The Fearless (3 page)

‘As soon as possible,’ Mr Brightman said.

‘Dad!’ I said. ‘Do we have to go?’

The adults all looked at each other. ‘We’re still trying to decide, sweetie,’ Mum said. ‘Nothing’s definite yet.’ I noticed she hadn’t really answered my question.

‘We’d better get back.’ Mr Brightman stood awkwardly. ‘We need to pack up some things. We’ll be back in half an hour – if you want to come with us, be ready. And until then, stay indoors.’

Dad showed the Brightmans out.

‘Mum, Dad, what’s going on?’ I demanded as soon as he came back. ‘
Please
tell me.’

Mum patted the sofa. I perched beside her, and Dad sat down in the armchair where Mr Brightman had been a few minutes before. Both of them looked pale.

‘That message on the television,’ Mum said, moving her hands in small circles across her bump. ‘It’s there because, in the countries where there are wars happening, people have been given a – a sort of medicine to make them fight better—’

‘She knows,’ Dad said in a gruff voice. ‘She found last week’s newspaper when she was sorting out the recycling.’

Mum looked sharply at him, and I realized that my parents must have known about the Fearless for a long time – and that they’d kept that knowledge from me.

‘What’s happened to the army and the police?’ I said. ‘What’s happened to the
government
?’

Dad swallowed. ‘I’m not sure.’

I looked from Dad to Mum and back again. The dread I felt when I read the newspaper yesterday was back, stronger than ever. ‘Have the Fearless killed them?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Dad repeated. ‘But we’re going to go with the Brightmans, just in case. If the Fearless do come to Blythefield, it’ll be too dangerous for us to stay.’

‘I don’t want to go!’ I cried. ‘Not if I can’t take Kali!’

Dad pressed his lips together. ‘Cass, we don’t have any choice.’

‘But Dad—’

‘Sweetie, don’t argue, please,’ Mum said. ‘Come back upstairs. We need to pack.’

We went up and quickly, silently, stuffed some of my clothes into a bag. In Mum and Dad’s bedroom next door, I could hear Dad opening drawers, banging them shut again, and a thud as something fell over. My skin was prickling all over and I couldn’t catch my breath properly; I felt as if everything was happening too fast. Only Kali, rolling around on my bed, purring, seemed oblivious to the tension in the air. I paused for a moment to rub the soft fur on her neck, an ache growing in my throat. I couldn’t leave her. I couldn’t. I’d had her since she was a kitten.

Mum folded me into an awkward hug. ‘Who’s going to look after her, Mum?’ I said into her shoulder, my eyes hot. ‘Who’ll feed her?’

‘She’ll be OK,’ Mum comforted. ‘She catches things all the time. Sometimes she eats so many mice she doesn’t want her food, remember?’

I nodded, sniffling.

Then Mum groaned and arched her back, pulling away from me.

‘Mum?’ I asked, at the same time as Dad, walking past my door with a suitcase in his hand said, ‘Clare?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. Practice contractions.’

‘Already?’ Dad said, putting the suitcase down.

‘I’m
fine
, Pete.’

Dad frowned. ‘If you’re sure.’ He didn’t sound convinced. ‘I’m going to go down and check all the doors and windows.’

‘Let’s put Kali out now,’ Mum said, holding out her arms. I passed Kali over, feeling like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. As Mum carried her over to the door, she started wriggling. She twisted out of Mum’s arms, and thundered down the stairs. ‘Pete!’ Mum called. ‘Can you let the cat out?’

Dad’s voice drifted up to us. ‘Done it!’

A few minutes later, he came back upstairs. ‘Everything’s locked, and I’ll turn off the gas, water and electricity just before we leave,’ he said. He was holding my granddad’s old walking stick. It was stout and gnarled, with a brass handle, and he was clutching it so tightly his knuckles were white. ‘The Brightmans should be back soon.’

I grabbed Hound off the bed and stuffed him in a side pocket of my bag. Then I carried it downstairs and put it with Mum and Dad’s suitcase by the front door. Back in the living room, Mum sat down and pressed her hands against her bump, taking deep breaths. Dad fiddled with the radio again, but there was nothing but white noise, and when he turned on the TV and the laptop, there was just that sinister message. I tried to read a book, but I couldn’t concentrate, so I picked up my DS. Only I couldn’t concentrate on that either. I kept thinking about Kali. What if I never saw her again?

The back door rattled, making us all jump.

‘Who’s that?’ Mum said. ‘Not the Brightmans yet, surely?’

‘I’ll go and check,’ Dad said. ‘Stay here.’

‘Be careful!’ Mum called after him as he went out, carrying the stick. I heard the back door open. A few moments later, he came back. ‘No one there. It must have been the wind.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll get the car out and bring it round to the front so I can start loading the bags into it. Then we’ll be ready to go as soon as the Brightmans arrive.’

The garage was separate from the house, standing at the back of the garden at the end of a short gravel drive. I crept to the living-room window and pushed the curtain aside a couple of inches, watching Dad walk across the lawn. It was completely dark now and the security light had come on, casting a long shadow in front of him.

Halfway to the garage, he stopped, patting his pockets. A few seconds later, the outside light, which was on a timer, went out. All I could see was my own reflection in the glass. I felt an irrational burst of terror. Had he forgotten the keys? Suddenly, the light flashed on again; Dad was shaking his head, the car keys dangling from one finger as he marched towards the garage.

And then, through the hedge at the back of the garden, ten feet or so away from him, I saw something move.

A split second later, the light went out again.

When it came back on, I saw a woman standing in front of a gap in the hedge where a cow had got through in the spring. It had raced around the garden, churning up the grass with its hooves, and Dad had had to call the farmer to come and get it; he hadn’t got round to patching up the hole yet.

The woman was a bit younger than Mum, tall and slender, wearing a grubby-looking army uniform with a pouch belted around her waist. Her dark hair was in a ponytail that had come half-undone, and there was blood all down the side of her face, soaking into the collar of her jacket. In the harsh glow from the outside light, it looked black. She took a few steps towards Dad, who hadn’t seen her yet – he was unlocking the garage door, and she was just out of his line of sight – then stopped, looking round her in a dazed sort of way.

‘Come away from there,’ Mum said in a sharp voice.

‘There’s someone out there,’ I whispered. I let the curtain drop and darted across the room to turn out the light. Then I returned to the window. Mum came to stand beside me.

‘Who is that?’ I said. I didn’t recognize the woman. I’d never seen her before.

Mum didn’t answer me.

‘
Mum
. She’s hurt – maybe we should go out and—’

‘No!’ Mum said loudly, and I saw the woman’s head twitch as if she’d heard her, although she couldn’t have because she was too far from the house.

‘No,’ Mum said, lowering her voice again. ‘We mustn’t go out there.’ She took in a sudden, hissing breath, pressing her hands into the small of her back.

Dad finally looked round and saw the woman. He opened his mouth, saying something to her. She lunged at him and, before he could even move out of the way, never mind defend himself, she punched him in the face. Even though he was twice her size, he staggered back and collapsed on the gravel in a heap, his eyes rolling up, blood bursting from his nostrils like someone had just turned on a tap. Mum and I both screamed at the same time and the woman’s head jerked towards the house again.

Mum pulled me away from the window, crushing me to her and clapping a hand across my mouth before I could scream again. ‘
Keep quiet
,’ she whispered fiercely. Her breath was coming in ragged little gasps. My heart was banging and my legs had gone weak. Against my back, I felt the baby kick savagely, as if he too sensed something terrible had just happened.

Mum took her hand away from my mouth.

‘Mum, what’s happening?’ I said in a shaky whisper. ‘Is Dad—’

I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t say
dead
.

From outside, I heard a piercing whistle.

‘Don’t move,’ Mum whispered back. With her back against the wall, she inched towards the window, peering around the edge of the curtain. I crept to her side, ignoring her hissed ‘Cass, I told you not to move!’

Dad was lying on his back, blood still oozing from his nose. The woman put two fingers to her lips and whistled again, then folded her arms, looking round impatiently as if she was waiting for someone. Her movements were sure and strong. I realized she must have just been pretending to be dazed – or else the attack had energized her in some way.

The woman looked at the house. Mum made a sort of squeaking noise and drew back, but I stayed where I was, peeping around the curtain.

There was something wrong with the woman’s eyes. They were silvery and dull, and her pupils were enormous.

Suddenly, I remembered the photograph of the man in that newspaper article.

Dad began to move.

It was like he was only half-awake. His feet twitched and his hands pawed at the air. But he was alive.
Alive
. As his eyelids flickered open, I started to cry, half from fear, half from relief. ‘Mum, he’s waking up! We have to help him!’ I whispered through my sobs. But all she did was stand there, her back to the wall, gasping.

Dad raised an arm and let it drop. His eyes were still half-closed. I remembered a few years ago when Sol and I were bouncing on the top of his bunk bed. Sol jumped up, hit his head on the ceiling, then fell off the bed and hit his head on the floor. Afterwards he was really sleepy and kept being sick, and said he couldn’t see properly. He had to go to hospital, and stayed off school for two days. When he came back, he told me proudly that he’d hit his head so hard it had shaken his brain against the inside of his skull and given him concussion.
It’s really dangerous
, he told me.
I could have DIED
.

What if that was what had happened to Dad?

‘Mum,’ I moaned, tears spilling down my cheeks. ‘
Do
something.’

But her eyes were closed. She didn’t even seem to hear me.

The woman looked over her shoulder. A few moments later, two men pushed their way through the hole in the hedge. One was quite young, also dressed in an army uniform that was crusted with mud. The other was older than Dad, wearing an ordinary jumper and jeans. They were filthy too. Both men had the same weird silver eyes as the woman.

The older man bent over Dad, put two fingers under his jaw and tilted his head back. Dad struggled feebly, trying to push him away. The younger man straddled him, kneeling on his arms and legs to pin them down. The woman unzipped the pouch around her waist, taking something out – a syringe with a long needle that glinted cruelly in the glow from the outside light. It was full of liquid that looked like watery blood.

Grabbing Dad’s hair with her free hand, she pulled his head roughly to one side and brought the needle down hard, stabbing it into the back of Dad’s neck.

Dad jack-knifed, hard enough to throw the man sitting on him off and send the empty syringe flying out of the woman’s hand, his eyes springing open and his mouth opening in a soundless howl. Then he collapsed again.

I squeezed my eyes shut, telling myself that the last few minutes had just been a bad dream, and that when I looked through the window again, I’d see Dad walking towards the back door with the stick in his hand.

He’d smile and give us a thumbs-up to say
everything’s OK
.

He’d come inside and we’d load up the car and wait for Mr and Mrs Brightman and Sol to arrive.

And we’d all be safe.

‘Oh God,’ I heard Mum say behind me in a high, trembling voice. ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God.’ When I opened my eyes again I saw the older man lifting Dad over his shoulders.

The woman looked towards the window and pointed.

Mum grabbed my hand and dragged me into the kitchen, where she pulled out the two biggest knives from the block by the cooker.

‘
Mum!
’ I wailed as she led me out into the hall. We were going towards the front door. Going
outside
. I tried to pull away from her, but she was still holding my hand too tightly. It wasn’t until we got to the door that she let me go.

‘We’re going to try to get to the Brightmans’ house, OK?’ she said. Her voice was croaky and thick with tears.

‘I don’t want to go out there,’ I said, shaking my head.

‘We have to. They know we’re here. That woman heard us scream.’ She tried to hand me the smaller of the two knives, and when I shook my head again, pushed it at me more insistently. ‘I don’t want you to use it unless you absolutely have to. I’ll try to protect you. But if anything happens to me, don’t stay with me. Run.’

I started crying again, so hard I couldn’t speak. The knife was heavy, and the thought of having to use it, even on that woman or one of those men, turned my stomach.

‘Cass, snap out of it!’ Mum’s voice was suddenly hard and angry. She pulled me round to face her. ‘You have to—’ She drew in her breath sharply, letting go of me to press her hands to the small of her back and closing her eyes. ‘Oh,
God
, not
now
,’ she groaned through clenched teeth. Fresh terror zigzagged through me, the shock strong enough to stop my tears.

‘Mum? What’s wrong?’ I said. ‘Is the baby coming?’

Mum let out a slow breath and straightened up. ‘No. It just . . . kicked me a bit too hard, that’s all.’ She slid her key into the front door lock. ‘We have to be quiet, OK? Very quiet, and very quick.’

As she pulled the door open a few inches to look out, my palms were so slippery with sweat I was scared I’d drop my knife.