by Tom Anderson
The water reached my toes, and they tingled with its gentle cold. I stood and stared, as the figures grew fainter on my horizon. The sea pulled gently back, and my toes dropped into the wet sand. When the next shore-pound swished over, my feet adjusted to the temperature around. I waved once more, as the eighteen figures followed Gigi downwards, easing themselves gradually into deeper water. Again, they waved back – hands rising slowly over their heads so that the last I saw of them was just those turning palms, sloshing through the inky surface of the summer sea, before they were gone and darkness, too thick to reveal the ripples left behind, washed in all around.
I kept my shoes in my hands as I walked back over the dunes towards home – a route I knew so well I could do it without sight. Eyes on standby, I concentrated only on the other senses, picking out the cool sand underfoot, the wind shaking the sharp dune grass and the smell of the wild flowers that lined the path back home.
The dim porch light had been left on, easing my eyes into the safety of our house. I picked the key out of my pocket, heard it click into place in the door. Inside, I tiptoed up the stairs and rolled straight into bed. Shortest night of the year. The one we’d chosen to celebrate the End of Everything. If I’d looked out the window, I might have even noticed the horizons had swapped places. The west, over Bunkers, would be drenched in darkness, while the east began to breathe out the next cycle of daylight.
It was going to be a bright one, too. But we all knew that, right?
For more information about Tom Anderson
and other Accent Press titles
please visit
www.accentpress.co.uk
Published by Accent Press Ltd 2016
ISBN: 9781783758227
Copyright © Tom Anderson 2016
The right of Tom Anderson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN
