere. ‘Move! Now!’
She looked around.
She heard it again, as if someone was with her, egging her on, boosting her and begging her not to give in.
She forced herself forward and, instantly, fell flat on her face.
Again, she heard the voice, encouraging her on.
She crawled, finding a steady rhythm with her knees, elbows, and hands. Soon she was above the waterline, and she kept on going until she doffed her head on a large, sheer rock.
‘BLOODY HELL!’ she cried, rubbing her forehead, conscious that the rain had now ceased pummelling her.
She must have arrived under a rock shelf, she thought, and, for the first time in ages she felt a thimbleful of comfort.
She sat back, stretched her legs, and cradled her head in her hands. Damn, she was hungry.
But where would the next meal come from, if she remained alive long enough to eat again.
Isabella pulled herself together and tried to find her bearings.
She inspected a split rock. She wondered if she could narrow down where she was by working out where this type of stone might typically be found on the river bank.
Moments later, there was a terrible explosion of noise, as though two trains were colliding, crunching and scraping right above and all around her.
The sound grew closer and closer, and, for a ghastly moment, the noise went right through her.
She curled into a ball, shut her eyes, and covered her head.
Out of the sky, a deadly cascade washed past, careering onto the area from which she had crawled.
Isabella shook uncontrollably. Even above the noise of the water, the cracking, crushing, and splintering sounds told her that everything in its path had been obliterated.
For several seconds, the cascade rattled on until the landslip had done its bidding and the cacophony ceased. Isabella’s heart thumped wildly. She wouldn’t have stood a chance.
At length, she ventured out into the rain. Only a couple of metres forward and through the veil of water, she encountered a vast pile of boulders, rocks, mud, and splintered wood, that rose up like a slag heap in front of her.
She slunk back to her sheltered position as a terrible thought began to wash over her.
If she’d found refuge underneath a cliff face, the likelihood was that it was either a landslip off the top of a hill, or—and she thought this to be more likely—a section of the cliff face had simply collapsed. That would explain the boulders.
In her mind, she pictured the geography of the area and, especially, the position of the cliffs. She knew that behind her probable position was a ledge. Above this, a sheer wall of rock rose up vertically for seventy metres or thereabouts.
Then, like a thought one doesn’t want to think about but cannot avoid, she had a terrible realisation that if Archie and Daisy had come after her, they would not be alive right now.
The other thing she realised, much to her shock, was that she was completely and utterly trapped.
Sixty-One
Archie In The river
Archie flew into the air and landed in the middle of the torrent, his body shipped away by the water. He swam with all his might. When he surfaced, a huge branch straddling the track lay directly in front of him.
His lungs burned.
He reached up, but however hard he tried he couldn’t get a hand-hold on the bark. After several attempts, he felt his nails starting to detach.
Before long, Archie let go.
The water took him. He needed to keep his head up, but every time he did the rain battered it down. While he searched for buoyancy—a branch or a tree he could grab hold of that might keep him afloat—he thrashed out like a madman, kicking the water beneath him in a last, massive effort to survive.
Something caught around his left leg, rendering him helpless. A root?
He succumbed, shattered and beaten and smiled as he let himself go, Cain’s words coming to him as he floated away: If it wasn’t the thunderbolts and it wasn’t the rain, it was the landslides.
But, to his surprise, he remained bound by the snare around his leg and found the water pushing him towards the bank. He made a grab for a protruding root, twisting his body round while keeping his head up.
He sucked in a mouthful of air and gave his foot a yank. It did not yield.
He tried again, this time while holding the root on the bank with his other hand. It moved! He did it again, and then again. Now there was enough slack to allow him to bend forward and feel his ankle. He pulled his left leg towards him and touched something coarse and thick. Archie’s mind worked overtime. Then it struck him. The swinging rope!
He pulled harder and the rope came away a little more with just enough give for him to try and untie the knot.
It wasn’t the trickiest knot he’d ever come across, but the rope was thick and the water pulled him away from his task. The rain beat down, and every time he thought he had untied the knot, the slack tightened and he was back to where he started. He gave the rope an even bigger tug. The whole branch jerked. This time, the rope slipped off his foot and, while holding on to the end, he tied the rope around his waist.
He heard a scream. Even above the roar of the rain and the torrent, it couldn’t be mistaken.
It was Daisy, screaming:
‘INCOMING!’
She’s still on the branch!
Archie pulled with all his might and felt the wood slip. He tugged harder, nudging the branch towards him. He gritted his teeth and jogged it, pulling in rhythm.
Suddenly, the branch twisted off the bank and slid just enough to give him encouragement.
There couldn’t be much more time. One huge yank was all it needed.
He harnessed the rope around his shoulders and hollered.
The branch broke free and sped forward, just as a thunderbolt crashed into the bank almost exactly where the bough had sat moments before.
Archie wondered if Daisy had managed to get out of the way. But, he had no time to think, for now the branch began slipping down the slope, joining the torrent, washing everything down the lane.
Archie felt the rope go tense and found himself dragged behind it. Trying to keep himself above the water but gaining speed, he hung on for dear life as the branch hurtled into the main body of the river. As the river levelled out, he pulled himself along the rope, closer to the tree-trunk, and gritted his teeth as he dragged himself up and onto the end of the branch.
He dropped his left leg out, using it as a rudder, and the great branch pitched towards what he hoped was the bank on the left-hand side.
Exhausted, Archie collapsed, his head face down on the wood, water bucketing over him.
Hearing a noise, Archie lifted his head. Was someone sitting near him on the branch?
‘Daisy—Daisy’ he groaned.
‘Come with me, Archie de Lowe,’ the voice said. ‘Only I can save you now.’
‘Save me,’ Archie repeated.
‘Say yes, and it will be done.’
Archie’s eyelids closed. ‘Cain?’
‘Archie, just sa
y the word.’
What did he have to lose, why didn’t he just agree?
‘Do the easy thing, boy,’ Cain continued. ‘Your life is not over by any means.’
Archie’s brain swam but all he could think of was his sisters.
Nothing else. Only Isabella and Daisy.
The branch jolted.
Right then, he knew there was no other way. Archie had to move Daisy to safety and then find Isabella. Better to die together trying to save the world, than not trying at all.
‘I’d rather die with my sisters than join with you,’ he called out, weakly.
The voice laughed back, ‘I will return, Archie, one more time. You may need me yet. Your dear sister is so very close to her death and, when that happens, you will all have failed.’
Sixty-Two
Cain And Kemp
Back in Havilah, Cain wondered how his relationship with Kemp would work in their combined state should his alliance with Archie not happen. Right now, the boy was slowing him down and there was so much to do.
Would the boy continue to do as he commanded?
Cain threw his arms up in the air and clapped his hands as a shower of ash fell over his head.
All of a sudden, a feeling of heaviness overcame him.
Sleep again? Really!
Cain clenched his fist and found that when his concentration focused on that movement alone, the fingers came together whether the boy liked it or not.
Cain pressed one foot down, followed by the other. He felt a modicum of resistance, like a badly-fitting drawer that needed to be forced shut.
He willed his leg to move, but the movement felt sluggish and sleepy. Instead, he pulled his leg back and thrust it forward in a loose kicking motion, ash spraying everywhere.
He flailed his arms about, moving them faster and faster until the boy trapped inside him did exactly as he wished.
