POWER AND FURY Read online

  ‘Where’s the bridge?’ Daisy screamed, before suddenly losing her footing. They hauled her to her feet.

  Isabella shook her head, imploring her to keep going. ‘DON’T FALL.’ She turned to Archie to see if he understood. He nodded.

  Isabella counted each agonising step, the force of the water gaining by the second, pushing hard at their legs. Every breath was a struggle and their heads were bowed from the pressure of water crashing down upon them.

  Isabella had no idea where she was headed. She simply trusted her hands and, as if by a miracle, they guided her to the rail. She breathed a deep sigh of relief. They shuffled onto the bridge, still huddled together, their feet searching for the wooden boards.

  Daisy suddenly went stiff, holding the others back. She turned to the others, her eyes bulging.

  Collectively they realised what she meant.

  ‘RUN!’

  They scampered up to the brow of the bridge, Daisy leading the way holding Archie’s hand on one side, when suddenly she dived, hauling Archie forward with all her might.

  Bits of wood splintered around them, the noise deafening. Daisy picked herself out of the water, her feet grateful for the feeling of land, and discovered Archie next to her. He was fine; but where was Isabella?

  She scanned the area as best she could but even as she called out Daisy knew it was hopeless; she wouldn’t be heard over the din. The only thing she could hear was the roar of the rain and rushing water flushing everything downstream. And Isabella, she feared, was now a part of it.

  Forty-Six

  Old Man Wood’s Worry

  As the morning wore on, Old Man Wood had been consumed by a feeling of utter dread, as if a toxic stew brewed in his stomach and a splinter had played darts in his heart.

  Whatever he did, his anxiety would not go away. He marched around the house looking for something—anything - to alleviate this terrible feeling.

  He studied the wooden carvings, tracing his fingers over the rich detailing on the panelling in his room. He inspected the old pictures for a clue, anything that might shed some light on the nightmares he’d had and help temper the worry that filled him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

  Did the carvings and paintings mean something? If so, what?

  Was a vital clue staring him in the face?

  The more he played with this notion, the greater and deeper his feeling of despair grew, like a festering skin boil.

  He wondered if he shouldn’t go down to the school and watch the football match, but it didn’t seem right.

  Instead, he headed up to the ruin to check on the sheep and cattle.

  The herd appeared quiet but jumpy. The same as him, he thought, as if the animals sensed something unusual. He made sure that the shelter was sound, before counting them: eleven sheep, three cows, six bullocks, and Himsworth the bull.

  Old Man Wood sat down on a grey boulder at the head of the ruin and looked out across the vale. In front of him a sheer drop of solid rock disappeared into thick forest seventy metres or so below, before levelling up near the valley floor. He could just make out the river curving around the rock face and, from there, it slipped around the corner.

  Old Man Wood shuffled his boot in the dirt. He was too old for this, too old for riddles and memories.

  Why the dreams every night, what were they trying to tell him? Why did he have that aching feeling in his bones which he hadn’t had for ages?

  He stood up as a deep roll of thunder boomed and crackled through the valley. He kicked a stone, which flew off the ledge and sailed through the air before crashing into the canopy of the trees below.

  Looking out at the school buildings in the distance, lost in his thoughts, Old Man Wood saw a lightning bolt shoot out of the sky right into the heart of the village. This was followed by another, and then another. Each one came with a blast of light so bright and a crack so loud that Old Man Wood shielded his eyes and his ears.

  A searing pain walloped into his chest. He bent over and cried out. The sky fizzed as another huge bolt crashed out of the sky directly onto the playing field.

  This time the pain was unbearable and Old Man Wood crouched low, clutching his chest, struggling for breath.

  Was this pain linked to the storm? He needed to lie down.

  Old Man Wood straightened up as best he could and stumbled back down the pathway, stopping occasionally to view the tempest playing out over the school.

  Wasn’t it funny, he pondered, how the storm seemed to focus only on the school?

  As he concentrated on this thought, his feeling that the children were in terrible danger accelerated. He hurried back, lay on his bed, and massaged his heart, as another thought crossed his mind.

  If the storm broke, how would the children get back? The river would swell, and the track to Eden Cottage would act like a storm drain. What if they were trying to get home and were swept away?

  He dabbed his handkerchief on his forehead. He had to do something.

  But as he was preparing to get up, an instant tiredness washed over him, and a powerful urge to close his eyes enveloped him like a drug.

  His head fell back onto his large pillows and a moment later the old man was snoring like the throbbing of an old tractor engine.

  Forty-Seven

  Kemp Joins

  Kemp stumbled, dizzy and sick with fear. He faced Cain head-on for the first time.

  All Kemp could see was a transparent gap between the hat and the overcoat. His teeth were chattering. ‘If I don’t—?’

  ‘You’ll almost certainly die, or be drowned in the rains. Or in the landslides, or the tsunamis which will sweep the land…’

  ‘Will you kill me?’

  ‘Me? Kill you?’ the ghost chuckled. ‘No. As I said, I’m just going to borrow you for a while. Why would I kill you when my purpose is to save so many? You must trust me.’

  Kemp looked up at the sky. It was fizzing with electricity like an angry nest. A terrible boom rattled every bone in his body as a thunderbolt walloped into a nearby chimney pot.

  He ducked and his head vibrated like a jack-hammer mashing up a road.

  Kemp stared down the path, preparing to run. As his eyes focused on the dark shadows between the buildings, he found himself looking at a familiar face: Gus Williams laden with shopping bags. They locked eyes for several seconds before Williams simply ran off, as though someone had called him away in a hurry.

  ‘Dreamspinner!’ the ghost barked, impatiently. ‘Open up. It is time to go! This boy is not the Heirs of Eden.’

  ‘Wait,’ Kemp croaked. ‘Please! What do I have to do?’

  ‘You must want to survive and you must absolutely desire to go with me.’

  Kemp looked about. His mind was made up.

  ‘Put on the coat and hat. Do it quickly.’

  In a flash, he threw both of his overcoats to the ground and moved in close. As he did, he felt a strange coolness wash over him.

  ‘Ignore that I am here,’ the ghost said, as Kemp fumbled with the cloth. ‘Put the coat on, as you would any other.’

  Kemp grabbed the collar and pushed his arm into the sleeve, amazed by the sudden freeze that enveloped it. Then his other arm slid in. Kemp had a wonderful feeling of deep strength building up in him, as though a syringe was powering him with a thick energy juice.

  The feeling started in his fingers, moved up to his wrists, through his elbows and on to his shoulders. All too soon, it was spreading down through his loins and into his legs and feet. Syrupy liquid, like freezing treacle, coursed through every vein and into every muscle and sinew of his body.

  Kemp drew the coat across his chest as the curious feeling crept towards his heart and lungs.

  He cried out and stretched his arms wide, as the ice-like goo rushed into his vital organs and washed through his body. He let out a cry of pure ecstasy, his shouts bouncing back off the old houses.

  Kemp only had one more thing to do. He lifted up the hat and pulled it d
own over his head. Suddenly, he could feel the cold charge oozing up his neck and through his mouth.

  He shut his eyes, enjoying the extraordinary tingling sensations of the liquid ice entering his brain and slowly dispersing through the back of his skull, tickling parts he never knew existed.

  The surge of power moved around the skull and headed towards his eyes.

  As it flowed into his eyes, everything changed. With a rapidity that took him completely by surprise, Kemp felt a searing, burning pain scream into his head, expanding like a balloon filling with air.

  ‘What’s happening?’ he screamed. ‘MY GOD, my eyes!’

  He desperately tried to rip off the hat and wrestle out of the coat.

  ‘My head! MY EYES! What have you done to me? Help me! HELP! I’m burning!’

  As Kemp carried on screaming, the ghost chuckled.

  ‘Welcome to me,’ Cain said, his voice laced with triumph. ‘Welcome to the burnt-out body of Cain, Frozen Lord of Havilah.’

  Forty-Eight

  Solomon Rounds Up

  Solomon felt a sharp pain in his chest. He looked at the schoolchildren and the adults streaming away from the pitch.

  In an instant, he knew what to do.

  He ran to the Newton coach. ‘Go, directly,’ he ordered. ‘Please don’t argue, get in your bus and drive as fast as you can away from this place. I believe this fearsome cloud is about to break.’

  He didn’t wait around. He ran on, sweat breaking out.

  ‘Children,’ he boomed. ‘All those staying till later, do not go back to your classrooms. Go directly to the library in the tower. Hurry, there’s not a moment to lose. Grab anyone you see on the way.’

  Solomon rushed towards the buildings and ran, panting, into the classrooms.

  ‘Get to the tower, now,’ he roared, rushing in. ‘Leave your things, just go there this second!’

  A terrible realisation filled him. Children were scattered around the school. The noise overhead, like heavy artillery fire, made his eyes water.

  He bumbled into the gymnasium, where a last rehearsal was underway.

  ‘Stop what you’re doing,’ he ordered, climbing on to the stage while trying to catch his breath. ‘Get to the library, immediately.’ He hoped his firm tone would not go unnoticed.

  Children poured out of the entrance. ‘Good. Hurry,’ he called out after them. ‘You too, Mrs. Rose.’

  He rushed back into the yard and shot into the canteen.

  He gasped for breath. ‘Chef!’ he said, as an idea popped into his head. ‘Take as many provisions as you can to the library, this instant. Bread, milk, anything.’

  ‘Are you all right, boss?’

  ‘Pile the contents of the fridge, the store cupboards, the larder into containers this very instant and head directly to the tower. ’

  The chef stared at him in disbelief and stole a glance towards his assistants.

  ‘Do it NOW!’

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘Yes, chef, as much as you possibly can. Just trust me. There’s not a moment to lose. And remember milk and orange juice. Do it now—all of you,’ he roared.

  They hesitated.

  ‘Now! GO! There’s no time!’

  Solomon sped out of the kitchen then, as fast as he could, outside across the yard and into the art department. He struggled to breathe. ‘Skinner, Moloney, run to the tower this instant,’ he gasped, falling into a chair.

  He wiped his specs. Who else?

  The building splintered, the sound rattling the windows.

  Good Lord. The changing rooms!

  Then he heard the whooshes of wind, no doubt whipped up by oncoming rain.

  No time!

  Out he shuttled, his body screaming at him to stop.

  Three boys sat on the benches, staring out of the window.

  ‘Don’t just sit there,’ he cried. ‘Come with me.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Safety,’ he gasped, collapsing onto the wood.

  ‘Sir, are you all right?’

  Solomon clenched his eyes. ‘Yes, yes. Now run along! Go to the library. I’ll follow.’

  ‘But, Sir?’

  ‘NOW!’

  The headmaster took several deep breaths. He’d rounded up as many as he could.

  Where were the de Lowes? Then it struck him. They would be heading home across the playing fields. A twenty-minute walk at the very least.

  He summoned his energy and threw himself through the door, rushing out into the corridor and then down the stairs.

  As he ran outside, he saw far off in the distance three figures huddling together, heading slowly towards the bridge.

  Oh my God, he thought, a feeling of utter despair gripping him. They haven’t got a chance.

  But as he sucked in a lungful of air to call out to them, the first drops of rain smashed into him, and soon the noise was deafening.

  Forty-Nine

  Gus And The Canopy

  Within moments, water edged through the cracks of the boat house and stole down the sides, drumming like a carnival on the barn’s tin roof.

  Gus stared in disbelief at the rain. Holy moly, he thought, she’s right.

  Quickly, Gus stretched the canopy, which in truth was a thick, heavy-duty plastic sheet covering the length of the vessel from bow to stern. It would fit perfectly. Then, he formed a tent frame over the boat, hammering in nails as fast as he could go.

  He stepped back. Uneven, Gus thought, but it would do, so long as the nails held.

  Gus listened. It needed to be super-strong. He’d take more wood and prop up the mid-section if he had time later, once they were underway.

  Next, he nailed two rough planks on both the port and starboard sides, leaving a gap in the middle for the oars. As fast as he could, he nailed batons over the canopy on the outside, repeating his action on the other side. In no time, the boat was covered in a tight tent. Better still, if it worked, water would run off the canopy into the river and not inside.

  Sue looked on in awe. She tried where she could to help, amazed at his dexterity and speed. Gus didn’t come across as the brightest spark in school, but my goodness he was practical.

  She ran around the boat pulling bits of the canopy tight while Gus hammered, sawed and stretched the plastic sheeting. So immersed in their project were they, that they hardly noticed water seeping in, up and over the floor.

  ‘Almost time to batten down the hatches,’ Gus yelled, smiling.

  Sue ran up and hugged him. ‘I couldn’t have done this without you,’ she said, and she genuinely meant it. Sue climbed in and sat under the canopy as a deep sense of foreboding filled her. She desperately hoped they were doing the right thing. She hoped like anything that Isabella and the twins had got away safely.

  Gus slipped in a few remaining planks and a couple more of the two by four inch sections. He grabbed the remaining nails, the hammer, a saw, a small axe, a hand-drill and a chisel, and threw them all in the box. Just before the water covered the whole floor, he scanned the shed looking for anything else. Sue’s umbrella, for starters, and a couple of old empty paint pots with lids. More rope, string, a whole reel of strimmer cord, and another large dust sheet, this one already neatly folded. He rummaged through the cupboards like a man possessed, and found an untouched bag of barbecue briquettes. He threw them in; maybe they’d need fire.

  Sue packed them away. Then with a few last-minute alterations, as the water reached the upper limits of his boots, Gus clambered in to the boat. He hoped like mad that, with the weight of the fresh water and timber and the two of them, they wouldn’t all simply disappear through the bottom.

  The vessel creaked as it rose. No holes nor rotten timbers so far.

  Sue shook, holding her hands against her ears as thunder and lightning blazed outside. It felt as if they were waiting in the depths of the Colosseum before being fed to the lions in front of an angry, baying crowd. The boat continued to rise, finding its buoyancy. Then it started to drift.
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br />   ‘Here we go,’ Gus yelled. ‘Hold on tight.’

  A moment later, the wood clunked into something.

  Gus squeezed past Sue to the bow. He looked out and muttered something under his breath.

  ‘What is it?’ Sue cried. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘Technical difficulty,’ he said, scratching his chin. ‘Pass me that hand axe.’

  Sue scrabbled around in the box and handed it over.

  Gus disappeared, and set about trying to smash the weatherboards. A short while later, his banging stopped. ‘It appears,’ Gus said, popping his head back under the canopy, ‘that the water has risen higher than the gap the boat was meant to go through.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means we’re stuck!’ he said, smiling his huge grin again.

  ‘For crying out loud,’ Sue howled. ‘Can’t you get the boards off?’

  ‘What do you think I’ve been doing? Knitting?’

  ‘So how are we going to get out? I was hoping we might be able to save Archie and the others.’

  Gus raised his eyebrows. ‘There’s a window directly above, so panic ye not. I’ve got an idea,’ he said. ‘Pass me the saw, and move to the other end, please.’

  Gus took the saw and stood on the seat right at the prow of the boat. He began sawing as fast as he could through the timbers surrounding the window. The boat sloshing from side to side.

  After several minutes of sawing and hacking, Gus put his drenched head back under the canopy. ‘Don’t think that’s going to work, either.’ He smiled again. ‘Rain’s quite warm.’

  Sue looked appalled. ‘What are we going to do?’

  Gus stretched out his legs, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. ‘We wait.’

  ‘Wait!’ Sue roared. ‘You must be joking. We’ll drown if we stay in here. Can’t you see that?’

  Gus ignored her and smiled toothily again. It seemed to act as an anger-deflecting shield. ‘You know what we haven’t done?’ he said, his large eyes sparkling.