by Robin Jarvis
“Sweet!” he whispered as the torch beam revealed the treasures on the shelves.
He frowned when he realised he should have brought his holdall. He couldn’t carry more than two of those great tins at a time without it. Looking around, he saw, tucked under the lowest shelf, a collection of empty Tupperware containers.
“Hallelujah!” he muttered, smiling.
Taking the biggest, he put a bag of pasta and two bags of rice inside. Then he filled up the remaining space with packets of dried fruit and one of sugar. Sealing the lid back on and pocketing the torch, he carried the box through to the kitchen.
“I’ll be back for the rest of you foxy bitches,” he addressed the darkness of the storeroom.
It wasn’t long before he was climbing back out of the window. Kneeling on the ground outside, he waited till he was sure the coast was clear. Then, lugging the container, he darted over the lawn behind the main block – towards the forbidding expanse of night-smothered trees.
Lee wasn’t afraid of the deep gloom, but he almost choked at the rank smell that hit his nostrils as he pressed deeper into the wood. Was there a stagnant ditch close by? Hailing from an estate in South London, he wasn’t overly familiar with the countryside. Did it always stink like this? It was stronger than the drains in July.
Although he tried to move as silently as possible, the leaves of the previous autumn crunched as noisily as crisps and cornflakes under his trainers and twigs snapped even louder. When he had gone a short distance, he stopped and took out his torch again. He had to find something distinctive, something he would recognise again. Ahead he saw a fat tree. He had no idea what sort, but its bottommost branches spread out like two arms and the gnarled bark of the trunk suggested a face with puckered lips. It reminded him of a girl he had known in the days before the book. Yes, that would do.
He deposited the box at its base and hunted around for twigs and bracken to use as camouflage. As he collected it, the sensation he was being watched began to grow in his mind and the putrid smell of decay became stronger.
Unnerved, Lee looked around. It was too dark to see; the black shadows concealed everything and he hesitated to switch the torch on again.
“That you, pussy boy?” he murmured, thinking Marcus had followed him. “Don’t you try no tricks on me.”
There was no answer except the listless stirring of the leaves overhead and the faintest of noises, like the soft and subtle popping of bath foam. Lee turned towards the strange sound and thought he saw a shadow slide down from above. He blinked. Trying to pierce the darkness was a strain on the eyes.
He snapped on the torch. The beam shone directly on to the bubbling mass of black mould that was rearing in front of him.
ALASDAIR SAT HIMSELF down on the chalet step and picked out a tune on his guitar.
“Bit miserable,” a girl’s voice called over to him. “But you’re pretty good.”
He looked up and saw Jody still on her own step.
The Scot acknowledged her with a nod.
“You get in a lot of practice when there’s no anything else to do – and no pals to do it with neither,” he said. “And I like ‘miserable’.”
“So what bands you into?”
Alasdair shook his head. “Och, no,” he replied. “I’m no playing that game.”
“What game?”
“Do you really have to shout? Can you no come sit here and talk civil? I’ve got a hut full of wee lads trying to get their heads doon.”
Wrapping her green cardigan about her, the girl wandered over and sat next to him.
“What game?” she repeated.
“The ‘I know more obscure bands than you do’ game,” he said dismissively. “That sort of music snobbery doesnae interest me.”
Jody stood up again. “Oh, forget it,” she said, exasperated. “I was only trying to make conversation. I shouldn’t have bothered. None of you are worth bothering with. I keep telling myself I’m better off on my own; dunno why I don’t listen. Stick your ruddy guitar, stick your dirges and stick your snitty attitude.”
She turned to leave, but the boy asked her to wait.
“Sorry,” he groaned. “When you spend months being defensive, it’s a tough habit to crack and my social skills are rusty. Knee-jerk rude, that’s me. Sit down… please.”
“Not easy, is it?” she said, softening. “I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to talk to someone normal.”
“Aye,” he agreed. “Would you look at the state of us – it’s tragic.”
“After what we’ve been through it’s not surprising: the riots, the firebombing of the bookshops, the persecution… And there’s only so many times you can get the hope and trust kicked out of you. We’re too scared to even try to make friends – I know I am and I can be a right cow about it.”
The boy laughed.
“I can!” she insisted. “I was foul to a little girl earlier. I wish – oh, it’s too late now.”
“We could learn a lot from the bairns here,” he told her. “They’re still able an’ willing to have a go at making pals without worrying it wilnae last. My lads in there are going to be thick as thieves come Monday morning.”
“The day they have to leave their new friends and go back to families who don’t want them,” Jody said bitterly. “Provided they haven’t been zombified by then.”
Alasdair looked down at his guitar and played the opening notes of a song.
“Well, that’s less miserable than the other one,” she observed.
“‘I am a Rock’ by Simon and Garfunkel,” he told her.
“And there’s you talking about obscure!”
“Good tunes are good tunes however old they are. It’s all ear food – and that one seemed appropriate.”
He gave the guitar his attention once more and sang the last few lines.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.
“Do you have a pithy playlist for every occasion?” she asked dryly.
“Empathic jukebox, that’s me,” he answered with a grin. “Name’s Alasdair and – oh, no – I’m going to make friends with you so deal with it. If I’m not brainwashed by the end of this weekend, you can even have my mobile number. Make a change having someone call it. I dinnae bother charging it up half the time.”
Jody smiled with pleasure and the wall she had built around herself crumbled a little.
“Music’s always been a massive part of my life,” she said, gazing at the guitar. “When I was three, my mum and dad took me to Glastonbury. There’s photos of me covered in the thickest mud, like some midget swamp monster. We went back every other year. The bands I’ve seen…”
She looked off into the darkness of the distant trees. She didn’t want to think about the past. It was gone.
“Your mum and dad sound cool.”
“They were,” she said with a stark finality in her voice. “What about yours?”
Alasdair screeched his fingernail along a string for dramatic effect. “Next question!” he said evasively.
Jody tactfully reverted to the previous subject. “I wonder if they’ll even have Glastonbury this year?” she murmured. “I was going to go without them this time, just me and my best mate, before all this happened. If they do have it, it’ll probably be full of mass readings and minstrels and hey nonny nonnying.”
“Do they no have plenty of that there anyway, wi’ all the tree-hugging hippy caper and henna tattoos?”
Jody coughed to disguise her laughter. She’d hugged plenty of trees and had her hands decorated lots of times.
“That’s only a tiny part of it!” she said. “The best, most amazing artists in the world play on those stages. It’s incredible – was incredible.”
Before Alasdair could continue, they were distracted by Marcus emerging from the next cabin. He had changed into a Man United strip and ca
me jogging over.
“Going to do some exercise before turning in,” he addressed the Scottish lad, ignoring Jody. “Want to join me?”
“No, I’m good thanks.”
“Play me something to work out to then!” Marcus called, trotting to the centre of the lawn, sparring with the night air as he hopped from foot to foot.
“I do believe I’d rather catch leprosy,” Alasdair remarked to Jody.
“He’s full of himself that one,” she said.
“Aye, well, that’s probably what’s kept him going. With me, it was my guitar. I dinnae know what I’d have done without it these past months. Takes my mind off it, mostly. How did you manage?”
“Books and bands. Proper books, I mean! Anything to escape from ruddy Jacks and Jills. What is it with that naff spelling of Jax with an ‘x’ anyway? It don’t make no sense.”
Alasdair had no answer for her and so they watched, bemused, as Marcus threw himself into an energetic routine, diving to the ground for press-ups, followed by crunches, then squat thrusts.
“Have you noticed the way he walks?” Jody said. “Like he’s carrying two invisible carpets under his arms.”
“He’s no even that pumped. Thinks he’s bigger than he is. And does he shower in aftershave? It comes into the room before he does and doesnae go when he leaves. Did you ever see them old Charlie Broon cartoons? There’s one wee character called Pig-Pen who has a cloud of dirt about him wherever he goes. Yon laddie’s the same, but his cloud’s flowers and citrus notes. Ha – I loved Charlie Broon. When he’s at his desk in school, you never see the teacher, you just hear this boring, droning noise coming from the front – no even proper words, just a noise. That’s what I think of every time we have a communal reading of you know what.”
Jody looked thoughtful. “Did you know,” she began, “people use so many perfumes, deodorants and air-fresheners, the chemicals have now reached such a saturation point they can be detected in the air we breathe? Can you get your head round that? The size of this planet and we’ve managed to turn the atmosphere surrounding it into toxic pot-pourri. All those synthetic particles and dangerous metals soaking into the food we eat and building up in our bodies. No one knows what they’ll do to us, but it won’t be pleasant. Still, if a downstairs loo smells of roses and the kitchen floor is lemony fresh, it must be worth it.”
“Ray of sunshine, you are,” Alasdair observed. “Och, look at him jumping up and doon. What a pranny.”
Jody began to laugh.
“I know why he’s doing it!” she spluttered with sudden realisation. “It’s so Barbie girl will see him. He thinks it’ll impress her.”
Alasdair knew she was right and he began to laugh as well. It was the first time either of them had really laughed in too long and the abrupt release of their pent-up fears and tensions was a bursting dam. Soon they were doubled over in hysterics. But Jody laughed too fiercely, too loudly. Tears streaked down her face; the breath wheezed in her lungs. Soon she was no longer in control. She couldn’t stop and the laughter began to hurt as it escalated into a panic attack. The fear swelled in her aching chest. Her hands started to shake and she gripped the step for support.
Alasdair stared at her in alarm. Over on the grass, Marcus looked up from the set of one-handed press-ups he had started and frowned at the racket she was making.
“Slap her!” he shouted.
Alasdair ignored that, but he clutched Jody’s shoulders and turned her towards him.
“Listen to me!” he told her urgently. “Calm down! Take long, deep breaths. That’s it. Long, steady, deep breaths. You can do it, keep going, keep going, that’s right.”
The girl shuddered and he felt her go limp as the attack subsided. Her breathing eased and, trembling, she fell back.
“I thought you was about to have a seizure,” he told her, relieved. “Have you no got an inhaler?”
She looked up at him through watering eyes.
“I’m not asthmatic!” she answered, gasping and confused. “I don’t know what that was – you must think I’m a freak.”
The boy couldn’t help grinning. “Aye,” he said. “A freak with a bright purple face right noo.”
Jody searched for a fitting retort, but instead she burst out laughing again. This time it was a natural, carefree sound that made her feel light and good inside.
Alasdair chuckled with her.
“We’re all freaks here,” he said.
“Freaks and rejects,” she added.
“Are you spelling that wi’ two ‘x’s?” he joked.
Suddenly a terrified yell rang out in the distance and nothing was funny any more. Jody leaped to her feet.
“What the ruddy hell were that?” she murmured.
Alasdair rose beside her. “That was definitely no a happy noise,” he whispered.
“It came from back there!” Marcus said, racing up and running round the cabin to stare at the woods behind.
“It was a person,” Jody said. “A person screaming. What should we do? Call someone?”
“Like who?” Marcus snapped. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“We could get that old guy and tell him. He could do something.”
“What, Captain Mainwaring?” Alasdair said doubtfully. “You reckon?”
“Shouldn’t we try? Someone’s in trouble.”
“You’re a fine one with the understatement,” the Scottish boy muttered. “To me it sounded more like they were getting their throat cut and hacked to bits. That scream was of the curdling blood type.”
“Shut up!” Marcus hissed at them. “Over there – look!”
He nodded towards the trees. In the midst of that shadowy expanse, something was moving. A figure was lunging and stumbling out of them, tearing over the grass as fast as it could go.
“Who is it?” Jody asked.
It was too dark to tell. The figure came charging towards them. Soon they heard its frantic breathing and the three teenagers looked at one another nervously. Marcus began edging away. Then the unknown person tripped and went crashing to the ground. A string of expletives polluted the air.
“Oh, it’s him!” Marcus said, recognising the voice with a mix of relief and contempt.
The other two were none the wiser, but the figure scrambled to its feet again and continued running. It wasn’t long before it was close enough for each of them to identify.
Lee Charles came lurching into view, arms thrashing the air in his panic. He wasn’t used to running and the sweat was pouring down his face. He almost charged right into the others, as if he didn’t even see them. At the last moment, he skidded to a stop and whipped round to stare searchingly at the empty stretch of lawn behind.
“Did you see?” he demanded. “Did you see it? Where’d it go?”
“See what?” Marcus asked, folding his arms.
Lee glared at the three of them. “You didn’t see nuthin’?” he shouted in angry disbelief.
Alasdair and Jody shook their heads.
“We just saw you,” Marcus told him with a gleam in his eyes. “And heard you squealing like a frightened girly.”
If Lee even heard that, he let it pass and turned to face the dark stretch of trees once more. He couldn’t have imagined that back there. That frothing horror had been real, he knew it, and he had never been so afraid in his entire life. But what it was, he had no idea. Why hadn’t it pursued him? He doubled over to catch his breath, trying to make sense of it in his head. He had escaped it – that was the only thing that mattered.
“You OK?” Jody asked.
He waited before answering. His terror was fading and cold, cynical reason flooded in to take its place, telling him he must have been mistaken. What he saw couldn’t possibly exist. It was a trick of the dark and the unfamiliar. His senses were deceived, jerked around by the strangeness of the countryside at night.
“I dunno, man,” he argued with himself as he straightened up. “Seemed like the real deal to me.”
&
nbsp; “What did you see back there?” Jody asked. “What happened?”
Lee looked at her vaguely and shrugged, trying to claim back any cool he had lost. “You hearing things, girl,” he stated flatly. “I didn’t see nuthin’.”
“Didnae sound like nothing,” Alasdair persisted. “If there’s something dangerous out there, we ought to know.”
“Leave me be!” Lee snapped angrily. “It was nuthin’!”
Pushing past them, he took a cigarette from his pocket and clamped it between his lips, but he knew if he tried to light up, they’d see his trembling hands. With a snort of impatience, he stomped back to his cabin.
“Well weird,” Jody commented. “What were that about?”
“Why was he even over there?” Alasdair asked. “Running away?”
“He’s dead moody,” the girl observed. “Maybe he wanted to get shot of us for a bit. Can’t really blame him. We’re not exactly the nicest bunch, are we?”
Marcus sniffed and sneered. “His problem is he thinks he’s Samuel L Jackson,” he said. “Ha – you just can’t get away from that word… ‘Jack’. It’s everywhere. You ever noticed that? Jack of all trades, hijack, carjack, Jack Russells, jackals, Jack the Ripper, Jack-in-a-box, Jack the Giant-killer, the house that Jack built – even the bloody flag!”
“So which is your favourite?” Jody asked archly.
“Jack the Lad,” came the instant reply. “Just like me.”
The girl wondered how often he had rehearsed saying that. It had sprung too readily from his lips. Just as readily she thought of several other types of ‘Jack’ that suited him better.
“S’pose I’m Jack Daniels then,” Alasdair volunteered.
Marcus was bursting to come back with ‘Jock Daniels’, but he bit his tongue. He’d save that one for when he knew the Scottish lad a bit better and he could get away with it.
