Aunt Zo and the imp were panting badly, and Hannah wasn’t much better. Part of this was sheer panic. The sounds of the Fallen were getting louder and louder. The breached fence was still obstructing them for now, but a rending sound as one of the metal poles sheared made it clear this wouldn’t last long.
Vaneclaw was starting to fall behind again, partly because of his little legs, but also because he kept glancing back. There was an expression on his gnarled, beige face that neither Hannah nor anyone else had ever seen there before.
An expression that was thoughtful. Considering.
‘Stop looking round,’ Hannah shouted. ‘Just hurry.’
She led the way to the steps. These ran between two houses, a shortcut to avoid the switchback of the road.
‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ Zo moaned when she saw the stairs. But then they heard the crash of the fence finally coming down. They kept running.
There were fifty-one steps. Hannah knew this, having counted them on the times she and Dad walked back from their Saturday excursions. Fifty-one short, concrete steps. That’s all.
Fifty-one can feel like a lot, though.
Before she was even a quarter of the way up she slipped, barking her knee. The pain put tears in her eyes and for a moment she considered not moving ever again, but Aunt Zo grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and pulled her back to her feet. On to her hands and knees, anyway – which was how she tackled the rest of the climb. Zo was effectively doing the same thing, pulling herself upward with the rusted metal handrail, panting like a steam train nearing the end of its life.
The imp was at the back, still wasting precious moments by looking behind him. Hannah fixed her eyes on the top. There was enough moonlight to see her goal: the place in the very top step where whoever built them had made an impression of two horseshoes into the concrete. She kept going, ignoring the blood dripping from her knee, trying to match Aunt Zo step for stair.
Twenty steps.
She risked a glance back. Vaneclaw was right behind. She saw the first shadows appear from the street below. She heard the roar as the leader of the pack of Watchers caught sight of the stairs. She turned back round and started climbing even faster.
Thirty steps. Breath like knife-jabs in the lungs. The sound of claws on concrete as the Fallen Angels came towards the path. Thirty-six. Thirty-eight. Forty. Forty-six …
And then the horseshoes. Hannah was prepared for what came next but her aunt was not. Another stretch of steep road, and only after that did it level out. ‘We’re screwed,’ Zoe wailed.
‘Just keep going,’ Hannah panted.
Zo sat down on the road. ‘I can’t. I just can’t.’ She had nothing left. ‘I’m sorry, Hannah. I … oh dear God.’
Hannah turned to see what Zo was staring at, and saw it wasn’t just the Fallen after them now.
The wolf from the top of the parking lot had reappeared. It snarled at the Fallen and they shrank back for a moment, enough for the wolf to get ahead of them … and then start after the people who’d just reached the top of the stairs.
This was enough to get Zo back on her feet – perhaps the only thing in this world or any other that would have done it. She grabbed Hannah’s hand and they tried to run together, but Hannah’s legs felt boneless, jelly-like, muscles worn out and empty. Vaneclaw meanwhile crested the top of the steps.
He made it another few yards, but then stopped. ‘Go on,’ he gasped. ‘I’ll keep it back.’
‘How?’
‘Um, dunno. I’ll think of something.’
‘We can’t just leave you here,’ Hannah said.
‘The big man vouchsafed unto me a mission, and my non-life won’t be worth not-living if I don’t get it done. Go.’
She darted forwards and kissed the imp on his crumpled cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
Then she ran back to Aunt Zo. ‘You heard him. Let’s go home.’
They started up the final part of the hill. After a few seconds they heard the imp shouting ‘Banzai!’ as he leaped on to the wolf.
The wolf snapped at him with enormous, spittle-flecked jaws, but the imp rode it like a bronco, grabbing fistfuls of fur and swinging himself around on to the vast animal’s back, the position from where an accident imp always does his best work.
The wolf tried to ignore the infuriating little entity but the imp’s claws were in it now and he was whispering distractions and confusions into the creature’s huge ears, and as the wolf thundered up on to the road it tripped, crashing forwards on to its face with a thump that shook the entire hillside.
But wolves don’t get discouraged easily. It was quickly back on its feet, clawing and pulling its way forward.
Vaneclaw didn’t give up either, however.
He did his best.
Meanwhile Hannah and Zo gasped their way up to the point where the road went over the bridge that covers the top of the canyon, flanked by tall, fragrant eucalyptuses, and levels out.
They ran up the centre of the street. None of the lights in the houses were on. Things started raining down out of the dark and cloudy sky.
Rivets.
Chunks of white-painted wood.
Worst of all, a short piece of structure which had once been painted red, which Hannah knew must be a part of the Giant Dipper’s actual track.
But there was nothing they could do except keep going, dodging the objects as they fell, until at last they turned the corner and Hannah’s house was just there: the only building in the neighbourhood that blazed with light.
When they got to the front door, Hannah turned the handle and it opened. The corridor beyond looked like it should. They hurried in and shut the door firmly behind.
It was Hannah’s house this time. There was no question.
But it was very, very cold.
Back at the steps, Vaneclaw was fighting a last-ditch battle against the wolf: clinging on to its shoulders with one tiny fist, using the other to bang heroically (although wholly ineffectively) on the creature’s head.
‘You can stop that now,’ said the wolf as it stopped running. ‘They’ve got to the house.’
‘Oh,’ Vaneclaw said. ‘It’s you.’
Chapter 48
‘That’s some serious air con,’ Aunt Zo said, shivering. ‘It wasn’t on earlier, was it?’
‘We don’t have air conditioning,’ Hannah said, feeling betrayed. They were in her house now. Her home. It wasn’t right for things to be wrong. But everything was wrong.
It wasn’t home any more.
They flinched at the crash of something landing on the roof and sliding down the tiles. A moment later, a piece of track support fell past the window.
‘Upstairs,’ Hannah shouted, her breath condensing in a thick cloud around her face.
There was a thin layer of ice on the floor of the hallway, and they slipped several times before making it to the staircase. The carpet crunched under foot. Every step made them colder. The upstairs hall was like an ice cavern. The carpet was a solid sheet of it, and long icicles hung from light fittings. It was so appallingly cold that it felt as if sharp nails were being hammered along your bones. Breathing was like rubbing sandpaper on your lungs.
Hannah’s bedroom door hung open. The gate was still in place but you couldn’t see through it now. The gaps between the bars were frozen solid. The keyhole was a block of ice.
‘What is it with this cold?’
‘The gate’s doing it,’ Hannah said, teeth chattering. She went up to it and moved her head from side to side, trying to see through the ice into the room beyond. ‘How do I get in?’
‘The Devil used his hand,’ Aunt Zo said. She was shivering so badly it was hard to make out what she was saying.
‘The slot’s frozen over.’
Aunt kicked the gate with her heel. Nothing happened except she hurt her foot. She tried coming closer and smacking the keyhole with her elbow. The ice didn’t budge.
There was a soft thunk from down at the other
end of the corridor. Another piece of the Dipper landing on the roof, they assumed.
‘We’ve got to hurry.’
‘Hang on,’ Aunt Zo said. She pulled out her cigarette lighter and knelt in front of the gate. She held it up close to the slot. The glow from the flame warmed the hallway for a moment, but then seemed to become trapped, reflected into the ice and held there.
After a few moments the ice started to go glassy, and a tiny droplet of water formed on the surface.
‘Ha,’ Zo crowed. ‘Being a social pariah has upsides.’
Then she said ‘Ow’ and dropped the lighter as it got too hot to hold. She let it cool on the frozen carpet for a few seconds, and tried again.
Hannah stood with her ear as close to the gate as she could without getting frozen to it. She still heard nothing from beyond. ‘Hurry,’ she said.
‘It’s physics,’ Zo said, wincing as her fingers got burned again. ‘Yet another thing over which I have annoyingly not been given total control.’
They heard another noise from the other end of the corridor. It wasn’t a thunk, however, and they realized it wasn’t something falling on to the roof after all.
It was coming from Hannah’s dad’s bedroom.
It was a growl.
Aunt Zo slowly stood up. Hannah moved back from the gate. They looked down towards the bedroom.
It was dark in there, but a patch in the back was darker still, as if all the shadows had gathered into a solid shape.
The shape raised its head, revealing a pair of glowing golden eyes.
‘Oh … crap,’ Zo said.
It was one of the Fallen.
It looked like a bundle of black stinking rags. It smelled like something pulled out of a lost lake after many weeks. It felt like the hearts of the people brought to look at a briefly uncovered face in a morgue, to confirm that yes, this had been someone they loved.
Aunt Zo pushed Hannah back towards her bedroom.
‘Can we run past it?’ Hannah whispered, heart beating in her chest.
‘Too late.’ Aunt Zo handed her the lighter. ‘Keep trying.’
Hannah crouched next to the door and inexpertly flicked the wheel. It took three tries to get it to light.
Meanwhile Zo stood guard. The Watcher took a considered step towards them, shifting its weight.
Hannah hissed as the lighter got too hot to hold. She blew on her fingers and sparked it up again. The ice was running freely around the lock, and she rubbed and scrabbled with her fingers, getting a couple of small chunks to slough off.
The Fallen Angel was now only a few feet from the doorway. It was getting larger.
Hannah chipped another piece of ice from the lock. But what if she managed to clear the whole thing, put her hand in – and nothing happened? This was the Devil’s business and the Devil’s lock. And why wasn’t he here? Why wasn’t he helping them? Why should it come down to her and Aunt Zo?
‘It’s not fair,’ she said, but for the first time realized those words – which she’d used a thousand times in her short life – had never meant anything. The Devil didn’t deal in fairness, and neither did the world at large.
‘How’s it going?’ Zo asked, her voice ostentatiously cheerful, as the Watcher started to glide slowly out into the hall. ‘Running out of time here.’
‘I’m trying.’
‘That’s OK, honey. Keep going.’
Hannah switched hands. The lock was over halfway exposed now, the ice melting quickly.
The Fallen Angel laughed, very quietly. It was an awful noise. It sounded as though its throat was rotting. The shape of its shoulders changed as it gathered itself for attack.
Hannah dropped the lighter and started frantically scratching at the lock with the nails of both hands. ‘It’s coming off,’ she shouted.
Aunt Zo had already realized what was going to happen next, and didn’t reply. Instead she took a step down the hallway towards the Watcher, putting herself between it and Hannah.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Keep going,’ Zo said calmly. ‘It’ll all be fine.’
‘Zo, we could still run …’
‘No. You need to get in your room.’ Zo risked a glance back at the gate, and saw Hannah had prised the last piece of ice off the lock. ‘Go get your mom.’
Hannah slipped her hand sideways into the slot. ‘But that thing’s going to get you!’
‘It’s certainly looking that way.’
Hannah’s hand felt as if it was inside a deep, frigid glove, as if she was shaking hands with the thing that lives under everyone’s beds. She braced, ready to use all her strength and be denied, but in the end it started to turn easily.
‘But you don’t even like Mom.’
Aunt Zo laughed. ‘Of course I do, silly. We’re just different, that’s all. Now … go, Hannah. Go bring her home.’
There was a loud, resonating clunk from the lock. The gate swung open inwards, and Hannah fell into her bedroom just as the Fallen Angel flew at Aunt Zo.
Chapter 49
Her bedroom didn’t look like her bedroom. It was much smaller than it should be and there was a queen-sized bed taking up almost all of it, like the kind you always found in hotels. Hannah fell through the gate and on to the counterpane, cracking the thin sheet of ice across it.
Her window had moved. It was now where the door was supposed to be. The door and the gate had disappeared. The view out of the window in its new position was familiar, but she didn’t have time to care. There shouldn’t even be a view at all – one there should show the inside of the house.
Her bookcase was gone. Everything else too. There was just the bed. No one here. There wasn’t any room for anybody else.
‘Mom?’
They’d got it wrong. They’d come to the wrong place and now Zo was out there being destroyed and it was all because Hannah said they should come back to her home, and she’d been a terrible leader and she’d been wrong and she understood why now.
She didn’t have a home any more. The building remained but everything that had made it her refuge and egg and comfort blanket had been stolen away. There was no laughter, only echoes; no conversation, only two-thirds of an attempt to fill silence; now music except the kind you could play with one hand. It was lack and nope and not-any-more.
Her house itself was the Behind. Its sad, silent heart.
She closed her eyes, pulled in a great gasp of cold air. She heard a quiet ticking sound.
She froze.
There was something under the bed.
Outside, Aunt Zo stared bewildered at the thing in the hallway. Something had happened to it, halfway through a leap destined to bring it into close proximity to Zo’s throat – indeed, to see them occupying the exact same space, with presumably painful and fatal results.
With a quiet popping sound, the Watcher had changed into something else in mid-air. Something much smaller, but just as black, with the same tufts on its ears.
It landed on the ground and stood in front of Zo, poised, looking up at her with beady black eyes.
‘Wh … what?’ Zo said.
‘I am the Squirrel of Destiny,’ it declared. ‘And I like your hair.’
Hannah carefully moved towards the edge of the bed. Nothing bad happened.
She moved a little farther. Slowly lowered her face past the frozen counterpane, and down past the mattress, and then – after a deep breath – farther still, so she could see into the space beneath the bed.
Somebody was under there.
Lying flat against the floor, squeezed into the incredibly narrow space. Eyes closed, skin blue with cold, hair obscured with ice. The ticking sound Hannah had heard was of teeth barely chattering, in a face where the muscles had seized almost to the point of forever stillness.
‘Mom!’ Hannah shouted.
The chattering stopped. There was silence, then an audible cracking sound as eyelids fought their way open.
Blue eyes blinked at her. The mouth opened, clo
sed, then opened again. ‘Hannah?’
Mom’s voice sounded like it was coming from five thousand miles away. Hannah understood the cold had nearly finished her, and she needed to get her mom out from under the bed, right now.
She jumped down into the space between the bed and the wall and reached for Mom’s hand. Her mother’s arm was frozen up against her body, and could barely move.
Hannah took her hand and interlaced their fingers, and pulled and pulled. Slowly her mother began to unfold.
Hannah kept tugging and her mom started to move her legs and arms, to inch her way closer, ice falling out of her hair and melting from her face.
Hannah scooted to the end of the bed to give her more room. Her mom finally got her head out, and managed to get an arm and leg out too. Hannah helped as best she could as Kristen started to be more out than under, and winced her way on to her side, and then her knees.
Hannah couldn’t wait any longer. She threw her arms around her. Her mom hugged her back with limbs that were stiff with the cold buried deep inside them.
‘I never hated you,’ Hannah whispered.
‘Yeah, you did,’ her mom said, her voice dry and cracked. ‘That’s OK. Better hate than nothing at all.’
There was a loud crash on the roof. Kristen cried out, still holding her daughter tightly, staring at the ceiling. Soon after there was a sound like a hailstorm. Rivets, Hannah guessed. ‘Mom, we have to go.’
‘I can’t.’
‘It’s not safe here. We have to go.’
‘I can’t leave,’ her mom said, near tears. ‘Ever. There’s no escape. There’s no way out. I have to hide.’
‘There’s always a way out,’ Hannah said.
‘You don’t understand,’ her mom said. ‘I made my bed and I have to lie in it. It’s my fault. I have to stay here.’
‘No you don’t,’ Hannah said, standing on the bed and pulling her mother to her feet.
When her mom had managed to clamber up on to the bed with her, still protesting, Hannah opened the window, ushering in a smell of eucalyptus and pine, together with a faint hint of the sea. ‘Do you know where that is?’
Hannah Green and Her Unfeasibly Mundane Existence Page 27
