Red Fever

by Caroline Clough

  “Maybe it’s ME,” Jamie continued.

  What did he know? Was he a doctor? Jamie was the same age as Toby, but his dad was paying his opinions as much attention as if he was talking to a real doctor. Toby angrily shoved the door open.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked. His dad got to his feet.

  “Oh, Toby, there you are. Jamie and I were just discussing Sylvie’s illness. He thinks that she might have ME, not red fever.”

  “And what’s that?” asked Toby sulkily.

  “Myalgic Encephalomyelitis. And I’m not saying that is what’s she’s got — just that it could be,” replied Jamie.

  “Eh?” Toby didn’t think he could have even pronounced it, never mind known what it was.

  “Apparently, we’ve been doing all the right things for her,” said his dad.

  “I’m so glad,” said Toby truculently. “So how did she get this Myalgic … whatever it is?”

  “Nobody really knows for certain,” replied Jamie, “but another name for it is Post Viral Fatigue Syndrome, so I suppose she may have had a small dose of the virus. She had enough immunity to fight it off but it left her in a very weak state. Another theory is that a big shock can trigger it off.”

  It took a moment for Toby and his dad to absorb all the new information. Toby knew what his dad was thinking. Sylvie had had the biggest shock of her life — losing her mum. And whose fault was that?

  “So, what do we have to find to cure her?” asked Toby’s dad.

  “There’s not a cure, as such.” Jamie turned to look at Toby. He seemed shocked when he saw the angry look on Toby’s face. “She’s not to be stressed or do anything tiring.”

  Why is he looking at me? Has Dad told him what happened? Does he know about Mum?

  “It’s difficult not to stress her — this life isn’t exactly stress-free,” sighed his dad.

  “You mustn’t let her pick up any infections,” continued Jamie. “Her immune system is very weak, so she has no resistance to germs. If she catches even just a cold …”

  “I think we know what you’re trying to say,” Toby interrupted. “She’ll die if we don’t look after her properly!”

  “Now, Toby,” said his dad. “That’s not what Jamie said. He was only trying to say how important …”

  “I know what he was trying to say, Dad!” cried Toby. He left before the tears that were pricking the back of his eyes could run down his cheeks.

  He makes it sound like it’s my fault that Sylvie’s ill. It’s all because of what happened to Mum. It was all my fault and Dad’s never going to forgive me!

  Toby ran up the stone steps, past his own bedroom door on the next level and then climbed the steep wooden staircase into the lamp room. He threw himself against the window, the sobs wrenching from his chest.

  I hate Jamie! Why did he have to come? We were doing OK before he came. We didn’t need to know what was wrong with Sylvie. We were doing the right things. He’s just making Dad remember how it all started. And that it’s all my fault. I hate him!

  But Toby knew inside that this wasn’t about Jamie. It was the thought of losing Sylvie that hurt the most. He couldn’t lose her, not after losing his mum. It was too much. He burrowed his face into his arms and cried.

  Stop crying, you baby. This isn’t going to help. What would Mum say if she could see you now? She’d tell you to man up and get a grip! She was always so brave. She never let things get her down. She stood up to everybody.

  Toby wiped his snotty wet face on his jumper, and looked out to sea. The sun was slowly dipping down behind the land to the west, throwing a pink glow on to the peaceful sea. He picked up the end of the telescope and swung it round to face inland. He could see the tiny deserted houses of the village spreading up the hillside. He could see the empty fields behind, which were once full of cattle and sheep. He could see …

  What’s that?

  He refocused and took another look. There it was, the unmistakable movement of a dog crossing the field. Then another dog appeared, and another. Toby counted five dogs in all, crossing the field as bold as could be.

  Strange, where have they come from?

  The local dogs usually hunted at night, and besides which, these dogs didn’t look like the ones Toby was used to seeing. The local dogs were thin, mangy-looking beasts, their long matted coats mostly white with black markings. Many of them had been farm collies at one time.

  Toby scanned the fields once more. Yes, there they were. These dogs were much bigger, some had short glossy black coats, others were a mixture of brown and grey with dense curly coats. They looked healthy and fit as they jogged casually over the muddy park and down towards the village.

  “Dad!” Toby screamed down the steps. “You’d better come and see this.”

  His dad was beside him in seconds, frantically scanning the village.

  “Five dogs? You saw five dogs?” he asked.

  “Yeah, and they weren’t the usual mangy pack of mutts from round here,” replied Toby.

  “I can see them,” said his dad. “They’re going into the Miller’s garage. They won’t find anything to eat in there.” He swung the telescope back to Toby. “Here, you keep an eye on them. I’m going to put the chickens in. I’ll check the fencing and the gates too. Can’t afford to make any mistakes.”

  Toby winced.

  He meant he would check the gates because he doesn’t trust me to do it after what happened to Mum.

  Toby’s dad ran down the stairs. Toby kept the telescope trained on the small village. He saw the dogs leave the garage and trot down the main road. They kept together, their noses not far apart, glancing from side to side as they went. Not one of them stopped to sniff a lamp-post or cock its leg on a bush. They moved as one.

  “Are they black?” asked a voice behind him. Toby wheeled round. It was Jamie.

  “Some of them are — the biggest ones. And they all look really fit. These are not the local dogs,” replied Toby, trying hard not to feel irritated by Jamie’s presence.

  Jamie went over to the window and squinted out, holding his hand up to his eyes.

  “I’ve got awful eyesight,” he confessed. “Can’t see a thing. I broke my specs ages ago. I’m lost without them.”

  “Ummm,” muttered Toby, trying to feign interest.

  “Tell me, what are they doing?”

  “I’m not sure. They seem to be doing a reccy of the village at the moment,” said Toby.

  “It’s exactly what Mum said,” whispered Jamie, as if to himself. “The dogs are moving in organised packs out of Aberdeen and into the countryside. They’re taking possession of the land and the villages. Any people left will be trapped in their homes and either starve or have to escape to find food. The dogs will rule the land and the shores.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” jeered Toby. “And I suppose this Cerberus is going to be crowned king of all the dogs!”

  “You’re probably closer to the truth than you realise,” replied Jamie.

  “Here, you keep watch.” Toby swung the telescope over to Jamie. “Dad doesn’t trust me anyway.” He turned and stomped down the stairs. He would go and see if Sylvie was OK.

  Sylvie was sitting in the kitchen with a big pot of crayons, drawing a clown and colouring it in.

  “Do you like my clown?” she asked. “Have you ever been to the circus?”

  “It’s a lovely clown,” said Toby, ruffling the top of her head with his bandaged hand. It wasn’t nearly so sore as it had been. “No, I’ve never been to a circus. Mum didn’t like them. But I saw clowns on the streets of Edinburgh during the festival one summer. They were on stilts. It was great!”

  “Can you draw one for me?” Sylvie offered him an orange crayon. Toby sat beside her and, taking the back of an old cereal packet, started to draw an orange clown on stilts.

  Sylvie rested her head on her hands and coughed a dry, scratchy cough.

  “Are you all right?” Toby asked her. He put his non-bandaged hand to h
er head. She was hot.

  “Sylve, I think it’s about your bedtime, OK?” he said, taking her hand. It felt hot and sticky too. “Come on, into bed.” He led her across to her makeshift day bed on the sofa. She didn’t complain but crawled in and snuggled down straightaway. “I’ll get you a drink of water.” Toby went and fetched her a mug of cold water, but when he returned, she was fast asleep.

  Toby decided to go outside and help his dad. The chickens could be skittish at times. His dad was closing the shed door as Toby walked down into the compound.

  “All the ladies are safely shut up for night,” said his dad, pushing the bolt shut. “I’m going to go and check the lock on that gate.”

  “I’ll come with you. Jamie’s keeping watch and Sylvie’s asleep. She’s running a high temperature again.”

  His dad nodded. “We’ll need to keep an eye on that. We’ve run out of Calpol, and I don’t dare give her any adult paracetamol, not that we’ve got much of that either.”

  “One tablet,” said Toby. “Last time I looked in the first-aid tin there was just one tablet left.” His dad shrugged his shoulders resignedly.

  “I know, we really need to find some more medicines,” he said.

  The two of them swung open the heavy wooden gates of the compound. To the left was a path that led down to the jetty where the Lucky Lady was moored. To the right was a stony track which led along the rocky promontory up to the village. About twenty yards along this, the track narrowed and the ground fell steeply away either side of it. This was where Toby’s dad had put up tall chain-link fencing that went down each side of the track and into the sea. Two massive gates stood on the track, fastened with a huge iron chain and padlock. Toby’s dad went and shook them vigorously.

  “They’ll hold!” he cried to Toby, who was inspecting the supporting struts of the fencing. “You’d need to ram them with a tractor to get these gates down.”

  “These still seem solid,” Toby cried back, trying to shake the posts in the ground.

  He lifted his head. His eye had caught some movement in the village on the hillside above them. He frowned and squinted into the evening light. Had he imagined it? Something in the half-light darted across the play park. A baby swing swayed back and forth, creaking spookily. Toby stared into the dusk. Was it a rabbit or a hare? There were certainly hundreds of them around the area, with its surrounding fields of grass and weeds to eat. No, it had been bigger than a rabbit.

  Something shot across the tarmac car park near the beach. There was more than one. Surely Jamie would have warned them if the dogs had come closer?

  “Toby, come here, slowly,” his dad quietly commanded.

  Toby climbed back up the bank on to the track and stood beside his dad. There, coming down the track five abreast, were the dogs. They trotted calmly out of the gloom of the dusk towards them.

  “Don’t move!” hissed his dad.

  “We’re safe here, aren’t we?” Toby hissed back.

  “We should be. Can’t see them getting over these gates, and they certainly can’t get through them,” said his dad.

  Why am I so scared then? thought Toby. They look like they mean business. I don’t think they want us to throw them a ball!

  The dogs were getting closer. They sniffed the air and then stopped a few feet from the gates. They were tall, handsome dogs with shiny coats.

  “Don’t look them in the eye,” said Toby’s dad. “I read somewhere that that just annoys dogs.”

  “No,” said a voice behind them. Jamie had been walking quietly towards them. “Do look them in the eye. Stare hard back at them. Draw yourself up to your full height and look as domineering as you can,” he instructed.

  “What?” gasped Toby. “I thought …”

  “These are foot soldiers,” interrupted Jamie. “They’re not the dominant ones in the pack. They’re used to being given orders. So order them to go away.”

  “What d’you mean?” gasped Toby’s dad.

  “Look,” said Toby, “they’re wagging their tails! Maybe they’re friendly dogs.”

  “That’s a sign that they’re excited,” said Jamie. “See how their tails are arched high over their backs and are wagging slowly. If they were being friendly their tails would be lower and wagging faster.”

  “Excited? Is that good?” hissed Toby.

  “No, now on the count of three we’re going to shout as loudly as we can, ‘Get lost!’” ordered Jamie, moving closer to the gates. Toby and his dad followed.

  “Get lost? That’s it?”

  “Yes, now … one — two — three!”

  “GET LOST!” they all shouted together as loudly as they could.

  The dogs threw back their heads and, rearing up, turned on their haunches and ran away.

  “Keep shouting!” said Jamie.

  “GET LOST! GET LOST! GET LOST! GET LOST!” they screamed at the retreating backs of the dogs.

  “Couldn’t we just have thrown something at them to make them go away?” asked Toby’s dad, as they made their way back to the compound.

  “Well, that would have driven them away from the gates for now, but they wouldn’t have connected stuff that came randomly flying through the air with you. Standing your ground and showing them that you weren’t frightened of them was a much better way of giving the message that this is your territory.”

  “I hope you’re right, Jamie,” said Toby’s dad. “Come on, let’s lock up for the night, and go and get some tea.”

  “I’ll come inside in a few minutes. I just need to let Belle out and feed her,” yelled Jamie as he headed for Belle’s shed in the compound.

  “What if they come back?” Toby asked his dad.

  “We’ve checked the fencing — it’s strong. We’re safe here. They can’t get in, and why would they want to? We’ve no fresh food, and everything in tins and packets is well hidden, so they can’t have smelt that.”

  “No, but they would have smelt the chickens, and …” Toby watched as Belle raced around the yard after a ball that Jamie had thrown for her. He pointed to the large white dog, “… Belle.”

  I’ve a feeling those dogs will be back. And next time, shouting at them will be useless.

  12. A Betrayal

  A summer storm got up that night and whipped the village with a frenzied wind. Toby lay in his bed listening to the wailing and moaning of the gusts swirling around the lighthouse. Far below he could hear the crashing of waves breaking on the shore and on the rocks of the promontory. Nearby, in the room below, he heard his dad singing his mum’s lullaby to Sylvie, in a sweet sing-song voice he only used with her.

  Toby thought about the dogs. They had been so like the dogs in his nightmare, it was scary. What if he’d had some premonition? What if the nightmare was going to come true?

  Go to sleep, he told himself, turning over. That’s mad. You’re supposed to be a logical thinker — an engineer. It’s just rubbish about dreams and that …

  He fell to sleep thinking about how great it would be to go to university and learn to be a real engineer, like his dad had been.

  Woof! A deep bark woke him from his sleep. Belle was standing next to his bed. Woof, woof! She placed her paw on the duvet and scratched it back and forwards.

  Toby sat up. It couldn’t be that late; his candle was still sputtering in the night jar beside his bed.

  “What are you doing here? You should be in your kennel,” he said, yawning. The storm was still raging outside. The wind was tearing at the wooden shutters at his window, banging them back and forth.

  “Come on,” ordered Toby. “Let’s take you back to Jamie. Downstairs with you!” He pulled an old hoodie on over his jammies, and crept down the stairs.

  There was no sign of Jamie. He should have been asleep on the sofa but it was empty. Toby raced back up the stairs to the lamp room. That was the only other place he could be. The lamp room was full of the noise of the howling wind but there was no sign of Jamie.

  He’s not gone outside
, surely? Not in this weather? And why did he leave Belle behind?

  Toby craned his neck to look out of the window and down into the compound. But in the dark, with the rain lashing the glass, he couldn’t see anything.

  He raced in his stocking feet back down the stairs to the kitchen on the first floor of the lighthouse. To get to the ground floor and outside, Jamie would have needed to lower the wooden steps leading from the hatch in the floor of the kitchen. Toby’s dad put them in as a safety measure so that they could be drawn up every night and locked. He felt safer knowing that even if someone or something got into the compound, they still couldn’t get into their living quarters in the lighthouse.

  The hatch in the kitchen was closed, but when Toby opened it he found that the steps had been lowered. Jamie must have gone outside.

  Why? thought Toby. Is he completely insane?

  He pulled on his wellies and went down the stairs, calling Belle to go with him. Once outside in the dark, wet night, Toby couldn’t make out where Jamie had gone. He couldn’t have opened the compound gates; they were heavy and awkward. Besides, did he know where Toby’s dad kept the key? Toby thought not.

  Suddenly Belle took off. She ran towards one of the older barns that wasn’t used very often. It was full of stuff they’d stored in case it might be useful one day: old engine parts, empty oil cans, buckets without handles, coils of climbing ropes and a pair of old skis. Toby followed Belle.

  The barn door stood slightly ajar. Toby slid into the dark room, trying to make out something in gloom. There appeared to be a light coming from the back of the building. It was a tiny round beam such as that from a torch, and it was moving towards him. Then it went out abruptly. Toby stood stock still in the dark.

  Someone’s in here. I can feel them. I can hear them breathing.

  “Jamie? Is that you?” he squeaked nervously.

  Someone rammed into his side and Toby fell to the floor.

  Whoever it was who had pushed him was now busy tying his hands behind his back, then his feet together. Toby felt groggy. He had hit the side of his head on the floor. It hadn’t been hard, but it was enough to make him lose his balance and his bearings.