I must be dreaming, Lydia thought. I’m probably still lying on the moors and dreaming all this.
That had to be the explanation! So the best thing to do was to go along with the dream until she woke up. She just wished it made a bit more sense.
‘I feel a bit better now,’ she said. She straightened up and took some more deep breaths.
‘Where d’you live?’ asked Fran.
‘Rosemary Street,’ Lydia replied.
‘Where?’
‘Fourteen, Rosemary Street.’
‘Never heard of it. Where’s that?’ Fran frowned.
Before Lydia could answer, an ear-piercing shriek filled the air. It was so loud that Lydia’s hands immediately flew to her ears. Just as abruptly as the noise had started, it stopped. Lydia barely had time to open her mouth before the noise began again. Four more sharp blasts filled the air like the screech of a high-pitched, gigantic whistle. Her fingers in her ears, Lydia waited for yet another blast. None came.
‘What on earth was that?’ Lydia gingerly removed her fingers from her ears.
‘We only have five minutes until curfew.’ Fran looked around, worried.
‘Curfew?’
‘Yeah, at eight o’clock.’
‘What?’ Lydia looked around. When she’d left home it hadn’t even been two o’clock yet. Eight in the evening and it was only just beginning to get dark. In November it got dark before five o’clock . . .
‘We’ll have to go for it now or we’ll never get home in time. Are you up to running?’
‘I think so. Where are we going?’
‘My house. I don’t know where Rosemary Street is and we don’t have the time to go looking for it. Come on.’
Fran started racing along the road, jumping over the concrete blocks littering the road like a mountain goat over rocks. Lydia had no choice but to follow her.
This is the strangest dream I’ve ever had in my life, she thought to herself as she ran.
A couple of minutes passed before Lydia had to stop to unbutton her jacket. She was sweltering. She caught up with Fran and they carried on racing flat out without exchanging a word.
As they approached the town, Lydia was stunned by what she saw. That afternoon on the bus, she had passed shops and houses and neat gardens. They had all disappeared. In their place were several single-storey buildings surrounded by wire fences and barbed wire. The street was covered in mountains of rubbish and mounds of debris and rubble. There was an eerie silence all around and the very air smelt stale and unpleasant. Lydia took a number of short breaths so that she wouldn’t have to breathe in too much of the foul smell surrounding her.
The ear-splitting siren sounded again, even louder than before. Except now the shriek was continuous.
‘Jump down!’ Fran shouted.
‘What?’ Lydia couldn’t hear a word above the noise of the klaxon.
‘Jump down!’ Fran pointed to the embankment sloping away from the road. At Lydia’s puzzled look, Fran grabbed her arm and pulled her off the road. They rolled down the embankment together. Lydia winced as her knee hit something sharp and hard. Fran placed her finger over her lips, then beckoned to Lydia to follow her. They crouched low and ran but the embankment soon petered away.
Then the siren stopped . . .
‘We’ve got to get out of here. Curfew’s started.’ Fran ducked low and ran behind the nearest pile of junk and rubbish.
‘What’s that place?’ Lydia pointed to the bungalows.
‘The Night Guards’ camp, of course,’ Fran whispered. ‘Surely you’ve seen one before?’
‘Where did all this come from? I don’t . . .’
‘Shush! Keep your voice down,’ Fran hissed. ‘Follow me.’
Fran began to crawl along the filthy ground, edging towards the next mound of rubbish. With a frown of distaste, Lydia straightened up and started walking behind Fran.
‘What’re you doing?’ Lydia asked.
‘GET DOWN!’
Too late!
Without warning, a white laser blast like a rigid flash of lightning cut across Lydia, only just missing her. Lydia heard a low, distant boom as something was fired at her. A second later her upper arm felt as if a fiery poker had been thrust into it. She shrieked with agony, clutching her left arm. The pain was intense, red-hot. A wet, sticky warmth ran down her arm and over the back of her hand down to her fingers. Lydia fell to her knees, the pain was so extreme. Her arm felt like it was on fire. She stared down at the wide, blood-drenched tear in her left jacket sleeve and her jumper and shirt beneath. She was too stunned to even blink. Her whole body trembled with a coldness, more profound than any she’d ever experienced before.
Fran struggled to pull Lydia to her feet.
‘Come on. Hurry.’
Lydia stared at Fran with unseeing eyes.
‘Please,’ Fran begged, yanking at Lydia’s right arm.
Lydia struggled to get to her feet. If only it wasn’t so cold . . . When did it get so cold?
‘This way. Quick!’
Fran raced for the nearest half-demolished building, dragging Lydia along behind her. They zigzagged as they ran with laser bursts lighting up the twilight and low booms sounding around them. One laser blast missed Fran’s head by mere millimetres.
Lydia wasn’t cold any more. She was burning up. Her face was bathed in perspiration and she felt so sick. A sudden whirring noise behind them grew louder and louder. Terrified, Lydia looked over her shoulder as she ran. Bewildered seconds passed before Lydia realized exactly what was making the noise. It was a car – a car flying several metres above the ground and speeding towards them. A giant beam like a huge searchlight shone from the car’s underside and danced along the ground after them. And Lydia could hear footsteps pounding behind her, getting closer and closer, but she couldn’t see anyone. That almost made the footsteps worse than the car that was rapidly gaining on them. If only her arm would stop throbbing. If only her lungs would stop aching. If only she could stop for just a second . . .
‘Come on!’ Fran urged.
The pain in Lydia’s arm grew worse with each step she took. She clutched her left arm and gulped for air as she ran. They ran through a wrecked house and out into what must have once been a back garden. Except now it was just a mound of earth and dirt and more rubbish. Darting between the obstacles, Fran pointed to what looked like a narrow storm drain, its entrance strewn with bricks and rubble.
‘In here!’ Fran ordered.
Lydia ducked down and scrambled after Fran into a dark tunnel that led steeply downhill. The tunnel was so low that the top of it pressed down relentlessly on her back. Lydia moved as fast as she could which wasn’t fast at all because she was almost bent double.
‘Get down,’ Fran urged.
With a grimace, Lydia dropped down flat. Only just in time. Another laser beam flashed over their heads. Lydia wanted to freeze all this. She wanted a PAUSE button to press which would stop all this confusion and bring back the real world. She wanted something, anything, that would stop her arm from hurting so much.
‘Come on.’ Fran started crawling forward on her stomach, with Lydia close behind her. The front of Lydia’s jacket immediately felt wet. They were crawling through about three centimetres of water – at least Lydia fervently hoped it was water!
‘Turn right,’ Fran commanded.
Lydia followed Fran to the right, then the left, then the left again as they snaked along. Lydia used her knees and only one hand to push herself forward, her other arm lying useless at her side. The small tunnel was now no more than fifty centimetres high. Lydia’s arm throbbed painfully but it was just about bearable.
‘We can stand up now,’ Fran whispered after a long while.
Lydia looked around but everything was shrouded in pitch blackness. She couldn’t even see Fran who was right in front of her.
‘How can you tell?’ Lydia asked.
‘I know these tunnels like I know my own house,’ Fran replied. ‘Ha
ng on a minute though.’
And then unexpectedly there was light. Fran sprang to her feet and moved her wrist around. The light was coming from the watch she wore. Lydia stood up slowly. They were now standing in what looked like a large, gloomy cave with more tunnels than Lydia could count leading off in all directions. Some of the tunnels were more than twice Lydia’s height, some were so small that a mouse would have had trouble getting through them. A thirty-centimetre ledge circled the cavern but beyond that there was a drop into dark nothingness. Lydia moved forward and peered down warily. She couldn’t see to the bottom of the pit. She straightened up and clutched her left arm tighter. Now that they’d stopped moving, her arm was beginning to hurt worse.
‘This way.’ Fran began to edge her way along the ledge. Lydia looked over the edge again. She didn’t like what she saw – not one little bit. She was tired. Her left arm throbbed painfully and her whole body felt horribly cool and sticky.
‘Can’t we stop now?’ Lydia asked.
‘No way. It’s not safe. They’re still after us.’
‘Who are they?’
‘The Night Guards.’
‘But why?’ Lydia was totally confused. ‘Why’re they chasing us?’
Fran turned to face Lydia. ‘Why d’you think?’ she snapped.
Lydia didn’t answer.
‘To kill us, of course,’ Fran said stonily.
Chapter Eleven
Hensonville
‘In every town I know about, the Night Guards are ordered to shoot to kill after curfew. Don’t you know that?’
Even in the dim torchlight, Lydia could see the suspicion on Fran’s face.
‘I thought you said you were from London?’ Fran questioned.
‘I am from London,’ Lydia replied.
Silence.
‘I don’t feel well.’ Lydia’s mouth kept filling with saliva. She had to swallow over and over to stop herself from being violently sick.
‘Who are you?’ Fran asked.
Before Lydia could answer, a strange click-clicking sound filled the air.
‘Oh no! They’ve sent the tracker mobiles after us. Move!’ Fran continued shuffling round the ledge. Lydia looked back towards where the strange sound was coming from. Then she looked at Fran. She wanted to ask what a tracker mobile was but one look at Fran’s frightened expression and Lydia decided that maybe it was better if she didn’t ask. Not yet at any rate.
Lydia edged after Fran, leaning as far back into the wall as she possibly could. They passed a number of tunnel entrances at foot and waist level and still Fran continued making her way round the cavern. Then all at once Fran disappeared. The light from her watch vanished and Lydia was swallowed up by darkness.
‘Fran! Fran!’ Lydia whispered desperately.
Lydia peered through the darkness, her eyes huge, but she couldn’t see a thing. And the clicking noise was getting louder and nearer. There was something in the regular, rhythmic click-click that sent a chill like an icy finger, stroking its way down Lydia’s back.
‘Lydia, in here.’ A hand shot out from nowhere and Lydia was pulled backwards into a tunnel she hadn’t even realized was there. Fran rolled a boulder that was balanced on castors and placed upon a track back across the entrance. She kicked against something on the ground. The castors and track sunk into the earth. The boulder rocked ominously for a moment, then was still. Only then did Fran switch off the light from her watch.
‘Shush! Don’t say a word,’ Fran whispered.
Lydia bit her lip and closed her eyes and clutched her left arm tighter.
Wake up, Lydia! Wake up, now! she told herself. She opened her eyes slowly. She was still in the tunnel. Fear bubbled and boiled inside her as the muffled clicking noise suddenly stopped on the other side of the boulder.
Fran’s unexpected hand on her arm almost made her cry out. Icy perspiration trickled down Lydia’s forehead into her eyes. Fran withdrew her hand immediately. Then, without a word, Fran took hold of Lydia’s right hand and led her slowly down the inky-black tunnel. At least this one was almost as tall as Lydia so she didn’t have to stoop too much. She opened her eyes wider, trying to see beyond the dark.
At last the queasy feeling in Lydia’s stomach lessened. Neither of them spoke, but oddly enough the silence was almost comforting. They turned left, then right, before Lydia lost track of which way they were going. She wasn’t sure what she was more afraid of – what lay behind her or what lay ahead. At least that sinister clicking had gone. Though they were travelling in the dark, Fran didn’t pause or hesitate once. Several minutes passed until at last she stopped.
‘There’s a ladder here,’ Fran whispered. ‘I’ll go up first then help you up.’
‘Up where?’
‘To my house,’ Fran replied.
Lydia listened to Fran climbing the ladder. The torch in her wrist-watch was switched on again and shone on a keypad. Fran glanced down at Lydia’s puzzled face.
‘You have to input the correct code or the door won’t open. It’s the same for all the houses around here,’ she explained, keying in an alphabetic code. ‘Mind you, a coded keypad wouldn’t stop the Night Guards if they ever found out what we’re doing.’
There was a loud buzz and the door above Fran sprang open. Fran climbed up before she turned and reached down a hand towards Lydia.
‘Come on. I’ll help you up,’ she said.
Lydia stepped onto the ladder. She used her feet and her one good hand to hoist herself upwards, until she reached the trapdoor. Fran took hold of her hand after that which made the going easier. She climbed through the trapdoor and Fran kicked it shut.
‘Well, we got away with it.’ Fran breathed a sigh of relief. ‘This way. My dad will fix your arm.’
They walked across the basement filled with upturned plastic crates, the strangest vacuum cleaner Lydia had ever seen – she only knew what it was because it said so on its side – and past other things she didn’t recognize, towards a set of stairs. Lydia followed Fran up on to the ground floor. Fran shut the door carefully behind them. Lydia looked around. At last, here was something she could understand. A normal house with carpet and stairs and pale pink wallpaper and pictures hanging on the walls.
‘Fran! Where on earth have you been? Who’s this?’
Lydia backed hastily away from the man glaring down at her. He was a huge man, solid as an oak tree except for his stomach which had the beginnings of a distinct bulge. His short-cut, dark brown hair covered the sides of his head – on top he was as bald as an egg. But the way he regarded Lydia . . . He looked as if he was about to pick her up and swallow her down in one bite.
‘Dad, this is Lydia,’ Fran said quickly.
‘Lydia what? I don’t recognize her. Whose daughter is she?’
Silence.
‘I don’t know,’ Fran admitted.
‘You brought her back to our house using the underground tunnels and you don’t even know her full name?’ The veins in Fran’s dad’s temples bulged out ominously.
Lydia took another hasty step backwards.
‘Her name is Lydia,’ Fran began. ‘And I thought . . .’
‘No, you didn’t think, Fran. That’s your problem, you never think.’ Fran’s dad turned his attention to Lydia. ‘Listen, you! I don’t give a stuff what your name is. I want you out of my house – now.’
‘But . . . but the curfew. The Night Guards . . .’ Lydia began.
‘Dad, you can’t send her back out there. The Night Guards will kill her for sure,’ Fran argued.
‘Fran, what’s happened to your sense? This girl could be one of them. She could be a spy.’
‘Me? A spy?’ Lydia couldn’t believe her ears.
‘She’s not, Dad. The Night Guards fired their EM rifles and laser guns at both of us. Lydia’s injured. They wouldn’t have done that if she was one of them,’ said Fran.
‘Grow up, girl,’ Fran’s dad growled. ‘If she’s one of them, then firing at her would make us thin
k she’s on our side, not theirs. It’s a common tactic.’
‘I’m not a spy. I swear I’m not,’ Lydia protested weakly.
‘Where d’you live?’ Fran’s dad asked.
‘Rosemary Street. Number fourteen,’ Lydia whispered.
‘Liar!’ Fran’s dad bellowed at her. ‘There’s no Rosemary Street in Hensonville.’
‘Where?’ Lydia’s lips began to quiver. Her head was aching, her arm was throbbing and the sick feeling in her stomach was back. ‘I don’t live in Hensonville. I don’t even know where that is. I live at number fourteen, Rosemary Street, Tarwich.’
Tears began to trickle down Lydia’s cheeks. ‘And I want to go home,’ she sniffed.
‘Tarwich?’ Fran’s dad stared at Lydia. ‘Tarwich . . . I haven’t heard that name in a long, long time.’
‘Dad, you know where it is?’ Fran asked.
‘Fran, sixteen or seventeen years ago this place used to be called Tarwich,’ her dad replied.
‘It was?’ Fran stared at her dad. She turned to Lydia. ‘Lydia, how did you know that?’
‘Yeah! I’d like an answer to that question too,’ Fran’s dad said.
‘I didn’t . . .’ Lydia whispered. Where was Tarwich? This place was Tarwich. Only now the name had changed to . . . to something else.
Henson-something . . . Her surname and something else.
When had the town’s name changed? And why? Who were the Night Guards? Why had they tried to kill her? What had happened to the moor road? Where did the tunnels under the town come from? What was going on? Unanswered questions spun around in Lydia’s mind.
‘Answer the question. You’re a spy, aren’t you?’ Fran’s dad’s face was only millimetres away from Lydia’s.
Lydia stepped away rapidly until her back hit against a corner of the wall. Lydia put out her hand to steady herself. Out of the corner of her eyes Lydia saw the wallpaper around her slowly begin to change colour. She turned around and stared at it. The wallpaper had been a pale pink colour but now it was turning into a deep, sun-yellow.