A Raucous Time
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rhyllann staggered as though he’d been kicked in the stomach. He tracked across the lawn to slump beside Wren. The miniature Cornish wall provided some shelter for their backs. The cousins sat hugging their drawn up knees, shivering uncontrollably. Rhyllann watched puddles spread on the herringbone pattern brick drive, bulging, melting into others to form a sheet of water before spilling onto an already saturated lawn.
‘Annie – this is a deluge. If those lakes overflow...’
Rhyllann still smarted at his recent rejection. He’d come across hostility before – he lived in London after all. But here – in God’s own country!
‘They had plenty of room in that car – we’d be warm and dry by now.’ He shivered with pleasure at the thought of being warm and dry, a state he’d always taken for granted.
‘They’re just jealous of us.’ Wren said with a wry smile.
Another of gran’s phrases. Whenever people were “mean” to Rhyllann or “nasty” to Wren that was gran’s standard response. Rhyllann believed her. Who would not want to be him – Rhyllann Jones? Now he lowered his head to his knees and allowed sobs to wrack his body. Those people had everything – he and Wren were so obviously needy. Yet they had taken one look at the raggle taggle pair and decided they weren’t fit to keep their dog company.
Wren shook him. ‘Look – an alarm. If we break in – set it off – someone’s bound to come.’
Rhyllann let the words sink in. It meant waving a white flag. But at least they’d be out of this soul destroying rain. Still sobbing he stood to heave and shove at the wall with swollen chapped hands. Finally dislodging a stone, he charged towards the house; summoning the last of his strength to hurl it against the largest window. Thunder crashed again masking the sound of shattering glass. Rhyllann peered up at the burglar alarm, puzzled at the silence.
He turned back to Wren – ‘There’s no electric. The power’s down.’ He shouted competing with the thunder and rain. Rhyllann didn’t think he’d heard him, but then Wren buried his head in his knees.
Jeez! Rhyllann slogged back across the lawn to haul him to his feet.
‘Not now brawd, please – don’t go to pieces on me now. Come on.’
Somehow Rhyllann managed to get Wren through the broken kitchen window, into an immense lounge, straight out of a glossy magazine. With Wren collapsed on one of the two sofas, Rhyllann scoured the kitchen for food. He found a soggy half thawed packet of fish fingers, half a box of dog biscuits, and a tin of baby formula. And some melted ice cream. Unbelievable. Volvo family had cleared the house of perishables. Without boiling water, he couldn’t even use the powered baby milk. Back in the lounge, he found Wren had thrown up over the expensive looking rug covering the polished wooden floor. Even if he broke into the other houses, and managed to find something, chances were Wren wouldn’t be able to keep it down. He muttered something unintelligible.
‘Say again brawd?’
‘My box Annie – where’s my box?’
Jeez. The way things were going they would both be in their boxes. With a sob Rhyllann heaved himself through the kitchen window again into the stinging rain, barely able to see three feet in front of him. He could swear it was only around four in the afternoon, but overcast skies had brought an early twilight. The paths outside streamed with shallow rivulets, forming puddles here and there. The wooden box was drifting slowly into a neighbouring garden. Rhyllann fished it out, then lifted a foot over the wall to test the depth of a puddle. The water covered the soles of his trainers. Before his eyes it rose to touch his lace tips. He looked around the deserted close. The entire neighbourhood had all decided at exactly the same time to pack up and go? Or had they been ordered to evacuate?
While Rhyllann deliberated, headlights flooded the lane. He ducked behind the wall as a jeep turned into the close, immersing the seat of his trousers in water. Anxiously he cast a glance behind him at the recently vandalised window. Would the newcomers see it? Would they accept his excuse for breaking it – or should he say it was already like that? Rhyllann strained to listen, trying to work out what kind of people the neighbours were and how to approach them. He risked raising his head. Five people climbed from the vehicle, the driver made a beeline to shelter under the porch, while the other four hurried to the rear of the jeep. Throwing aside a heap of council workmen jackets, they uncovered two metal trunks. With a man either side they manhandled the trunks past the driver through the now open front door, staggering under their weight.
‘Keep ‘em upright – for heaven’s sake!’
Rhyllann only caught a glimpse of the trunks’ identifying stickers; but he was pretty certain that a bright fluorescent triangle stamped with a skull and crossbones signified some kind of flammable or explosive material.
With a sharp intake of breath Rhyllann ducked behind the wall again, tucking his head between his knees, trying to make himself as small as possible.
Voices sounded again, but he was frozen in position, though his ears strained trying to make out words. Luckily they had to shout to make themselves heard.
‘Find those little runts. We need to know what was buried on Bodmin Moor.'
‘Don’t worry. They won’t get far, not in this malstrom.’
Rhyllann’s world spun, he ducked his head even lower, feeling his heart pounding against the box clutched firmly to his chest.
‘You worry about your friends. I’ll track the kids down. Leave it to me.’ A woman’s voice spoke as though used to issuing orders. ‘You’re safe here. We’ve evacuated the place. Only break radio silence if it’s urgent. Understand?’
The first man spoke again, the rain washing his words away.
‘No. It’s only half a mile into town. We can’t risk it, I’ll walk.’