expression vanishes. ‘Why would you think that?’ he says sharply. ‘Let’s get one thing clear right now. I’m not a Fearless, and I’m not in league with them either.’
He sounds angry, and that makes me start to feel angry, too. I look him straight in the eye. ‘I don’t know you. I don’t know anything about you. And two Fearless just took my brother, so excuse me for being completely paranoid right now.’
We glare at each other for a moment. He looks away first.
‘Aye, well,’ he mutters. ‘Are we gonna get some rest, or what?’
I follow him and Lochie into the warehouse, taking my lamp out of my pack. But it isn’t as dark inside as I was expecting – moonlight leaks through gaps where parts of the roof have fallen away, painting stripes of light on the cracked, stained concrete floor. Old wooden pallets and bits of machinery are strewn everywhere, and a profusion of skinny, leafless trees, just like the ones in the Shudders, have sprung up among them.
‘Over here,’ Myo says, making for a stack of metal crates in one corner. Between the crates and the wall there’s a sleeping bag, a dish of water, frozen solid, and a fire barrel with a metal rod balanced across the top. In the corner is a pack, twice the size of mine.
I take off my pack. ‘Can we light a fire?’ I say. My clothes are damp from sea spray, and I’m cold all the way to my bones. Myo nods, pulling his satchel off over his head with a grunt of pain. He takes out a bottle of water, knocks the ice out of the dish and refills it, while I go to find wood. In less than ten minutes, I have a fire going in the barrel, moon-silvered smoke spiralling up towards a hole in the roof above us, the flames casting a shuddering orange glow onto the crates and the walls.
‘Nice job,’ Myo says.
I step back from the barrel, brushing off my hands. ‘What d’you think I do all day on Hope, sew dresses and sweep floors?’
He holds up his hands. ‘Did I say that?’
I narrow my eyes at him. Grimacing, he sits down. Lochie lies down beside him with a grunt. His paws are almost the same size as my hands. Myo reaches out and rubs the dog’s ear.
‘You want to eat?’ he says.
I’m about to tell him I’m not hungry, then remember what we were told, time and time again, in the Junior Patrol.
If you find yourself in a survival situation, your priorities must be shelter, water and food. Without shelter, your body will weaken. And without fuel, it’ll give out on you altogether
.
‘Yeah, OK,’ I say. I take bread, dried fish and kelp strips out of my pack. They look even less appetizing than usual, although Lochie shows a great interest in the fish strips, raising his head and sniffing the air loudly as I unwrap them.
Gritting his teeth again, Myo turns and pulls one of those foil pouches I saw in his satchel out of his pack. ‘Want one? There’s ravioli, chicken stew, chilli or spaghetti bolognese. I wouldn’t recommend the bolognese, but Lochie likes it.’
Frowning, I take a pouch. It’s a year or so out of date, but that doesn’t worry me. The barterers occasionally trade canned food, and everyone on the island knows that unless the tins are split or bulging, they’re safe. I assume these are the same.
The pouch is full of packets. I stare in wonder at the labels:
Chicken Stew, Strawberry Dairy Shake, Mango Peach Sauce, Sugar Free Raspberry Beverage
. There’s even a pack of crackers, a spoon and a wet wipe.
‘Where did you get these?’ I ask as he shows me how to prepare the stew by sliding it into a pouch marked
Heater
, tipping a small amount of water into the top and propping it up against the wall while the chemicals inside react and heat the food.
‘Ben found a load of them at the bunker when we—’ He stops and clears his throat.
There’s a few seconds’ silence.
‘Who’s Ben?’ I say. ‘And what bunker?’
He starts eating, pretending he hasn’t heard me.
‘
Myo
.’
At last, he looks up at
He sounds angry, and that makes me start to feel angry, too. I look him straight in the eye. ‘I don’t know you. I don’t know anything about you. And two Fearless just took my brother, so excuse me for being completely paranoid right now.’
We glare at each other for a moment. He looks away first.
‘Aye, well,’ he mutters. ‘Are we gonna get some rest, or what?’
I follow him and Lochie into the warehouse, taking my lamp out of my pack. But it isn’t as dark inside as I was expecting – moonlight leaks through gaps where parts of the roof have fallen away, painting stripes of light on the cracked, stained concrete floor. Old wooden pallets and bits of machinery are strewn everywhere, and a profusion of skinny, leafless trees, just like the ones in the Shudders, have sprung up among them.
‘Over here,’ Myo says, making for a stack of metal crates in one corner. Between the crates and the wall there’s a sleeping bag, a dish of water, frozen solid, and a fire barrel with a metal rod balanced across the top. In the corner is a pack, twice the size of mine.
I take off my pack. ‘Can we light a fire?’ I say. My clothes are damp from sea spray, and I’m cold all the way to my bones. Myo nods, pulling his satchel off over his head with a grunt of pain. He takes out a bottle of water, knocks the ice out of the dish and refills it, while I go to find wood. In less than ten minutes, I have a fire going in the barrel, moon-silvered smoke spiralling up towards a hole in the roof above us, the flames casting a shuddering orange glow onto the crates and the walls.
‘Nice job,’ Myo says.
I step back from the barrel, brushing off my hands. ‘What d’you think I do all day on Hope, sew dresses and sweep floors?’
He holds up his hands. ‘Did I say that?’
I narrow my eyes at him. Grimacing, he sits down. Lochie lies down beside him with a grunt. His paws are almost the same size as my hands. Myo reaches out and rubs the dog’s ear.
‘You want to eat?’ he says.
I’m about to tell him I’m not hungry, then remember what we were told, time and time again, in the Junior Patrol.
If you find yourself in a survival situation, your priorities must be shelter, water and food. Without shelter, your body will weaken. And without fuel, it’ll give out on you altogether
.
‘Yeah, OK,’ I say. I take bread, dried fish and kelp strips out of my pack. They look even less appetizing than usual, although Lochie shows a great interest in the fish strips, raising his head and sniffing the air loudly as I unwrap them.
Gritting his teeth again, Myo turns and pulls one of those foil pouches I saw in his satchel out of his pack. ‘Want one? There’s ravioli, chicken stew, chilli or spaghetti bolognese. I wouldn’t recommend the bolognese, but Lochie likes it.’
Frowning, I take a pouch. It’s a year or so out of date, but that doesn’t worry me. The barterers occasionally trade canned food, and everyone on the island knows that unless the tins are split or bulging, they’re safe. I assume these are the same.
The pouch is full of packets. I stare in wonder at the labels:
Chicken Stew, Strawberry Dairy Shake, Mango Peach Sauce, Sugar Free Raspberry Beverage
. There’s even a pack of crackers, a spoon and a wet wipe.
‘Where did you get these?’ I ask as he shows me how to prepare the stew by sliding it into a pouch marked
Heater
, tipping a small amount of water into the top and propping it up against the wall while the chemicals inside react and heat the food.
‘Ben found a load of them at the bunker when we—’ He stops and clears his throat.
There’s a few seconds’ silence.
‘Who’s Ben?’ I say. ‘And what bunker?’
He starts eating, pretending he hasn’t heard me.
‘
Myo
.’
At last, he looks up at
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