This feels like a war.
I scramble to my feet, desperate to escape from this new nightmare. Darkness surrounds me as I plunge into the smoke and dust. Underfoot, twigs crack like gunshots as I run. The shadows of the trees look like ruined buildings, the woods transformed into a shattered city through whose streets I run.
I don’t know where Dizzy and Johnny are. I don’t even know if they’re still alive. But as I run into this choking darkness, I don’t think I’ll ever see the sun rise again.
Then I hear it. The shrill sound of a whistle somewhere up ahead.
I stumble towards it, my chest heaving as the smoke begins to clear. In the dark shadowed spaces, I can see the mangled branches of the trees, now stripped bare of their leaves. Pushing past them, I hear the whistle sound again and inside my head, I pray that it’s Dizzy.
Then the woods suddenly open out into a small clearing and I see the figure of a man standing there.
I freeze.
The man stands with his back to me, his dark-blue overalls almost lost in the darkness as he stares up into a pitch-black sky. For a second, I think this must be the same man that I saw under the water, but then I remember that his uniform was browny-green not blue.
A flurry of dazzling flashes suddenly lights the sky, each one quickly fading to a pinprick of brightness. And then the screaming starts again.
The man turns and starts running, his lolloping stride bringing him straight in my direction as he dives for the cover of the trees. Another boom shakes the ground and I have to cling to the tree trunk to stop myself from falling down. The world is falling apart and we’re the only ones that are left.
I look down and see the man crouching at the base of the tree. He’s rocking back and forth on his heels, the whistle that brought me here hanging on a cord around his neck, even though his face is still hidden beneath a black bowl-shaped helmet. On the front of it there’s a letter “W”, painted in white, but what this means I have no idea.
I back away, frightened that this really is Old Crony. But as I step back, a stick snaps underfoot and I hear the man moan in terror.
“Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.”
His shoulders shake as he sobs and, before I properly realise what I’m doing, I find myself crouching by his side. My heart races as I reach out to rest my hand on his arm.
“It’s all right,” I say. “You’re not alone.”
The man lifts his head, his dark-brown eyes opening wide as he stares at me in disbelief.
“Charlie.”
I hold my breath, not knowing what to say as I stare back at Dizzy’s grown-up face. He looks like he’s twenty or thirty years old, the lines around his eyes creased in a world-weary expression. I feel like I’m drowning, the same sensation I felt when I was lost in the water. It’s like the world is in two places at once and I can’t even tell which is real.
“What’s happening?” I murmur as the sky lights up again. “Is this still the storm?”
“They call it the—”
A screaming sound drowns out the rest of Dizzy’s sentence. His face freezes in fear as the sound gets louder, shifting in pitch from a scream to a whine before a shuddering boom shakes the tree.
I cling to Dizzy’s arm to stop myself from falling down.
“They come every night,” he says, his hand shaking as he reaches for the whistle around his neck. “Wave after wave of planes, each one louder than the last. The chief warden told me I had to blow this whistle when I heard them – to warn people to take shelter – but tonight the bombs started falling before I had the chance to clear the street.”
Tears roll down Dizzy’s cheeks as a sudden flash followed by another thunderous boom makes us both cringe in terror.
“They’ve never been this close before,” he says, his voice almost lost in the aftershock. “Someone told me that you never hear the bomb that’s got your name on it, but every time I hear that terrible screaming sound I think, what if they’re wrong?”
The whistle trembles as Dizzy holds it in his hand, his grown-up fingers dark against the shining brass. Looking up to meet his gaze, I see the shadow of the boy he was flicker across his face.
“We should never have left the woods, Charlie. We were safe there.”
Feeling confused, I glance around at the trees that surround us. Behind their inky branches, I see the ghostly shapes of houses looming out of the gloom. Fear coils around my throat as I remember who lives in the woods.
“This can’t be right,” I murmur, gazing up at the nearest house. Beneath a sloping roof, its darkened windows stare back at me like blackened eyes. “Where are we?”
“London,” Dizzy replies as another flurry of dazzling flashes lights up the sky.
Hearing this word, I feel a surge of hope rise in my chest. Ever since Dad made us leave the city, I’ve just wished that we could go back. Clambering to my feet, I start to run towards the darkened house. I’ve got to find out if this is real.
“Charlie!” Dizzy calls out, his voice hoarse with fear. “Come back! It’s not safe!”
But I’m not listening. Under the icy-white light that shines down from the sky, I can see a whole street of terraced houses, stretching away into the woods. It looks just like the one we used to live on. I feel like I’m coming home.
“Charlie!”
I’m nearly at the door now, the woodland floor turning to steps beneath my feet. That’s when I hear a screaming whine, the sound getting louder by the second.
I look up as the noise becomes a roar and realise with a shudder that Dizzy was right. You do hear the one with your name on.
BOOM
The sound of thunder lifts me off my feet, slamming me sideways as everything falls. Even the darkness.
I can taste dust in my mouth, thick specks of grit sliding between my teeth as I clench my jaw against the pain. My ears are still ringing, the thunderous sound that I heard before the world fell down around me now stilled to a distant roar.
Forcing my eyes open, I blink in confusion. I can’t see a thing. Everything’s black; the darkness surrounding me a solid block. I blink again, but nothing changes. It’s still pitch-black. Have I gone blind? Maybe I’m dead.
Panicking, I try to move, but something heavy is pinning me down. I can feel broken things beneath me, glass crunching as I shift my weight to find out what they are. Reaching up, my fingers touch splinters of wood, inches away from my face. I move my hand across the splintered surface, feeling the weight of the wood pressing back down. It seems as broad as a tree trunk, slanting down and trapping me in this darkness.
I push against the timber but this only sends a fresh shower of dust on to my face. I cough, tasting the grit in my mouth again. Then I push even harder, straining every muscle to try and shift the weight, but the wood just stays where it is. It’s no good. It’s too heavy for me to move on my own.
I take my hand away, panting heavily as I try to keep the panic from taking me over. Then I hear an ominous creaking sound and the wood seems to shift, juddering sideways and downwards until its splinters scratch at my cheek.
I twist my head away, desperately trying to pull myself free before the whole thing comes down on top of me. Something’s still pinning me down, but as I shift my weight, the splintered timber shudders to a stop.
I lie still in the darkness, hardly daring to breathe. Fear catches in my throat, the cloying warmth of this tiny prison wrapping the memory of another moment around me. Closing my eyes I retreat into this, escaping from the darkness into the warm embrace of my mother’s arms. I remember her sitting on my bed, the two of us snuggled beneath a blanket as she read me The Wind in the Willows. I can hear her voice in my ear, soft and timid as she speaks Mole’s words aloud.
“‘What lies over there?’ asked the Mole, waving a paw towards a background of woodland that darkly framed the water-meadows on one side of the river.
‘That? O, that’s just the Wild Wood,’ said the Rat shortly. ‘We don�
�t go there…’”
I remember Mum hugging me tightly as she raised her voice to drown out the sound of Dad hammering on the door downstairs. His drunken cries pleading with Mum to let him in and warning her what will happen if she doesn’t.
That’s when I hear the sound of something crying.
I open my eyes, the memory refusing to fade as the darkness swims into view. It sounds like some kind of wild animal, its mewling cry close to me in the absolute gloom.
I stare into the pitch-black, my heart racing as I try to work out what it is. Inside my head I hear Mum’s voice, trembling slightly as she lists the animals who live in the Wild Wood.
“‘Weasels – and stoats – and foxes – and so on.’”
I remember the scratchy drawings of these sinister creatures, their claws scurrying across the page. Is that what’s out there in the darkness?
The whimpering sound comes again, almost close enough to touch. Whatever this animal is, it sounds like it’s hurt.
Pushing my fear to one side, I reach out towards the source of the sound. My heart thumps in my chest as I brush past dust and debris, the animal’s mewling cry guiding my hand in the darkness. Then my heart skips a beat as instead of feeling the fur I expected to find, my fingers touch skin instead.
I draw back in shock, but then the cry comes again, even louder this time.
Tentatively, I trace the shape in the darkness, feeling tiny hands clenched into fists as the cry becomes a howl. Touch and sound combine to shift the picture in my mind. This isn’t an animal – it’s a baby.
“‘And beyond the Wild Wood again?’”
I hear the echo of Mum’s voice, soft in my ear, still telling me the story as I try to make sense of what’s happening here.
“‘Beyond the Wild Wood comes the Wide World,’ said the Rat. ‘And that’s something that doesn’t matter, either to you or me.’”
Before the world fell down, I felt like I was in two places at once, but now I don’t know where I am. I hardly know what’s real any more, but this baby is.
I stroke its head, feeling the warmth and softness of its skin as it carries on crying. It sounds so scared – just like me. Carefully, I place my arm around the baby’s body, cradling its head as I draw it close to me.
The baby’s wail grows even louder, making me worry that I’ve hurt it somehow. I can barely see a thing in the darkness, but feel the baby squirming next to me. I cradle it in my arms, not knowing what to do as the timber that’s trapping us creaks again dangerously.
“Hush,” I whisper, frightened that the slightest sound could bring the whole thing down. “Please stop crying.”
The baby wails again, its tiny hands clenched into fists as they drum against my chest. I hold the baby closer, crooning softly as its mewling cry fills the darkness. Beneath the dust, its skin smells of vanilla, the scent suddenly summoning another memory out of the darkness.
No, not a memory, but some kind of dream.
Inside my mind, I see moonlight falling across a baby’s face, her eyes open wide against the dark. I don’t know where this vision has come from, but it seems so real. I watch myself turn away from the window, moonlight spilling through a crack in the curtains as I cradle the baby in my arms. I feel so tired, the empty cot in the corner mocking me with thoughts of sleep as the baby cries out again. I feel myself swaying, gently rocking the baby from side to side as I sing the words of a lullaby.
“Rock-a-bye baby on the treetops, when the wind blows the cradle will rock.”
Lying here in the dust and darkness, I sing the same words now as the baby squirms in my arms. Above our heads, I hear the creaking timber start to crack and cling tightly to the baby, wanting to keep it safe for as long as I can.
“When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall.” My voice falters as debris starts to fall around my ears. “Down will come baby, cradle and all.”
Then the darkness is peeled back with a thunderous crack and, as light floods in, I glimpse large hands reaching towards me. Screwing my eyes shut against this sudden brightness, I feel myself dragged clear of the wreckage, still clinging to the baby as it wails against my chest.
“Don’t worry.” The man’s voice cracks with emotion as I feel the baby lifted from my arms. “You’re safe now.”
Opening my eyes, I see the grown-up Dizzy framed by a flickering light. He cradles the baby against his chest, the gaping facade of a house in ruins burning behind him. As I climb to my feet, he meets my gaze with a grateful stare.
“I’d almost given up hope of finding anything alive. How could a baby survive underneath this mountain of rubble?” Beneath his black metal helmet, Dizzy’s eyes shine with tears as the baby in his arms cries out again. “But then I heard you singing, Charlie. The sound of a lullaby showing me where to find you in the darkness. Just like in the woods.”
A sudden flash lights the sky, turning night into day in an instant. Glancing around me, I see the world lies in ruins, the fronts torn off terraced houses as piles of bricks and broken timbers spill into the street. Then darkness falls again with a thunderous boom. The woods seem a very long way away now.
Still cradling the baby with one arm, Dizzy reaches for the whistle around his neck.
“I didn’t understand then,” he says, “but it all makes sense to me now.” He holds out his whistle towards me. “You need to take this, Charlie.”
Another boom shakes the world, the sound of this even closer now.
My fingers tremble as I reach to take the whistle, its long brass cylinder feeling heavy in my hand. Behind Dizzy, I see bricks begin to crumble and hear the crackling of flames. My mouth feels dry, the taste of smoke and dust sticking in my throat.
“What am I supposed to do?”
Dizzy cradles the baby in his arms, its cries filling the sky as the world falls down around us.
“Just blow the whistle and I’ll find you again. Things will be better then.”
I don’t know what Dizzy means, but anything has to be better than this. I close my eyes, shutting out the sight of the falling debris as I raise the whistle to my lips.
And then I blow.
The shrill screech of the whistle cuts through the darkness, its piercing note drowning out all other sounds. It’s so loud I think the whole world must be able to hear it, but as I blow, the whistling note seems to twist into a lilting melody.
Rock-a-bye baby on the treetops, when the wind blows the cradle will rock.
My eyes open wide in surprise, the whistle falling from my lips as the sound of the lullaby fades into silence.
I look around.
The clearing stands empty and all I can see are the shadows of the trees.
Dizzy’s gone.
“Dizzy!”
My shout echoes in the silence. The ruined buildings, the burning house, the baby crying as Dizzy held it in his arms. Everything’s gone and I’m still lost in the woods.
I peer into the darkness, the bare branches of the trees now black against the night. I shiver. It’s getting cold and suddenly I feel very alone.
Then, to the left, I see a fuzzy yellow light moving through the woods.
“Charlie!”
It’s Dizzy’s voice, calling out my name.
“Over here!”
The torch beam turns in my direction, the dark shadowed spaces surrounding me suddenly illuminated by this pale-yellow light. Then Dizzy stumbles into the clearing with Johnny following close behind, the torch held in his hand.
I blink in the sudden glare of its beam.
“Are you all right?” Dizzy asks breathlessly. “We heard the sound of a whistle. I thought it was playing a song.” He glances down at the whistle in my hand. “Where did you find it?”
As Dizzy looks up, I meet my friend’s gaze, his face unlined by age. Just a boy again.
“You gave it to me.”
“This time we stick together,” Johnny says, his breath fogging the air as he speaks. “Whatever happens.”
We’re walking side by side, our steps keeping time as we crunch through the leaves. The crisp darkness of the wood stretches ahead of us, shadows seeping through the branches as the track twists again.
I look up.
Not a single leaf remains on the trees. The storm has stripped every branch bare. But deep down I know this wasn’t a storm.
I shiver. It’s as though the woods have turned from summer to winter in a single night. And it’s so cold.
Why is it so cold?
“What time do you think it is?” Dizzy asks through chattering teeth. “Surely it must start to get light soon.”
Staring up through the wirework of bare branches, all I can see is a glowering darkness, the sky thick with clouds. No chance of spotting the North Star now. No stars to see at all. I remember the climb I made to the top of the tree and what I saw there.
Maybe the woods go on forever. Maybe this night will never end.
“It must do,” I tell Dizzy, even though I don’t know if this is true.
And then I see them. White flakes falling like feathers through the night. The light from the torch catches them as they fall, every glistening crystal a falling star. My mouth drops open in surprise and I taste the frost on my tongue.
“It’s snowing.”
The snow is falling straight and steady, a thickening whiteness that quickly turns the path ahead into a blur.
“It can’t be snowing,” Johnny says, his voice incredulous as we stop and stare. “It’s the middle of May.”
But the falling snow doesn’t seem to care that it’s summertime, the silent flakes shimmering diamond sharp against the dark. There’s so many of them. Hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions. The sky transformed into a forest of flakes, each one an icy splinter slowly drifting to the ground.
I open my hand and watch as one of these snowflakes lands in the centre of my palm. Peering closely, I see icy branches leafing out from the middle of its starlike shape. It looks like a forest caught in a single snowflake.
The Longest Night of Charlie Noon Page 8
