Island of Fog (Book 1) (14 page)

Abigail nodded knowingly. “Ah.”

“It grew,” Hal went on, “and she sprouted hair from her knuckles. She was trying to scratch an itch, and it must have happened without her realizing it.”

“Hair?” repeated Robbie doubtfully.

“And a long, curved nail. It was bizarre. I wonder what she’s turning into.”

“Could be anything,” Abigail mused. “I’ve seen it happen too. But a long thumb and fingernail with a tuft of hair isn’t much to go on.”

“Hair,” Robbie mumbled.

Abigail turned to him, her face developing a huge grin. “Robbie can’t face his girlfriend having hair sprouting from her knuckles.”

“Shut up, Abi!”

Hal laughed. “Bet she’s right, though. Not a very appealing image, is it? A girl with hairy knuckles. But maybe she’s another ogre. Then she’d be a perfect match for you.”

Robbie huffed and made a face, reddening.

Most of the classmates had walked to school because it was so muddy after last night’s storm, but Fenton, Dewey and Lauren had brought their bikes. There was a moment of confusion when Fenton, silent and broody, swung his around and got his front wheel tangled up with Dewey’s pedals. He pulled at it roughly and ended up yanking Dewey’s bike right out of his hands. It fell in the grass and Dewey backed off as Fenton scowled at him.

Hal feared trouble from the big boy, but Fenton seemed out of sorts. He looked around at his classmates, as if unsure what to say. Finally he managed to squeeze out a few words. “Looks like that’s it, then,” he said gruffly.

“Are you really leaving, Fenton?” asked Emily. “I mean, Miss Simone said you were, but I don’t believe it.”

“I don’t believe
anything
Miss Simone says,” Abigail agreed.

“It’s true,” Fenton said, sticking a fat finger in his mouth and prodding at his teeth. “Mom and Dad said so last night. We’ve been packing.”

There was an awkward silence. It seemed unbelievable that Fenton would not be there the next day. None of the children knew how to say goodbye to anyone. The only practice they had had was when Thomas supposedly died years ago. But standing in front of a tombstone mumbling words of remembrance was hardly the same thing.

“Well,” Fenton said, turning his bike around. “See you.”

“Um . . .” Darcy said.

Fenton looked at her, but she said nothing more. Nobody said anything. It was all too much to take in. How could Fenton
not be there
tomorrow as usual, annoying them all, bullying them? Nobody particularly liked Fenton, but he was one of them, after all.

Hal found his voice. “Are you . . . are you looking forward to leaving?”

“No.”

Another long silence.

“Well, see you soon,” Fenton said finally, and cycled away before anyone could say anything else.

They all watched him go.
Seven left
, thought Hal. But what fate awaited Fenton Bridges? Was he really going to a nice place . . . or a laboratory somewhere? Was Miss Simone lying to everyone? To the children and their parents? Or, worse, were their parents
in cahoots
with Miss Simone and actually
knew
that a ghastly fate awaited the children once they started transforming?

Nothing seemed certain except for one thing: Miss Simone didn’t always tell the truth.

“Is it worth following Miss Simone again?” asked Robbie. “If so, we need to do it right now, because she left a few minutes ago.”

“Nah,” Abigail said. “Hey, Emily, did you organize things as I asked you to yesterday?”

Emily beamed. “Of course I did.” She took out a notebook and starting flipping through pages.

But Abigail didn’t give her a chance to speak. “That’s fine. Okay, let’s make a few plans. Huddle round, gang.”

Darcy was lost in thought. “I can’t believe Fenton’s really leaving. He was a bully, but still . . . we’ve known him all our lives. He can’t just
go
.”

“Pay attention, Darcy,” Abigail said.

Everyone faced Abigail in a small circle—Hal, Robbie, little Dewey with wide saucer eyes, Lauren absently scratching at her shoulder, Emily with her notebook open and pencil poised, and Darcy, who kept stealing glances over their heads as if trying to find Fenton in the fog.

Abigail was in full command. Even Robbie was hanging onto her words. “Okay. We’re going to go home as usual, and then we’re going to steal some food and cram it into our backpacks or something.”

“Steal some food?” Emily interrupted.

“Yes, because we might not be back for dinner and we’ll get hungry. What we’re going to do is likely to keep us out late.”

“So why not just tell our parents we’re planning a picnic, and then we won’t have to steal anything,” argued Emily. “Then we won’t even have to worry about being late for dinner, because our parents won’t be expecting us.”

“Yes, yes,” Abigail said impatiently. “Yes, fine, that’s a good idea. A better idea. Okay, so we plan a picnic somewhere, and then we meet up at the lighthouse. Don’t tell anyone we’re going to the lighthouse, or anywhere near it. Understand? Let’s say we’re meeting in the field by the old mill.”

Emily scribbled in her notebook. “Picnic. Lighthouse. Old mill. Okay, good. Abigail, is this why you wanted Darcy, Lauren and I to bring blankets to the lighthouse?”

“And bolt-cutters,” Darcy said.

“And an axe,” offered Lauren. “We got everything you asked for. It’s all there, outside the lighthouse gates, hidden in some bushes.”

“And the binoculars?” Abigail asked, glancing down at Emily’s notebook.

“We got everything,” replied Emily, looking indignant. “It wasn’t exactly a difficult task to organize, you know, although sneaking everything out was a little tricky.”

Lauren and Darcy both nodded in agreement. “I actually got caught with the axe as I came out of the shed,” Lauren said. “I just said I was tidying up a bit, and—”

“Hey, Lauren,” Hal said suddenly. “I saw you scratching your back earlier.”

She flicked her hair over her shoulders and cocked her head to one side. “Your point being . . . ?”

Abigail pointed at Lauren’s hands. “Hal saw your thumb grow long and hair sprout out. I’ve seen it happen too.”

Lauren stared at Abigail long and hard, and then at Hal. Her cheeks reddened. She turned away with a self-conscious laugh. “You guys,” she said.

Robbie cleared his throat. “Um, it’s okay if, you know . . . I mean, if you’re changing and stuff.”

“This is what we’ve got to talk to each other about,” Abigail agreed. She glanced around at each of them in turn. “I vote we stop keeping secrets from each other and just come clean. That’s why I thought it would be good for us to meet after school—all of us, on our own away from the parents. Then we can talk, maybe even
show
each other what we are.”

Hal immediately felt a flutter of embarrassment. “But, Abi . . . our clothes . . .”

Abigail smirked at him. “Don’t worry, I have it all planned out. That’s one reason I said to bring blankets. We can cover ourselves with blankets and take our clothes off, then change without ruining them.”

Emily’s hands flew to her face. “Take our . . . take our clothes off? Are you crazy? What
is
this?”

“It’s not what you think,” Hal said hurriedly. “Maybe this is a complete mystery to you, Emily, as you and Darcy seem to be the only ones who aren’t experiencing anything strange. But the rest of us are. Including you, Lauren.”

Abigail nodded. “Let’s discuss it later. Are we all agreed? Go home, get some food together for a picnic, and head up to the lighthouse. Meet there at three o’clock. Okay?”

“I think Fenton should be included in this,” Darcy said. “One of you boys should knock on his door, see if we can get him to come along. You could tell his parents it’ll be like a last meal with his friends.”

“Not me!” Dewey piped up.

“That’s a great idea, Darcy,” Abigail said, beaming. “Actually, we could tell all our parents the same thing. They’ll never question us then.”

So it was agreed, and everyone set off for home. Hal, Robbie and Abigail walked together for a while, and the boys took the opportunity to relate to Abigail the events of the previous evening. She hardly said a word as Hal reported what his mom had told him, but nodded constantly, as if her own theories were being confirmed. She stopped in amazement when Hal got to the centaur they’d seen at the bottom of Robbie’s yard, chased by Miss Simone and what seemed to be a legion of short fat people.

“A centaur?” she repeated. Her eyes were shining. “What does this mean? Is this a centaur from wherever Miss Simone comes from? Or . . . or is this centaur one of us?”

Hal suggested that the centaur had been male. “At least I think it was,” he said. “It was dark out.”

“It looked male to me,” Robbie agreed.

“Which means . . . it must have been either Fenton or Dewey,” suggested Abigail.

“Not Fenton,” Hal said, remembering what he’d seen by the stream, where Fenton had been spitting water. “He’s something else entirely. No, it must have been Dewey. He’s being very coy, isn’t he?”

“He’s a dark horse, for sure,” Abigail said, and the boys groaned at the pun. “Well, I’m going home,” she said, indicating the shortcut back to her house. “See you at the lighthouse. It’s gonna be fun!”

‘Fun’ was not the word Hal would have chosen. Definitely not.

He and Robbie decided to visit Fenton together. This was such a rare occurrence that they felt extremely awkward walking up the overgrown driveway to Fenton’s house. Hal knocked, and the boys waited.

Finally the door opened and Mrs. Bridges stood there. She looked surprised. “Oh, hello. Are you looking for Fenton? I’m afraid he’s busy packing a few things. We’re leaving tonight, as you know.”

“I know,” Hal said. “We’ve organized a picnic, a sort of farewell meal for our buddy. Can he come along?”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Bridges, looking troubled. “Well, that’s awfully thoughtful of you, but really, Fenton has things to do, and then we’re supposed to be meeting all the other folks to say goodbye. I really can’t let Fenton go off on a picnic today.”

“But if it’s not today, it’s never,” Robbie argued. “Please, Mrs. Bridges, can’t you spare him for an hour or so? We’re meeting at three o’clock at—well, some place we’ve agreed.”

Mrs. Bridges seemed torn. “Well . . . perhaps it’ll be all right. If the other parents agree, then it’s okay with me. While you children are having a picnic, we parents can meet and talk privately. Mmm, maybe this is actually a good idea. Just for a short while though, all right? Make sure he’s back by four-thirty at the latest. Where are you meeting?”

At this, both Hal and Robbie balked. They couldn’t say ‘the lighthouse’ because that was supposed to a secret. But if they told her ‘the old mill,’ as they’d agreed, then Fenton would go to the wrong place! “Uh,” Hal said, “perhaps we could talk to him? Find out where’d he like to have his farewell picnic?”

This tactic worked well. Mrs. Bridges went inside and, moments later, Fenton appeared. He looked suspicious. “What’s up?”

Hal quickly explained the plan. “So we’ll meet you at the lighthouse,” he whispered. “But tell your mom we’re meeting in the big field near the old mill at the opposite end of the island. Three o’clock, okay?”

Fenton still looked suspicious when the boys left, and Hal wondered if he’d even bother showing up.

The island was shaped like a pear and the lighthouse stood at its narrow south eastern tip, facing toward the ocean where, in days gone by, it could warn ships about the treacherous rocks along this part of the coast. There was just one route to the lighthouse; anyone that came this far along the main road had only one destination in mind: The Point.

The bike ride along the smooth, paved road was fast and breathless. By the time they reached the lighthouse, Hal’s eyes were watering and his nose was freezing cold. Alongside were Robbie, Abigail and Lauren, each looking equally red-faced and chilled. Hal had joined up with Robbie and Abigail fairly early on, as they had all left their homes around the same time, but they’d caught up with Lauren on the final stretch of road. Lauren had been ambling along, her backpack stuffed full. When the three whizzed by her, she sped up and tore after them.

The lighthouse loomed out of the fog as the foursome approached the gates. A high wall circled the grounds, and the only way in was through the set of iron gates. But these were heavily chained, and around the top of the walls and gates ran vicious-looking barbed wire. Hal had often considered gaining access to the grounds via the sea—all he needed to do was swim out a short distance, past the fence that protruded into the sea, and then swim back up the pebbled shore of the lighthouse grounds. But that involved getting wet. Besides, the rocks by the lighthouse were jagged, and the sea rough—one strong wave and he’d be bashed against the rocks.

The lighthouse stood gleaming white, a smooth, round tower with a doorway at its base and a number of small dark windows running up the side. Above the fifth window the structure faded into the thickening fog. As far as Hal knew, none of the children had ever seen the uppermost portion of the tower, since the fog had always been too thick to penetrate.

Hal stopped beside Abigail and glanced back at the others. Robbie was panting but Lauren seemed fairly composed. The air was a little more moist than usual and her bangs were matted against her forehead, her long brown locks bedraggled. Abigail’s hair, tied up in a ponytail as usual, seemed unaffected by the fast ride, but her cheeks were bright red and her breath plumed before her face.

She got off her bike and went to hide it in the long grass. The others followed her example and made sure the handlebars and wheels were carefully hidden, just in case an adult came along. It was doubtful though; the children’s impromptu picnic coincided quite luckily with the similar meeting planned by the adults, so while the children would be together at the lighthouse, their parents would be deep in conversation at Fenton’s house.

Abigail stepped up to the iron gates and fingered the heavy, rusted chains that looped through the railings. “I guess we’d better wait for the others. But in the meantime, Robbie, we could either use the bolt-cutters to get through this chain, or . . .”

Robbie nodded. “You want me to break through.”

“You see, I can easily fly over the top,” Abigail said, “but these gates are pretty high and none of you will get past that barbed wire on top. But Robbie could probably just break this chain quite easily. Or, as I said, we can use the bolt-cutters.”

From the mumbled way she suggested the bolt-cutters, it was clear Abigail didn’t want to use them at all. She’d arranged for Emily to bring them before she’d known about Robbie’s transformation trick.

Not fully understanding the conversation, Lauren was already heading over to a clump of bushes at the side of the road. “Everything is right here,” she called. She disappeared for a second and emerged with a long-handled tool with a small, sharp pincer on the end. She came back to the gates, holding them out for Abigail. “Here you go.”

“No thanks,” Abigail said, shaking her head. “Tell you what, though: Get the blankets. Then we’ll wait for the others.”

They waited in the road, lounging around on a pile of old blankets. There were four of them, each fairly thick and tattered at the edges. Folded and arranged neatly on the paved surface, they made a halfway decent place to rest.

They didn’t have to wait long. Emily and Darcy arrived together, puffing and panting as they rode along the road. Dewey arrived shortly after. But there was no sign of Fenton.

“Should we wait for him?” asked Emily.

“No, let’s get started,” Hal said. “I’m getting cold sitting around doing nothing.” He glanced at his watch. He hardly ever wore it, but had decided it would be prudent today. He’d had it as long as he could remember, and had only changed the tiny battery a few times. “It’s three fifteen. If Fenton was going to show, he’d have been here by now, wouldn’t he?”

They all agreed, and decided to get started. Feeling somewhat awkward, Hal handed a blanket to Robbie. “I guess you’re up,” he said. “Get us through these gates.”

As Robbie grimaced and took the blanket, Emily look confused. “Where’s he going with that? We have bolt-cutters right here.”

“Just watch,” Abigail told her with a wink. “This is going to be a shock for you, Emily, and you too, Darcy, but Robbie’s going to show us what we’re all here for.”

Robbie disappeared behind a bush. The others stood and waited in silence.

After a minute, Darcy sighed impatiently. “I don’t get it.”

“Give him a moment,” Hal said. “This is all new to us, you know.”

“Hurry up!” Abigail yelled. “Have you got your clothes off yet?”

Robbie stuck his head up over the bush, his face beet red. He had the blanket wrapped tightly around his skinny frame. “Just hold on, will you? I don’t know how to do this at will. I normally only change when I get angry or frustrated.”

They waited a bit more. Emily and Darcy exchanged a bored look, while Lauren watched with interest. Dewey’s face was expressionless.

Robbie’s head popped up again from behind the bushes. “It’s not working,” he said. “I’m not changing. How am I supposed to will myself to change? Maybe I’m not really—”

“Do you want me to come over there and explain it you?” Abigail asked calmly.

“No! Stay away!”

“Oh, Robbie, Robbie, I’m sure you have nothing to hide. Go and see if he needs help, Lauren.”

Lauren actually took a step toward the bush before checking herself. But Robbie saw her and ducked down with a yelp.

“That’s right, Lauren,” Abigail said, winking at the others. “Just peer round the bush and grab his blanket.”

In the next moment a huge, bulky monster seemed to topple sideways from behind Robbie’s hiding place. It sprawled on the grass and blinked at the sky, a hulking mass of muscle covered with thick, long, coarse brown hair.

Everyone gasped. Whether they expected this or not, to see this enormous brute appear out of nowhere was a great shock!

The ogre climbed unsteadily to his feet, stood still for a moment, and shambled toward them. He was huge, three times Robbie’s original height, man-shaped but with unusually long arms like a gorilla that hung down to his knees. But the similarity to a gorilla ended there; Hal had seen apes in picture books, but he’d never seen one with a face so elongated that the huge square chin hung down to its chest. The big brown eyes were sunken, the nose wide and flat, and the mouth seemed large enough to accommodate a couple of soccer balls at once. Robbie licked his lips, and Hal saw uneven blunt molars.

The giant stomped closer, seeming almost shy. He smacked his lips and let his tongue loll lazily from his open mouth. He stood before them and slouched there, his knuckles resting on the ground and his knees slightly bent.

Hal glanced at Lauren and was surprised to see how composed she was. Emily and Darcy, however, were clutching each other, wide-eyed. Their mouths were working but no sound was coming out.

Dewey nodded thoughtfully, apparently unfazed by the transformation. Hal thought of the centaur again, convinced it was little Dewey he’d seen that night.

Then the screams started. Emily and Darcy seemed to have found their voices, and they turned and ran for their lives. Abigail yelled at them to come back, but they didn’t hear her. They disappeared from sight, their screams dying away as they fled.

“Idiots,” Abigail said. “Robbie, break the chain while I go after the girls.”

She flung off her coat and sprouted her wings in one single, practiced movement. Before Lauren and Dewey could even react, Abigail had buzzed off after Darcy and Emily.

Robbie’s gigantic mouth hung open. This was the first time he’d seen Abigail fly, and his open surprise was almost comical. “Close your mouth,” Hal told him, “before bugs fly in.”

Lauren turned back to stare up at the ogre. “Robbie?” she whispered.

Robbie turned his enormous head to her and displayed a tiny, almost human-sized ear. “Hunh?”

“Can you . . . can you understand us?” Lauren said.

Robbie nodded and grunted.

“Let’s get these gates open then,” Hal said.

Robbie grinned a wide, toothy grin and launched himself at the gates. In a single powerful leap he smashed into them where they abutted, and they busted inwards with a tremendous racket. The chains snapped and flew off, and a padlock whizzed over Hal’s head. The gates wobbled and rattled in a faint cloud of rust and dust, then became still.

Hal took one look at the twisted, buckled gates and slapped himself across the side of the head. “I meant open the gates
carefully!
” he yelled at Robbie. “How are we supposed to close them afterwards and look like we’ve never been here?”

Robbie’s small eyes darted back and forth across the gates and finally back to Hal. He shrugged.

Hal turned to Lauren and found that she was clutching at Dewey. Or perhaps Dewey was clutching at
her
, but either way they disentangled themselves and went to inspect the damage.

At that moment Abigail reappeared, walking now, holding Emily and Darcy firmly by the elbows and leading them back to the road. They both looked pale and frightened, and Emily was moaning something under her breath.

Abigail stopped short when she saw the gates. “Imbecile,” she muttered. She strode past Robbie. “But at least we’re in. If we’re going to get into trouble over this, I’d rather get into trouble
after
we’ve seen what we’ve come to see. So, come on in.” She paused and turned to Emily. “Hey, bring the binoculars, will you?”

As Abigail headed toward the lighthouse, Hal cast a look at Lauren. “You all right, Lauren? You’re very quiet.”

Lauren shrugged. “A little surprised that Robbie’s a huge monster and Abigail has wings, but yeah, otherwise fine.” The hint of a smile played on her lips. “I have a pretty cool secret of my own, you know.”

Abigail led the way, followed by Hal, Lauren and Dewey, and after them the shambling ogre with huge fists dragging on the ground. The group headed for the lighthouse door. At the rear, keeping their distance, Emily and Darcy trod warily.

The lighthouse grounds were situated on an outcrop of rocky land against which waves crashed and frothed. The road sloped upwards to a large, flat circular plateau. In the center stood the lighthouse itself, much dirtier up close than it appeared from a distance. Nearby stood a run-down brick building, not much larger than a shed. It had a rickety pitched gray roof, aged white-painted siding, and boarded-up windows. A short set of rotten steps led up to a chained and padlocked door. This was the old generator room. According to Hal’s dad, the island had once been powered by electricity from the mainland, but a lighthouse needed to be self-sufficient in case of power outages, so it had its own generator too. Hal remembered his dad’s explanation verbatim, but still had a little trouble understanding exactly how electricity and generators and even batteries
worked
.

The group marched past the generator building and straight up to the lighthouse door. Hal and Abigail stood together and stared at the chains, which were threaded through the door pull and looped around iron rings set in the old oak door frame. They glanced at each other, shrugged, and stepped back. Hal pointed. “Robbie. Chains. Go.”

Lauren had to jump aside as Robbie’s massive arms reached forward and grabbed the chains. He gave a quick tug and the links exploded into fragments. Not only that, but the door handle they were threaded through popped off too, and the iron rings embedded in the door frame twisted and split the wood. Without hesitation, Robbie pushed on the door with one huge, meaty hand and opened it—the wrong way. It splintered and cracked and fell inside, busting off the hinges.

“Oops,” Robbie said. Hal glanced up in surprise, but realized the word might be common between ogres and humans. Maybe it wasn’t exactly ‘oops’ but something similar. But the meaning was clear, and Robbie put a hand to his mouth as if he’d done something really naughty.

“You don’t know your own strength,” Hal said. “But good job anyway.” He suppressed a shudder at the amount of damage and tried to ignore visions of his father’s furious face. What kind of punishment would they receive for this kind of vandalism? They had all stepped way beyond a simple grounding.

Abigail, Hal, Lauren and Dewey filed through the doorway, then stopped inside, glancing back. Robbie stood outside, peering in, his hulking shoulders far wider than the broken door frame.

Lauren tittered. “Hey, Robbie, go and change, then catch up with us.”

Hal looked nervously around the room. They were actually
inside
the lighthouse. There were no windows at ground level, but a wrought iron circular staircase wound up the inside of the tower past various narrow openings with decorated leaded glass. The staircase appeared at first glance to be wrapped around a central pole nearly a foot thick, but on closer inspection the pole turned out to be the rounded inner-ends of triangular-shaped steps, stacked one on top of another as they wound up and around. It was a simple but very effective design, and Hal stared in awe at the ingenuity of the builders.

Tucked under the staircase were four dust-covered wooden crates, each three feet square and laid out end to end.

“Ugh, smells musty,” Abigail said. “Come on, let’s go to the top.”