Hollow Earth (14 page)

The boy let out a terrified, pain-stricken howl. His mother, seeing blood gushing from her youngest son’s leg, screamed in panic, and because her mother was screaming in panic the little girl began to scream too.

Lights, Zach! Quickly. Lights!

TWENTY-FOUR

L
args was bustling with tourists enjoying the last gasp of a glorious, sunny August day, when Renard stepped on to the pavement outside the train station. He’d left the island that morning for the Kelvingrove Art Gallery in Glasgow, not long after Matt, Em and Zach had biked from the compound. Now he was on his way back.

He removed his suit jacket, folded it over his arm and, dodging the heavy traffic cruising along the promenade, walked smartly to the ferry dock.

Once on the ship, he settled himself on the upper passenger deck. He was about to unfold his newspaper, when he felt a weight, a distinct pressure, pushing on his chest. Gripping the ship’s railing, he closed his eyes, allowing the vision he knew was coming to take form.

When he opened his eyes, a boy of about four or five years old stood on the deck in front of him, an apple in his hands. The boy was wearing a University of Nebraska T-shirt with a bandage around his thigh. On closer inspection, Renard could see the boy had horse manure smeared across his arms.

‘Mr Renard, are you all right?’ asked one of the ship’s crew, walking through the apparition as it dissolved around him. ‘You look awful pale.’

‘I’m fine, Jimmy. Thank you. The heat, plus a tiring day, is all.’

Renard fished his mobile phone out of his briefcase, speed-dialling Simon. No answer. He scrolled down and dialled Sandie. Nothing. Mara – no answer. The children’s new phones. Nothing. Dead silence.

Where was everyone? Why weren’t they answering their phones?

Renard was angry rather than panicked. He knew that he would have sensed if something tragic or terrible had happened on the island. He was also angry because the vision of the little boy with the apple had come from Em. She was not yet fully aware of the deep connection Renard had with her as her Guardian powers strengthened, but the boy with the apple was obviously something she had witnessed or, worse still, created some time that afternoon. It had affected her significantly.

Renard pushed his way off the ferry, cutting to the front of the waiting line, running to his car in the car park. Normally a patient man, Renard used his horn more times on the journey to the Abbey than he had ever done before, forcing drivers and pedestrians out of his way.

The gates to his home were wide open when he turned into the grounds, his tyres spraying gravel in all directions as he raced along the lane and skidded to a stop in the Abbey’s front courtyard. Before he had climbed from the car, Mara was already outside the front doors.

‘Calm down, Renard,’ she said. ‘Somehow our communication network was infected with a virus. That’s why the gates are open. Simon is convinced that it wasn’t an outside hacker. He’s working on correcting it. We should be back online soon.’

‘I’m not bothered about that. It’s the twins and Zach. Where are they?’

‘They’re fine,’ Mara soothed. ‘At least, we think they’re fine.’

‘What do you mean, “we think”?’

‘Simon received a text from Zach around lunchtime.’

‘Lunchtime?’ said Renard, appalled. ‘That was three hours ago! I’ve been picking up visions from Em. Unsettling visions.’

Mara lifted Renard’s briefcase from the back seat and followed him inside while filling him in. ‘Directly before the system crashed, Simon checked the GPS he’d installed. The three of them were on the hiking trails north of the old church in Seaport. Probably looking for the burial mound they thought they’d found.’

Renard exhaled slowly before marching into the library to a cabinet near a grouping of leather chairs, where he lifted out a decanter of whisky, pouring himself and Mara a drink. Renard had only taken a sip when Simon stormed into the room, slamming his laptop on to Renard’s desk, which sat facing the arched window with a view of Era Mina and the bay.

‘Zach was the one who crashed our system.’

‘What!’ said Renard.

Simon was as white as chalk. ‘He wrote a piece of code that simulated my GPS program so that we couldn’t track the three of them when they left the compound. Somehow he’s patched it into our network. But the little monster isn’t as smart as he thinks. His program hit a glitch. And when it tried to repair itself, it corrupted our entire system.’

Renard sat down on a leather sofa, rubbing his hands across his face. ‘What was he thinking?’

‘You’ve got to give the kid credit for ingenuity,’ said Mara, trying to repress a smile as she finished her drink.

‘Not funny, Mara,’ said Renard. ‘Who knows what damage he might have done?’

‘Well, you know one thing. Zach wouldn’t have done this without the twins’ approval, if not their help,’ said Simon.

‘Oh, I’m well aware of that, Simon,’ said Renard. ‘I don’t know what they were thinking either. They may still be learning, but they know the rules.’

Simon worked on his laptop for a few more seconds before closing it. ‘Good news is, the damage wasn’t too bad. We should be fine now.’

‘Good,’ said Renard, finishing his drink. ‘That leaves me to deal with the boy with the apple and the manure on his arm.’

Renard was describing his vision on the ferry, when Sandie came through the open library door to join them.

‘Hey, did I miss the invitation for cocktails?’ she asked. She caught the anger in Renard’s eyes immediately. ‘What’s wrong? Where are the children?’

‘That, my dear,’ said Renard, ‘is the question.’

TWENTY-FIVE

T
he children were exactly where most children love to be on a sunny summer’s day: perched on the beach wall, eating ice-cream sundaes. Behind them, the Seaport Café was packed, its outdoor deck spilling customers on to the sand to enjoy their frozen treats.

Zach, Matt and Em were watching a game of volleyball, oblivious to the man and woman sitting at one of the umbrella tables. The blonde woman was dressed in a white halterneck dress, and the man was impatiently tapping the ring on his little finger against his coffee cup.

‘At least Mr Nelson didn’t ask for a refund,’ said Em.

Matt licked up the crumbs of his chocolate flake, lobbing his plastic bowl into a nearby rubbish container. ‘That family got way too excited about a tiny scratch and a little cow dung. Their boy was fine.’

‘Thanks to Zach’s quick thinking,’ said Em. ‘If he hadn’t told Mr Nelson that he’d fallen against the screen and accidentally stepped on the boy with his cleats … well, who knows what would have happened?’

‘You could have tried to make them forget what they saw,’ said Matt. ‘You know, that inspiriting thing Grandpa told us about.’

‘I’ve never done that before,’ said Em. ‘I’m just glad that you did what you did, Zach,’ she signed. ‘You saved the day!’

Zach’s face reddened. Quickly gathering up Em’s bowl and his own, he walked over to the bin to mask his blushing.

‘We should’ve known the whole story would be too scary for young children,’ said Matt, oblivious to Zach’s embarrassment. ‘The children with that last family from Edinburgh, though – they were the perfect age. How old do you think they were, Em? ’Cos that’s who we should stick to next time.’

‘They were our age,’ laughed Em. ‘Still, it was pretty easy to convince their mum and dad to follow me, especially when the dad figured he could have a pint on the beach while we entertained his children.’

‘How much did we make?’ signed Zach.

Em pulled a pencil case from her backpack, surreptitiously counting the notes stuffed inside. ‘Sixty quid. Not bad.’ They high-fived each other.

‘Celebrating something?’ asked a woman, appearing next to Matt on the steps.

Em jumped with fright.

‘Oh, I’m sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you.’ She pointed at a man sitting at one of the umbrella tables, who lifted his cup in acknowledgment. ‘We heard from a fellow tourist that you children conduct a re-enactment to anyone interested in learning more about the history of the island. We’d like to take your tour, and, of course, we’re happy to pay you double since it’s so close to the end of the day.’

The woman took a thick pile of notes from her bag.

Em was feeling uncomfortable. There was something vaguely familiar about the woman. Had they met before? She took a closer look at the man at the table. He looked fairly harmless, but there was something about him. He waved. It didn’t help Em’s unease. Maybe she was just getting tired.

I don’t like this woman, Matt, and there’s something weird about her husband.

Matt ignored her. ‘I think we could do one more show before it gets dark,’ he said, standing and brushing sand from his cargo shorts.

‘I think we should get home,’ signed Zach, sensing Em’s discomfort.

Em was under no illusion that they’d spent most of the day breaking the First Rule of being an Animare – never to animate in public. But she had convinced herself that they had done their re-enactment in such a way that no one in their audience would ever know that what they were seeing was real. Technically, she felt, they’d got round that one.

But giving one more performance when they were both tired and not as focused as they should be would violate the Second Rule of an Animare – always be in full control of your imagination.

Let’s get Matt out of here.

Em and Zach each grabbed an arm and forcefully yanked Matt across the street to where they’d left their bikes.

‘Maybe another day,’ the woman called after them. Then, more quietly to herself, ‘Most definitely another day.’

TWENTY-SIX

‘S
o how much trouble are we in, Jeannie?’ asked Em.

Sandie had cornered them in the back of the stable when they were putting their bikes away. She’d been livid when they admitted what they’d been doing.

‘It’s hard to say, lass,’ Jeannie answered. ‘They’ve been in the library since you returned, and not one of them has come in here since. I made a treacle pudding as well. Usually Mara and Simon have their spoons out before I’ve even served it, but not this afternoon.’ Ladling thick pea soup into their bowls, Jeannie smiled sympathetically at the three of them.

‘We said we were sorry,’ snapped Matt, tearing into a crusty roll. ‘What more do they want?’

‘Son, that bread never did a thing to you,’ said Jeannie, staring at the pile of crumbs covering his placemat.

‘Sorry.’ Matt dropped the remains of the roll on to his plate. ‘So how did they find out in the first place?’

‘One of the things ye two should heed – and quickly – is that when it comes to this island and his kin, nothing gets past your grandpa. Nothing.’

‘Mum said that he had got a projection of the Nelson boy from me,’ Em said.

She had decided that she was prepared for whatever punishment their grandfather set for them. She’d also already made a decision that they wouldn’t run their performance at Viking Cove again. When the little Nelson boy had screamed in such abject terror, she had felt as if someone had stabbed her. She did not want to feel that way again. Ever. Today would most definitely not be repeated.