A Raucous Time (The Celtic Cousins' Adventures) Page 16

  ‘Crombie isn’t here. If you keep your mouth shut he won’t know.’

  ‘It ain’t right. They ain’t gonna grass. They know what’s at stake.’

  ‘Yeah? They’ve already given names – when the deal’s struck, they’ll start giving locations. This way we’ve got rid of those traitors and tied up the emergency services. Then concentrate on getting hold of those kids. When we do – I’ve got scores to settle. Thieving Welsh scum. Don’t forget – I’ve lost my dad. He’d still be alive if it weren’t for that little runt!’

  ‘Mikey, you’ve got the word of a bent copper – I’d swear on my life...’ They moved out of earshot.

  Rhyllann, still hugging the box shivered. Crombie. Crombie had sold them out. Probably tired of driving a salvage scheme reject.

  ‘What now?’ he whispered. But the voice remained silent. Through the pouring rain Rhyllann looked across towards the broken window and began trudging back to Wren.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Wren shivered and burned on a sofa damp with sweat. Thin clear liquid trickled from his nose and mouth, his eyes turned up in his head showing slivers of white when Rhyllann prised open his eyelids.

  ‘Bloody hell brawd – don’t do this! Don’t do this to me!’ Rhyllann screamed at him. For the second time that day his cousin was dying in front of his eyes.

  ‘Not this time. Not this time.’ He muttered, knocking the coffee table aside and dragging Wren to the floor. He wouldn’t give in again. Rhyllann still had to get him through the kitchen window, across the drive, then somehow manage to reach the nearest town. Without the neighbours spotting them. He thought about leaving Wren here, going for help. Except someone might spot the broken window and investigate. He watched as Wren’s fingers twitched, and his hand moved. Guessing what he wanted Rhyllann nudged the box against his side. Stroking it, Wren’s lips twitched into a ghost of a smile.

  ‘Annie. I’m so sorry. I should never have dragged you into this.’ His voice was barely audible. Rhyllann knelt beside him, propping him up.

  ‘Don’t talk. Just breathe. Just keep breathing.’

  Wren’s eyelids flickered open; after a second or two he managed to focus on Rhyllann.

  ‘No, let me – I need to.’ He broke off to cough. ‘Annie – that day – when I swapped the books. I knew … I knew they were out to get me. I tried to talk to you. But you weren’t listening. I had to get your attention. I told Coleman he had halitosis and dandruff.’

  Something welled up inside Rhyllann, a force rumbled around in his stomach and up through his chest emerging as laughter as he remembered that day. He could feel Wren’s body shaking as they huddled together in a house they had no right to be in, hiding from a ruthless gang. Minutes later he realised the laughter had turned to sobbing, and Wren’s body no longer moved.

  With a sense of hopelessness Rhyllann plugged his mouth over Wren’s and began CPR, pushing down on his chest, trying to remember how to count. He began feeling giddy and light headed, breathing for both of them. Black spots swum before his eyes, his arms started their own protest but Rhyllann kept going long after common sense told him to give up. Images flashed through his mind; Gran’s face when she heard her youngest grandson was dead, Aunt Sarah learning the news from some faceless prison warden. Rhyllann peered into a future where there was no-one to point out freakish insects or explain when he was helpless with hiccups that they were a throwback to when humans had gills. And no one to call him Annie. The room shimmered with silent people watching him, urging him on. Gran’s worried little face, his mum quietly supporting him, Aunt Sarah looking wild eyed. A slim blond youth encouraged him with a smile. For a second or two, a young girl's form shimmered, her hands clutched against her chest, wordlessly imploring with huge greeny brown eyes. And still Rhyllann pumped on thinking wet drowning, dry drowning, inhale, exhale, push push push – turning his head to one side, pinching Wren’s nose and breathing his own lungful of air into Wren's lungs, all the while chanting breathe breathe breathe as he pressed down on Wren's ribcage again. Sounds began to trickle back into Rhyllann's consciousness, the splatter of rain, the ticking of a clock, a gurgle of drainpipes. And most wonderful of all the soft wheeze of Wren’s chest as he started breathing for himself.

  Rhyllann sat watching him, knowing this was only a reprieve until the next attack. They needed transport. Wheels of some kind. He wouldn’t manage to get Wren through that window. Not without being seen. If only the front door wasn’t double locked. For the tenth time he cursed Volvo family. If only – of course – Rhyllann jumped to his feet searching for another way out – there had to be a back door – the kitchen faced the front, the lounge overlooked the rear garden – rushing to the patio doors, feverishly he tugged at the top and bottom catches then pulled at the handle. A massive top to floor pane of glass swept open. Rain cascaded in drenching him, drumming against the wooden floor. Rhyllann whooped with joy. Standing on the patio, barely an arm's length away, coach work glistening with water was something he’d only seen in films. An old fashioned bassinet pram. The type used by royalty to push little princes and princess through leafy parks, easily large enough to hold a baby and a toddler in comfort.

  Quickly tipping water from the padded inside, heedless of tyre tracks he whizzed the pram over to Wren. Somehow Rhyllann manoeuvred him into the pram’s carriage, legs dangling over like a life sized Guy Fawkes, still wrapped in the flowery duvet. Then he sped back through the patio doors, across the back garden into a service path, and finally they were away down the lane. If anyone did manage to spot them through the torrential rain, they would surely think they were hallucinating.

  Singing and giggling happily as the pram propelled them back to civilisation, Rhyllann almost hoped to bump into Volvo family – so he could thank them for their hospitality.

  *

  Ramming aside barricades blocking off the lane, Rhyllann splashed on. The lane widened into a street, other roads diverged from it, but no street lights glowed; all houses were in darkness. The whole town had lost power. An elderly woman struggled to pile sandbags against her doorstep, rain splattering against the bin bags swathed around her. Applying the brake to the pram, Rhyllann walked up to tap at her shoulder.

  ‘Excuse me please? The hospital. Please – I need to find a hospital.’

  The old woman had probably seen much stranger sights in her time. Without blinking an eye she directed him. Ten minutes later, Rhyllann applied the pram's brake again outside the hospital’s entrance. With Wren sagging against him, he dragged them both up the steps and through the reception doors. Steam rose from the damp bodies huddled into the crowded foyer, and a crescendo of mutterings and shuffling filled the air.

  ‘I’ll get someone. Stay there, I’ll get someone.’ Rhyllann patted a clammy cheek. ‘Wren – stay with me.’ Wren’s head drooped lifelessly; a plea sprung up in Rhyllann’s mind: ‘Please god, please god please god.’

  He studied the room – three receptionists manned the desk, the queue snaked half way around the waiting area. Every seat and bench was occupied. Lowering Wren against a wall, Rhyllann took a deep breath, then marched to the front.

  Immediately a protest sprung up, Rhyllann felt himself jostled.

  ‘My cousin – he needs help now! It’s urgent.’

  ‘We’re all urgent.’

  ‘No – you don’t understand – he’s dying. Please – he needs help now!’

  He was shouldered out the way amid calls of ‘take your turn’ and ‘get in the bloody queue’ ‘bloody emmit’.

  God! This was hopeless – he had to find another way! He looked back towards where he’d propped Wren, straining to see over heads, in time to see a trench coated figure stoop and gather Wren up like a bundle of washing. Rhyllann tottered into a run, shoving blindly through bodies. He’d lost them! He couldn’t find them. Pushing down the panic, he forced himself to stand still, and make a complete circuit of the room. He caught a bag lady’s eye.

  ‘Man – man
with a hat?‘ He gibbered.

  ‘That way – young man – the gentleman took your friend that way.’ She pointed towards a door marked private.

  ‘Thank you – thank you so much!’ Rhyllann breathed, unlocking his legs to stumble in the right direction. Bag lady! Tonight the whole town resembled a refugee camp.

  Finding himself in a small inner lobby, Rhyllann pushed through the next door into a wide main corridor. Which way had they gone? Left would lead to reception and exits, could he have doubled back? After a moment’s indecision, Rhyllann turned right, urging his legs to sprint but only managing a geriatric jog. Clutching his side and sobbing now, he reached the corner at last. In time to see Wren being loaded onto a trolley and spirited away by a couple of white coats. Rhyllann opened his mouth to yell, but nothing came out. The figure in the trench coat stood watching as the trolley disappeared through another swing door, then turned to squelch back down the corridor. He held a wooden box in one hand, a bright yellow rainhat obscured his face. Rhyllann slid helplessly down the wall, still clutching his side, mouth working soundlessly. Tugging off his hat, the man batted it against his coat, scattering water droplets. Rhyllann finally recognised him, and howled. A hand seized his hair roughly, forcing his head upwards. The man squatted down to stare into Rhyllann's face. With another jerk of Rhyllann’s hair, he spoke.

  ‘You son, are in my bad books.’

  Rhyllann couldn’t believe how pleased he was to see that snarl. Once again he gave into hysterical laughter, allowing Crombie to drag him to his feet.

  *

  Bodmin police station buzzed with officers and civilians milling around, collating information, shouting to make theirselves heard over two way radios. In addition to loss of power; phone lines, mobile masts and the internet was down.

  Somehow it was all Rhyllann’s fault. He caught the tail end of spiteful whispers and filthy looks. He hunched lower into his chair, closing his eyes to make himself invisible. He’d been allowed a quick wash in the men’s toilets, but Rose’s camouflage gear still clung damply to his body. He was painfully aware of pungent steam rising from him. Rodgers shook him out of his doze, jerking his head for Rhyllann to follow. Rodgers opened the door to a box room, propelling him forward and onto the makeshift camp bed. To emphasise how much trouble he was in, he handcuffed him to the metal bed frame. Only a week ago Rhyllann would have shouted the place down in protest. Ignoring Rodgers he merely stretched out and fell asleep.

  Interlude

  The ground felt springy under Rhyllann's feet again, he climbed the hill effortlessly towards Taffy’s Folly. The giant monolith no longer stood alone; the boulders previously tumbled around had somehow formed themselves into a surrounding circle. Inside the stone circle moonlit shadows danced. Rhyllann told himself the stones only appeared to be moving because he was moving, altering his line of vision. In his dream he slowed his footsteps, then inexplicitly removed his trainers and socks, before approaching cautiously in bare feet.

  A tall slim figure almost merging into the Folly supported a smaller figure whose face strained upwards towards the stars. With a jolt which should have woken him, Rhyllann started forward again shouting foolishly.

  ‘Hey you – get away from him.’ He reached the perimeter of the circle, close enough to see the man’s face, except it was shrouded. The stranger vanished suddenly in the way of dreams and the blond youth toppled forwards onto his knees. Rhyllann reached out, touching the rough cold stone and willed himself to wake up. But he couldn’t. He stumbled into the circle, immediately a high pitched static hit his ears and he felt the crackle of some latent energy field knocking him to the ground. He scuffled forward on all fours to face his cousin.

  Wren’s eyes stared upward gazing unfocused at the night sky and with a chilling mind altering clunk, Rhyllann realised this was more than a dream. He confirmed this by reaching out to shake Wren.

  ‘Brawd, where’d he go? Did he touch you? What did he want?’

  Wren lowered his head, his eyes completely spaced out. Rhyllann shivered; this was beyond weird. Had Wren been drugged? Had they both been drugged and somehow carried here? His mind sought a rational explanation.

  ‘Brawd – please – you’re scaring me.’

  ‘Annie – he’s gone – and there was so much more I needed to know!’ Wren sounded desolate.

  ‘Did he touch you?’

  Wren’s eyes focused for the first time. ‘Yes, he touched me. I felt his hands inside my head.’

  ‘What!’ He sprung to his feet. He had to get Wren back to hospital. Whatever that guy had done, Wren had changed. Before he could take a step, a flash of deepest blue exploded, in his head, and yet gloriously outside as well, stars, galaxies and universes spun and danced.

  Rhyllann’s mind expanded before infinity, this was unbearable. Wren gave a strange secretive smile, his eyes knowing. Rhyllann opened his mouth to scream – enough! Then the universe shrank, dwindling to a bleak moor land: He watched as huge monoliths were raised against a desolate landscape and realised he was experiencing the birth of Stonehenge. The wild dance slowed and patterns began to emerge. Rhyllann dropped to his knees, the vision ceased suddenly, and bile rose in his gullet.

  Wren continued to gaze at him, his eyes reflecting the inky black sky.

  ‘Did you … did you just do that?’

  'Merlin showed me. Anyone can do it. It’s only a transmission – like streaming a video.’

  ‘Merlin?’ Oh dear lord. He really had gone.

  ‘Mmm. He spells it like me. Indigo.’

  Indigo?!! Rhyllann took deep breaths, feeling energy crackling towards him, invading his body with every lungful of air he took.

  ‘We’ve gotta get outta here. I don’t know how you got here – I don’t know how we got here. We’ve gotta find a way back.’ He dragged at Wren as he spoke. Wren pulled back.

  ‘No, listen to me. Please. It’s important.. He wanted to make sure we were ready. Be ready Annie. When the time comes, you’ll know what to do.’ His eyes were fervent, a zealous convert.

  Rhyllann tried to extract his hands. ‘Brawd, please, you’re scaring me.’

  ‘Don’t be scared. This is meant.’ A strange smile crossed Wren's face. ‘We’re the chosen ones.’

  Rhyllann laughed. For a moment, he thought Wren was going to strike him. Then his features rose in the familiar dorky smile, his eyes returned to normal, the vice like grip softened. As though reading his mind he said.

  ‘Sorry, you’re right. A Dr. Evil moment.’

  ‘Damn straight!’ And because it was only a dream Wren vanished as smoothly as the stranger.

  Pacing into the middle of the circle, Rhyllann sat down crossed legged with his back against the stone known as Taffy’s Folly; marvelling at how every blade of grass seemed so sharp and clear. Then Rhyllann raised his head to study the star filled skies feeling a deep contentment flood through his skin to his very bones. Soaking up energy, with it the knowledge that he could leave here anytime, but he would carry this moment, this magic with him forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Rhyllann’s bed creaked as he turned over; smacking his nose against the metal frame. He gave an experimental stretch; every muscle in his body felt tender and sore, as though he had ran a marathon. Apart from his left arm, which felt dead from the shoulder down. Groaning, Rhyllann swung his feet to the floor and rubbed his upper arm vigorously hoping the feeling would come back sooner rather than later and it wouldn’t hurt too much as the blood re-circulated. He glanced around trying to get his bearings. The only light came through a half glazed door, but it appeared he was in a small room stacked almost floor to ceiling with A4 sized boxes. A voice crackled from the ground.

  ‘Rhyllann? You awake?’ Rhyllann hunted for the source of the voice and found a baby monitor on the floor, next to some handcuffs. This just got weirder and weirder. He decided to ignore the voice and still clutching his useless arm heaved himself from the low slung camp bed only to topple bac
k as the door swung open and a familiar figure entered with a tray, leaving the door ajar.

  ‘Why didn’t you answer me son?’ Crombie laid the tray across Rhyllann's lap as he spoke. The scrambled eggs looked solid rather than fluffy, but the tea looked good and strong. Rhyllann didn’t bother to waste time talking, heaping eggs onto toast, he began savouring the first hot meal he’d eaten in ages. Crombie lowered himself to the end of the bed and watched.

  ‘What’s wrong with your arm?’ He asked.

  ‘Dunno – must have slept on it.’ Rhyllann mumbled, still swallowing.

  They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Having scraped the plate clean, Rhyllann chugged back the last mouthful of tea and looked around the room again trying to orientate himself. He wondered vaguely who had taken the handcuffs off.

  ‘A stationery cupboard. You shut me in a stationery cupboard!’

  ‘Think yourself lucky – half the town’s sleeping on the floor over at the civic centre.’ Crombie sounded annoyed at that.

  Rhyllann frowned, trying to think back. Was it his fault somehow? Had he done something wrong? What was he doing here anyway? Why was Crombie bringing him breakfast in bed?

  His mind refused to provide answers, but he did remember Crombie responded better when addressed in subdued respectful terms.

  ‘Thank you Detective Crombie. I was starving. Thank you again.’

  Crombie nodded acknowledgement still looking grim. Rhyllann felt the first tingle of sensation, signalling life was returning to his arm and winced silently. He measured the steps to the door and tried to stand up again. The floor tilted upward and he would have fallen face first if Crombie hadn’t caught him.

  ‘Whoa there. Sit down son. You’re not going anywhere. You and I are having a little chat.’ That sounded too familiar. He responded automatically.