There isn’t much room in the back for all three of us, so Claire crawls into the front seat, swaying dangerously as Mr Lancer hurtles around corners. ‘What do we do now?’ she shouts over the sound of the drumming rain and the screaming engine.
‘We have to get you all to safety,’ Mr Lancer calls back. ‘Grayson wasn’t intending for James to come out of there unscathed, so he’s going to be particularly targeting him from now on. He’s going to lose the polite act, I should think, and get ruthless.’
‘Wonderful,’ I mutter, clinging on to the edge of the seat to stop myself sliding around. It seems to me he’s already plenty ruthless.
‘I suggest we camp out at Will’s place,’ Mr Lancer continues. ‘It’s already protected, and we can easily increase the strength of it.’
‘Why can’t we just protect our own houses?’ Claire asks a trifle desperately.
‘It’ll be stronger with you all in the one place,’ Mr Lancer explains.
‘Plus Mum’s possessed,’ I tell her.
She jerks her head around to stare at me in horror. I nod, showing her I’m not kidding. ‘Oh, I hate this,’ she says, turning back to the front looking utterly miserable. ‘James – I hate all this.’
‘Oh, terribly sorry to inconvenience you, Claire,’ I say, scowling. My head is aching like mad now that I’m not using my adrenalin for running down corridors. Instead it’s building up the pressure behind my stinging eyes and making my vision go blotchy.
‘Listen, don’t worry about your mum,’ Mr Lancer advises us. ‘There’s nothing you can do, and worrying is just going to make it worse. We’ll take care of it all later; I promise you’ll get her back in one piece.’ Neither of us answers, so he continues on. ‘The thing to do now is make sure the rest of you are safely out of harm’s way.’
He stops the car abruptly outside Jem’s house, and turns to look at him. ‘Now, I want you in and out in no more than two minutes, understand? Just grab some clothes and get out of there – we don’t have much time.’
Jem nods, leaps out of the car and runs through the rain towards his house.
‘How long are we going to be away for?’ Claire asks, the panic rising in her voice again. ‘How long will it take to get everything back to normal?’
‘I don’t know how long you’re going to be away from your home, I’m afraid,’ Mr Lancer says gently. ‘And nothing has ever been normal. You’re just stuck in the middle of it this time.’
‘Why was she outside Grayson’s office, anyway?’ I ask suddenly. ‘Why isn’t she in class?’
‘Claire told me Pippa Green had to rush into town for something this morning,’ Mr Lancer says. ‘Pippa wouldn’t rush to the apocalypse, so I was worried that something was going on. Then when you didn’t show up, and Jeremy said you’d been seen outside the headmaster’s office, it was clear that Mr Grayson was taking advantage of Pippa’s absence. Knowing the Hoarders would also target your friends and family, I pulled Claire and Jeremy out of class and ran.’
‘You mean you knew about Grayson?’ I accuse him.
‘Not until today when he started blowing up the school,’ Mr Lancer says. ‘He’s been playing it close to the chest.’
‘How come you know all about what’s going on?’ Claire asks.
‘He’s a Guardian,’ I say.
Claire frowns uncertainly. ‘That’s a good guy, right?’
Mr Lancer smiles at her. ‘Yes, I’m pretty good.’
‘With magical powers?’
‘You could say that.’
‘So how come Mr Grayson tried to steal Jim away when you were around, but not when Pippa was? Is she tougher than you or something?’
‘No.’ Mr Lancer laughs, thinking, perhaps, about how weak and silly Pippa is. ‘I’m guessing Mr Grayson didn’t realise he had a Guardian on his payroll any more than I realised I had a Hoarder for a boss. I can be sneaky myself when I want to be.’
Just then we catch sight of Jem, who’s climbing out of a downstairs window, lugging a sports bag behind him. He pulls the window back down and jogs over to us, then pushes his wet bag into my face and climbs in himself.
‘Any trouble?’ Mr Lancer asks as he starts the car again and pulls out.
‘None,’ Jem reports. ‘No one’s home.’
‘So how come you climbed out of the window?’ I ask him.
He shrugs. ‘It seemed like the thing to do.’
We arrive at our house a few minutes later, and again Mr Lancer stops outside in the street, the raindrops bouncing off the windows.
‘Right, same deal, you two,’ he tells us sternly. ‘Just grab what you need and run. We won’t be safe until we get to Will’s.’
We nod and head out into the wet world, splashing our way through the puddles on the driveway and up to the front door. Claire searches for her keys, while I shiver and try to get the world back into focus. It keeps trying to black out. Finally she lets us in, and we rush into the darkness of the house.
We hurry through the empty living room, and she heads up the stairs to the top floor while I make my way down the passageway. I don’t switch on the lights. I’m even conscious of my breathing as I weave my way through the darkness to my room.
Once there I work as quickly as I can with one arm, grabbing my old St Giles’ school bag and shoving clothes into it – underwear, socks, shirts, jumpers, grabbing at them indiscriminate of size, colour or state of cleanliness. I’m just reaching for an old baseball cap lying near the sliding door when I hear the sound of a loo being flushed upstairs. I look up at the ceiling and roll my eyes, thinking it’s Claire taking five years like a typical girl. Then I remember.
Win isn’t well. Michael stayed at home to look after her.
Bollocks. How in hell am I going to persuade Michael to bundle up his sick daughter and come with us to a friend’s house for a sleepover?
I look back down and –
‘Aagh!’
Mum is standing outside the sliding door, looking gormless and holding a patio chair.
I turn and run for the hallway, reaching it just as the window behind me shatters into a million pieces. ‘Come back here, James,’ I hear Mum call in an empty voice. ‘This room is a disgrace.’
I race back along the passageway and burst out into the living room. The kitchen light has been turned on and Michael is standing at the counter with his back to me.
‘Dad,’ I gasp, hurrying up to him. ‘I need you to do exactly what I say, okay? I need you to trust me.’
He turns, a carving knife in his hand.
‘But, James,’ he says in a flat voice, his eyes empty, ‘you’re a liar. I can’t trust you.’
I back up in a hurry as the knife slices through the air. I stumble over the dining chairs and put the table between me and Michael as he comes at me. I can’t believe it – not Michael. They can’t have got Michael. How did they get into the house?
Then another thought chills my innards so fast I almost stop breathing. Winifred. If they got into the house…
Suddenly three doors swing open at once, and I raise my awareness, ready to fight off Hoarders. But it’s not them. Claire is frozen at the top of the right-hand stairs with a suitcase bursting at the seams. (What’s wrong with that girl?) Mum is below her, having come up the passageway from my room, still dragging the patio chair. And Win is at the top of the left-hand stairs in her pyjamas. She looks over the banisters at us, her eyes wide and chock-full of Winifred. She’s still her.
‘Daddy?’ she calls.
I have to get her out of here.
Michael seems to read my mind. ‘Stay away from your sister,’ he intones. ‘You’re a bad influence.’
‘Yeah, well,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘I’m going through a phase. CLAIRE.’
Claire’s on it. She gives her suitcase a mighty shove over the banisters and it goes crashing down on top of Mum. At the same time I put a giant-sized protection shield around the table and push it up against the kitchen bench, sandwiching
Michael between them. I pray that the carving knife doesn’t skewer him in the rush, but I don’t have time to check. I dash up the stairs to the left, grab Win’s hand and run down the upper hallway.
‘Jim, what’s happening?’ she says.
‘Not now, Win,’ I say, pulling her along. ‘Gotta go.’
We run past our parents’ room, past hers and out onto the landing near Claire’s room at the back. Claire herself is running at us from the other direction.
The three of us race into her room and look desperately around. ‘What now?’ Claire shrieks. ‘The door doesn’t lock.’
‘We have to get out.’ I run over to the window, swing it open and scramble out onto the ledge, pulling Winifred with me. Sleet hits our faces.
‘Are you insane?’ Claire says, backing away.
‘You want to use the front door, you go right ahead,’ I yell back at her. Then I decide I’m not giving her a choice. I try to grab her, but my shoulder sears with pain, so much that I nearly drop Winifred.
Fine. I’ll do it the other way.
I focus my attention on Claire. Before she knows what’s happened, a protection shield has lifted her right off her feet.
‘James, what the –’ she manages to say before she comes flying straight at us.
‘Claire’s flying, Claire’s flying!’ Win cries, clapping her hands and jiggling about. The movement sets my shoulder off again, and I lose concentration. The protection shield collapses, but Claire’s still coming at us. She crashes into Win and me and we all go toppling over the edge of the window and out into space.
Okay, I think rationally as we fall. Now, you know you can protect yourself from things flying at your head. This is no different. It’s just that the thing flying at your head right now is the ground.
I breathe in the rushing air, bury the pain in my shoulder and gather my concentration, and a beautiful, glistening ball of protection surrounds us and floats us gently to the ground, rotating slightly so we’re upright again. It makes the garden around us look like an early frosty morning, all gleaming and new. Winifred laughs with delight. It’s too bad Claire has her eyes shut.
Our feet touch the ground and the protection shield falls away. Sleet hits our faces again. Claire falls sideways into a bush, gasping and looking horrified. She struggles to her feet and hits me across the chest. ‘Don’t you ever do that to me again,’ she screeches.
Jeez. You’re welcome.
A smashing sound comes from above us, and we run for it around the side of the house, only to skid to a halt as a man in wellingtons appears down the path, walking purposefully towards us. His eyes aren’t blank. This isn’t a mindless zombie. This is a Hoarder.
We dash back around the corner and try for the other side, but a woman in a beanie has appeared at that side too. She smiles a nasty smile. We can’t get back to the car.
‘The woods,’ I mutter to the girls, and we fly across the muddy lawn and onto the forest track just as a tree to our right bursts into flames.
I need backup.
Mr Lancer! I scream in my head. Mr Lancer? Is this thing on? Can you hear me?
I’m here. I can hear you.
Oh, good.
Hoarders. Can’t get through.
Hoarders? he repeats, sounding confused. Well, they didn’t come round the front. They must have been waiting for you. Where are you now?
On the track that leads to Will’s.
Righty-ho, he says calmly. See you there.
No, I meant come and save us! I call desperately, but he’s gone. How are we supposed to make it there by ourselves? It’s all I can do to keep a protection shield at our backs as we charge along, the sounds of pursuit behind us.
‘Where are we going?’ Claire yells as we run.
‘Will’s,’ I shout back. ‘Keep to the path on the left.’ Then we all have to duck as a branch comes swinging at us from the side.
‘Claire,’ Win wails. Her slippers have come off and she’s limping along on bare feet, her wet hair plastered to her face.
‘We’ve got to keep moving, sweetie,’ Claire pants, but it’s clear Win can’t go much further. I swing her up onto my back, my shoulder throbbing in pain as I do, and we stumble along, the Hoarders gaining on us by the second. I’ve just about collapsed in exhaustion by the time we reach the place where the path splits in two.
‘We’re not going to make it,’ I gasp, sliding Win off my back and falling to my knees in the mud.
‘James, get up!’ Claire screams, but it’s too late. The two Hoarders have crested the hill behind us and are closing in, gathering their power to finish us off. I fall forwards, the cold air tearing at my lungs, and dig my fingers into the dirt of the path.
As soon as my hands touch that other path, though, dark power surges up my arms. My spine snaps up straight and my hand whips out in front of me, fingers splayed, then I crunch it into a fist. The trunk of a giant tree behind me splinters, and the tree goes toppling right between us and the Hoarders.
I’m energised and on my feet in an instant. ‘GO!’ I roar at the girls and, ignoring the carnage behind me, I start charging down the path.
‘JAMES!’ Claire yells after me. I stop and look back. ‘You said the track to the left.’
I’m on the wrong path. Why did I think I had to go this way? I look deeper into the woods and feel a great power hidden in there. If I could just get to it…
Claire screams, and I whip back around. The Hoarders are smashing their way through the fallen tree, bark and branches flying everywhere. It almost hurts to walk away from the energy coming from down the other path, but I double back and the three of us start running towards Will’s again. I don’t dare touch Win – there’s dark light crackling around my fingers – but Claire grabs her hand and helps her along.
A minute later we break out of the trees and run up Will’s driveway, only to be almost run over first by Will’s car, then Peter’s, then Mr Lancer’s mini as they screech up to the door with three other vehicles on their tails.
Car doors fly open and we’re joined by Peter, Pippa, Will, Mr Lancer and Jem as we make a dash for the front door. We burst into the hallway, dripping and gasping, and the door slams shut behind us, leaving us in darkness.
Will flicks the light on and winces at the sudden brightness. He’s sporting a black eye and a cut cheek, and looks like he spent the better part of the night in the gutter. A feeling of loathing washes over me. Honestly, leaving us in mortal danger so he could go out and get drunk, just because a girl once kicked his arse? Pathetic.
‘What are you all doing here?’ he asks acidly.
‘We’re moving in,’ Jem tells him. ‘Apparently it’s safer.’
Will looks horrified. ‘All of you?’ he exclaims.
‘Warwick, what happened?’ Pippa asks Mr Lancer, absent-mindedly stroking Win’s wet hair off her face.
‘Busted,’ Mr Lancer says cheerily. ‘I’ll explain over a cup of tea once we’re all dry.’
‘Yeah, well just stay off the leather couch until you are,’ Will says, slouching through his unwanted guests and walking into the lounge room. ‘I don’t want any more of my stuff ruined by –’
He stops abruptly. I’m aching and trembling with fever and fatigue, but I walk up behind him to see what he’s looking at.
A girl who looks just like Pippa is asleep, lying sideways in one of the leather armchairs. Her letterbox-red coat is still on, but unbuttoned, and her black boots have been slouched off and are lying next to Gwen, who is guarding them loyally. A nearby lamp creates a pool of light around her and sets sparkles off in her damp hair, which is curling in ringlets around her face.
She looks so still and serene and beautiful, and I feel a wave of relief so strong at the sight of her that I almost collapse where I stand.
Will stares at her for a moment, then walks towards the woman who defeated him. I panic, wondering whether I should put a protection shield around her, but Will kneels softly in front of her. A long-
fingered hand reaches out and tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. She stirs. He smiles.
‘Hey, Kitten,’ he whispers.
Chapter Fifteen: In the Shadows
I don’t remember much after that.
My last clear image was of Will picking Kit up in his arms and carrying her out of the room, but then maybe that was me being carried, because I end up in a bed somehow, shivering uncontrollably with sweat pouring down my face. There’s a light shining somewhere near me, but its beams don’t even reach the edge of the bed, and all around there is heavy blackness pressing in on me. I’m sure there’s someone in the shadows. The pale orb of someone’s face swims into my vision, and I hear my name being called from far away.
‘Mum?’ I croak. My throat feels like it’s on fire.
A cool hand caresses my forehead, but it can’t keep me with it. The orb dims before me, and I am plunged once more into sleep.
Only I don’t like this sleep. It isn’t restful; it’s a prison. It’s too full of things, of images I never would have dreamed up on my own; of terrible, distorted things that only an evil mind should have to deal with. They are not my own, and they shouldn’t be here in my sleep.
There is a tree, a big tree, with a family living inside, and I walk up to it and peer in at them, all huddled up together. Then I step back and set the tree alight with my hand, and laugh as they all burn up and the tree collapses on them.
Then there is a building, and I am throwing the first-graders off it into the traffic below, and watching the congestion spread down the roads around it for miles, until everyone is at a standstill and watching the growing pile of bodies.
Then I am watching a man being tortured on a rack, his limbs being pulled back beyond their limits, his mouth stretched open in pain, his bloodied chest exposed to the white-hot poker inching towards him. I am painting the scene, calmly mixing paint to get the right shade of red.
Then I am standing in front of a woman and her heart is in my hand. I start squeezing it, and the tighter I squeeze the more she screams. Eventually the heart explodes and she turns into a shadow, and the shadow twines itself around my family and suffocates them as I walk away.
James Munkers Page 16
