Whos there? I call out.
I think of the cat. Although Hannah has never claimed him as hers, she feeds him every time he comes into the area. I hate the cat and the cat hates me. Hes feral, with a tail that always looks like its been caught in a state of fright, and, like everything to do with Hannah, I fight him for her attention.
Why does he look like that? I asked her once.
Because I think he saw something that scared the hell out of him a very long time ago.
The cat has been dying for years and
sometimes Hannah wants to put him out of his misery, but she doesnt have the guts. Sometimes, when I get up close to him, I see the suffering in his eyes, but then hell scratch me on the face and I am forced to forgo the sympathy.
But whatever is out there now, its not the cat.
I shiver. Whoever it is has the advantage of being able to see me when I cant see them. I decide to turn around and walk away but just as I do, I hear the crunch of footsteps somewhere behind the bushes, moving towards me, slow and measured.
Jessa McKenzie, is that you?
If it was Jessa, shed answer, and there is no answer, just the sound of a presence that keeps me rooted to the spot. I want to walk towards my bike, but I dare not turn my back and Im too much of a coward to step forward to investigate. So I stay, for what seems like forever, staring at that one spot, frozen like a soldier whos stepped on a landmine. I dont move. I try to convince myself that its just my imagination. That theres nothing there but some kind of wildlife with a size-nine foot.
The cold begins to snap at my skin and its getting darker. Cautiously I take a step back and then another and another. I can make a dash, grab the bike, get on it, and take off before whoever it is can make it out of those trees, but some kind of eerie fear keeps me transfixed. I count to ten but I reach eleven and count to ten again and reach eleven again. Eleven. Eleven. Eleven. Eleven. Eleven.
Ten!
I bolt, turning, racing round the back of the house, straight to the bike. My stomach turns. No bike. Any chance of it all being my overactive imagination is quashed when I see that empty space under the tree. I hit the path with all the speed I can muster, my heart thumping like a rampaging jackhammer. The trail is an obstacle course of tangled twigs and assaulting branches, but Id know this area with my eyes closed. I can hear only two sounds: the pounding of blood in my brain against my temples and the footsteps behind me. One pair. If there were two or more I think Id be less afraid. Id just allow myself to be captured and reinforce the rules of the Jellicoe Convention about diplomatic immunity. But one pair means either a rogue operativeor something worse.
When I reach the clearing that leads to the Houses and I see the lit path in front of me, theres no sense of relief. My lungs are bursting and every part of me aches. I just want to reach that door and the closer I get to it the farther away it feels.
Then Im there, flying through it, slamming the door shut, locking it. Only then do I lean against it, sliding to the floor, taking deep gulps of air, slowing down my heart rate, pushing my perspiration-matted hair off my face, and bending my head between my legs, feeling for the reassuring shape of my inhaler.
Three year-seven girls are standing in front of me, Jessa McKenzie in the middle of them.
Someone used up all the water, Chloe P. tells me.
Celias got matches, the other one, whose name I dont know, says in a hushed voice.
I get up slowly, ignoring them, dragging my body up the stairs, but they are still there beside me.
Wheres Hannah?
I stop and look into Jessa McKenzies eyes and suddenly I see someonesomething that I have seen before. I feel an anxiety I cant explain.
I push past them and escape to my room and when its securely locked, I walk to the basin and lean over it, nausea rising in me.
I want to see Hannah. Im not sure why but I find myself repeating the need over and over again. Because its like a voice whispering in my head telling me that there is something so unnatural about her absence. Its like the last line of Hannahs Yeats poem.
I hear it in the deep hearts core.
At lunch Im forced to sit with the other House leaders in the food hall as part of our official prefect initiation. The Principal makes a speech about unity while Richard whispers to the leader of Hastings. She giggles at something he says and they look at me until she passes it on to the person next to her. Richard has the rest of the House leaders eating out of his hand, except for Ben who is hoeing into his lasagne with a passion. I know that I need to act quickly before theres a coup and as I glance around the table I realise, once again, that my only potential ally is a drop-kick moron with tomato sauce all over his face.
Ben, make contact with the Cadets. Tell them Im ready to make a deal.
Ben looks up, in the middle of wiping the plate with his bread, his eyes wide with shock.