Leaving the door slightly ajar, Fran ran for the trapdoor to the tunnels. But there was no time. Desperately looking around, she ducked down behind a huge box, pulling Lydia after her. Lydia knelt down, careful to make sure that no part of her body could be seen past the box.
‘Squat, don’t kneel. It’s faster to jump up and run that way,’ Fran whispered.
Lydia did as directed, just as heavy footsteps ran into the hall.
‘Mrs Joyce, you’re to come with us,’ a woman’s voice said.
‘Not again,’ Mrs Joyce said wearily.
‘Now!’ the woman commanded.
‘Mike, stay here and take care of things,’ Mrs Joyce said.
Even though her voice was firm, Lydia could hear a slight quiver behind her words.
‘Mum, I . . .’
‘Keep back!’
Mike cried out in sudden agony. Lydia gasped at the sound.
‘Mike!’ Mrs Joyce’s voice was frantic.
‘I’m OK, Mum.’ Mike’s voice gurgled strangely.
‘Come on,’ the woman’s voice ordered.
‘Take your hands off me. I can walk,’ Mrs Joyce said bitterly.
‘Mum, will you . . . ?’
‘Mike, I’ll be OK. Take care,’ Mrs Joyce said softly.
The heavy footsteps retreated and the front door closed. Lydia sprang up. Fran pulled her back down again. Only just in time too. The basement door opened and a strong flashlight shone around the room. Lydia didn’t dare move. She closed her eyes and held her breath. Soft footsteps entered the basement. Lydia bit down hard on her lip to stop herself from crying out. She felt that close to panicking.
‘Nothing upstairs,’ said a man’s voice from outside the basement.
‘It’s clear in here too,’ said a second man, waving his torch around one last time.
Then the footsteps retreated together. Lydia heard the front door open, then close again.
Moments passed. Lydia let out her breath through her mouth in a slow, barely audible hiss.
‘You can come out now,’ Mike said from the door.
Fran and Lydia stood up and ran out of the basement up to the hall. Mike stood against the wall, his left hand leaning against it for support. His right hand held a filthy cloth to his bloody nose.
‘Are you OK?’ Fran asked.
‘I’ll live,’ Mike said bitterly.
‘What was that all about?’ Lydia whispered.
‘The Tyrant, of course. It’s his regular dose of harassment. He hates my mum more than anyone else in this whole town.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know – and Mum won’t tell me.’ Mike leaned his head back against the wall. ‘But every week we go through this. The Tyrant treats my mum like a cat playing with a mouse.’
Lydia swallowed hard.
Don’t let it be Daniel. Let there be some mistake. Please don’t let it be my brother.
Brilliant, gleaming white spread out from Mike’s left hand across the wallpaper like ripples on a pond. The white was so bright it hurt Lydia’s eyes.
‘Fran, what does white mean?’ Lydia asked, pointing to the wallpaper.
‘Anger,’ said Fran.
‘And hate . . .’ Mike added softly.
Chapter Fourteen
Captured!
‘Mike, we need your help. Lydia, you explain,’ said Fran.
Mike straightened up and gave his nose one last wipe before throwing the filthy cloth into an already crowded corner of the hall.
Lydia took a deep breath, forcing herself to look away from the wallpaper. ‘I need to get into Daniel Henson’s mansion.’
The silence in the hall could have been cut with a knife. Mike dabbed at his nose with the back of his hand. He sniffed tentatively, then wiped his nose on his sleeve.
‘You’re new to Hensonville, aren’t you?’ he said at last.
Lydia nodded.
‘I thought I hadn’t seen you before,’ said Mike.
‘Will you help me?’ Lydia asked.
‘Why?’
‘I think . . . I think I might know him. If I could just talk to him, I might be able to stop all this,’ Lydia replied.
‘No. I mean, why should I help you? What’s in it for me?’
‘Mike!’ Fran said, shocked.
The question threw Lydia for a few moments. ‘I . . . er . . . I don’t have any money.’
‘I’m not interested in money,’ said Mike, coldly. ‘What good will that do me or anyone else in this town?’
‘What d’you want then?’ Lydia asked.
‘You know Daniel Henson?’ Mike said.
‘I . . . I think so. I’ll need to speak to him to find out,’ said Lydia.
‘And what makes you think that his Night Guards aren’t going to shoot you on sight?’ asked Mike.
‘I’m willing to risk it. I need to see him.’
‘I’ll help you get into his mansion but only on one condition,’ Mike said at last.
‘What’s that?’ Lydia prompted.
‘If you get to see the Tyrant, I want you to promise that you’ll make sure I’m with you,’ said Mike.
‘I promise,’ Lydia said at last. She didn’t have much choice.
Mike smiled silkily. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.
Five minutes later, Lydia, Mike and Fran were back in the underground tunnels which twisted and turned under the whole of Hensonville. They walked in eerie, echoey silence for a while. The light from Fran’s watch cast a dull yellow light which in turn cast deeper shadows all around them.
‘Where did these tunnels come from?’ Lydia whispered, more to hear the sound of her own voice than for any other reason.
‘In the late-twentieth century they used to be part of the town’s sewage system,’ Fran explained, ‘but they’ve been modified and extended since then. The Tyrant and his guards have no idea how much.’
Lydia wrinkled up her nose. The sewage system! What was she stepping in?!
‘The tunnels have been extended to run into the woods behind the Henson mansion,’ Mike continued. ‘The woods are part of the Henson estate so we should be able to get into the house without the Night Guards realizing that we’re even there. There’s a whole network of tunnels beneath the woods of the Tyrant’s estate, but I’ll take us out of the tunnel closest to his mansion.’
‘How come you know the way to the Henson mansion and Fran doesn’t?’ Lydia asked.
‘My mum is one of the leaders of the Resistance,’ Mike said proudly.
‘So she tells you everything?’ Lydia asked, surprised.
‘She has to – in case something happens to her,’ said Mike. ‘We both know that the day may come when the Night Guards take her away and she doesn’t come back – when the Tyrant decides that just tormenting her isn’t as much fun as it used to be.’
They travelled on in silence until Lydia couldn’t stand it any more.
‘Mike, er . . . how old are you?’
‘Sixteen.’
Sixteen . . . Just a few years older than her and yet he seemed so much older. Lydia hated the future. It was dangerous and threatening and frightening. All she wanted to do was go home. The Collivale sports cup and being called a thief now seemed so trivial, so small by comparison to what was going on in this time. Lydia would gladly have traded one for the other.
‘Look, I . . . I don’t want to get you two into trouble. And I don’t want either of you to get hurt,’ Lydia said unhappily. ‘Maybe it would be better if you just gave me directions and I went on by myself.’
‘You’d never find your way to the Henson mansion by yourself,’ said Mike. ‘Besides, if you can really get the Tyrant to see you in person then I want to be there.’
Something ice-cold, ice-hard, in Mike’s voice made Lydia turn and look at him closely, but his face was an unreadable mask.
‘How long has the tunnel into Daniel Henson’s house been there?’ Lydia asked.
‘It was finished a few days ago,’ Mike said. ‘On
e way or another, the Tyrant’s time is up.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Lydia.
‘Just what you think it means,’ Mike smiled. ‘Soon the Resistance is going to strike out against him and he won’t stand a chance.’
Lydia turned her head to see that Fran was watching her carefully.
‘The Resistance are going to use the tunnels to get to him,’ Lydia realized.
‘Why else would we have built them?’ Mike argued.
‘What are you going to do with . . . with Daniel Henson once you have him?’ Lydia asked.
‘What d’you think?’ said Mike bitterly.
And now, more than ever, Lydia knew she had to see Daniel Henson. His life and her future depended on it.
‘Fran, take Lydia’s hand and I’ll take yours. You’ll have to turn off your watch-light,’ said Mike.
‘How will we see where we’re going?’ asked Fran.
‘I know the way by heart. Only a few of us know the way to the mansion and that’s the way I intend to keep it,’ said Mike.
Fran switched off her watch-light and they moved slowly forwards and downwards. To Lydia, it was like swimming through an ocean of black ink. She couldn’t tell where the walls ended or where the ceiling started. She gripped Fran’s hand tighter and wished she was in the middle of the three of them rather than at the end. Seconds turned into minutes which seemed to turn into hours. Lydia lost all track of time. No one spoke. Lydia’s breathing grew heavier as fear gripped her lungs and refused to let go.
What was she going to do? How was she going to get home? What if Daniel Henson wasn’t her brother . . . ?
No, he had to be her brother. She had seen his face and recognized his eyes. They were Danny’s eyes. Danny, who was ten years old the last time she saw him and now was what? Forty-six? No, forty-seven.
And then there was the question that Lydia wanted answered more than any other. What had happened to her? Where was the Lydia Henson of the future?
The path turned steeply upwards. Lydia’s legs began to ache and she was soon out of breath.
‘We’re here,’ Mike whispered. ‘Once we get out into the woods, no one’s to say a word until we get into the mansion. We haven’t fully established what kind of security the Tyrant uses in the woods so we’ll have to be extra careful. Fran, the pattern to get to the tunnel underneath the old junior school is 4574R-F. You’ll know your way home from there.’
‘I’m not leaving the two of you.’ Fran shook her head.
‘You must. It’ll be dangerous enough for Lydia and me. With you along we stand more chance of being caught,’ Mike argued.
‘Mike, I’m not going back,’ Fran fumed.
‘Fran, please. You know I’m right.’
Silence. Then Fran sighed deeply. ‘Very well then,’ she said reluctantly.
‘What’s the pattern to get to the old school?’ Mike asked.
‘4574R-F,’ Fran repeated impatiently. ‘I’m not stupid, you know.’
‘Excuse me while I run after my head!’ said Mike.
‘I didn’t mean to bite your head off but stop treating me like a brainless nerk-chip!’ Fran grumbled.
‘Can we get going now please?’ Lydia interrupted. Now that they were so close she didn’t want to waste any more time listening to Mike and Fran argue.
Fran let go of Lydia’s hand and edged her way around her to start back.
‘Lydia, stay exactly where you are until I open up the exit,’ said Mike.
Lydia stood still, listening to Fran’s footsteps receding behind her. Mike scraped what sounded like two pieces of stone together. Then all at once moonlight streamed into the tunnel. Lydia turned away, blinking rapidly. After the darkness of the tunnel, the moonlight was as bright as summer sunshine.
Mike beckoned with his hand. Lydia began to climb the dirt steps which were fortified with stone blocks. She stepped out into the night and looked up. Beyond the rustling leaves, she could see the moon and the stars. They were so beautiful. Here was a link to the past. Even if the whole world had changed since then, at least the moon and the stars looked exactly the same.
Mike pushed a small boulder over the tunnel exit and covered it with branches and bracken. Without a word, Lydia helped him. She could see his face clearly in the moonlight. In spite of all his confident talk, Lydia could see that he was on the scared side of anxious. She nudged his arm to get his attention, then smiled at him. Mike smiled back. They both straightened up. Mike looked around.
He pointed to his right and they started walking in that direction. Barely had they taken two steps when huge searchlights like giant wolves’ eyes appeared all around them. Lydia’s head jerked this way and that as each light hit her with the force of a punch.
‘Stand where you are!’ said a voice from beyond the spotlights. Lydia shaded her eyes with her hand and tried to see who had spoken but the lights were blinding her.
Lydia looked around. They were surrounded.
‘Lydia, run!’ Mike shouted.
Mike grabbed her arm and pulled her after him. Out of the corner of her eye, Lydia saw a gun being pointed at them: not the person holding it – just the gun in front of the searchlights.
‘Mike, no!’ Lydia pushed Mike to the ground and turned. Immediately her lungs felt as if they were on fire. Lydia gritted her teeth. Her hands, clenched in fists, flew to her chest. In the moment before the darkness took her, she realized that she’d been shot . . .
Chapter Fifteen
The Meeting
Lydia woke up but didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t want to move any part of her body because it would only make the pain in her chest worse. She could hardly breathe. It felt as if a sumo wrestler was sitting on her. And her arm was throbbing badly. Lydia forced her eyes open and sat up slowly. Her breathing became easier but her head felt as if it’d just tripled in weight. Lydia looked around. Mike was lying on the floor across the room.
‘Mike! Are you OK?’ Lydia stood up. Pain lanced through her arm, making her gasp. She clutched her left arm and stumbled across the room towards him.
‘Mike? Mike?’ Lydia squatted down.
Mike opened his eyes, then sat up so quickly that Lydia had to jump back. He leapt to his feet.
‘Where are we?’ he asked, looking around.
‘I don’t know.’ Lydia looked around as well. She was in a room unlike any she’d seen so far in this time. It had wood panelling on the walls instead of wallpaper and the furniture looked antique. A huge, ornate mirror dominated one wall of the room. Even the door was the old-fashioned kind made of wood instead of the sliding kind made of metal.
‘We’re in his mansion . . .’ Mike whispered.
He ran to the door and tried to open it. It was locked. Lydia ran over to the curtains. Maybe they could escape by breaking the windows . . . Steel bars protected the glass, both inside and outside the window-frame. So much for that idea.
‘What’re we going to do?’ Lydia asked.
‘We have to get out of here. I’ve got to let the Resistance know that the Tyrant knows about our tunnel into his estate,’ said Mike desperately.
‘How did he find out?’ asked Lydia.
‘There’s no way he could have found out . . . unless there’s a traitor in the Resistance,’ Mike said slowly.
‘But if he knows about the tunnel, why didn’t he just close it down?’ Lydia asked.
Mike laughed grimly. ‘Because he’s clever. Because he’s waiting for the Resistance to launch their attack and then he’ll pick them off one by one, just as he did to us.’
Lydia’s arm dropped to her side. She was in Daniel Henson’s house – where she had wanted to be – but suddenly the prospect of meeting him filled her with fear which burnt like acid. Lydia rubbed her moist palms into her crumpled jeans.
‘I’m scared,’ she admitted.
‘Listen. The first chance one of us gets we’ve got to make a break for it and warn the others,’ said Mike. ‘Head for the woods.’ br />
Lydia nodded. She understood perfectly.
Just at that moment, the door opened. Two Night Guards marched in. Lydia stepped back quickly. It was the first time she’d seen them close up. They were dressed in grey all-in-one suits and wore grey helmets like motorcycle helmets with visors so dark that Lydia couldn’t see their faces.
‘You!’ one Night Guard said pointing to Lydia. ‘Come with us.’
Lydia took another quick step backwards. She looked around quickly. There had to be somewhere to run, somewhere to hide . . . Her shoulders slumped. There was nowhere. The Guard didn’t ask a second time. He stepped over to Lydia and seized her by her left arm. Lydia howled in agony but he didn’t let her go. If anything, his grip tightened. Lydia’s arm was on fire again, worse than before. She tried to pull away but it was impossible.
‘Let her go!’ Mike tried to help her but the second Night Guard stood between him and Lydia. Without saying another word, the first Guard marched Lydia out of the room. Turning left he strode down the corridor, past closed wooden doors on either side, towards the huge double doors at the far end of the corridor. He opened one door and thrust Lydia into the room. Lydia stumbled and fell. The door shut behind her with a resounding thud.
Lydia filled her mouth with saliva and told herself over and over again, ‘Your left arm doesn’t hurt! It doesn’t hurt!’ Her mum had told her once that this was a good way to stop aches and pains. You had to fill your mouth with saliva and tell yourself that a specific pain in a specific place wasn’t there and didn’t hurt. Her mum had called it ‘mind over matter’. Strangely enough, after a few deep breaths, the pain in her arm did lessen slightly. Lydia stood up, still telling herself that her arm didn’t hurt. She swallowed hard and looked around. The room was dark but not frightening. The only light came from a huge fire at the other end of the room. To her left was a window, partially covered with thick, heavy curtains which hung down to the wooden, parquet floor. Books and more books filled the shelves which reached from floor to ceiling on every wall.
‘Come over here.’
The command made Lydia jump. She’d thought she was alone. She turned but couldn’t see anyone. A high-backed chair was positioned in front of the fire. Slowly the chair swivelled around.