New Title 1 (34 page)

 
They followed one of the pipes that wormed through the fog, using it to navigate a path.
Izzy
had a tight grip on his hand, tight enough that her nails dug into his flesh, but he didn’t complain.

The going was made slightly easier because the fog seemed thinner, allowing them to see more than a few feet in front. Ratty considered that they might be coming to the outer limits of its confines and he increased their pace, anxious to get out when the pipe they followed suddenly erupted in a geyser of smoke.

Izzy
squealed, let go of
Ratty’s
hand and stumbled over in shock.

Ratty stood opened mouthed, staring at the clouds of fog billowing into the air.

“What’s going on?”
Izzy
yelled.

Helping her to her feet, Ratty shook his head. He almost laughed. “The fog. It’s manmade.” Even if the implications terrified him, it explained why it never dispersed.

Izzy
scowled. He could hardly believe it himself. He put a hand in the gushing cloud; surprised by how cold it was, he quickly withdrew it.

He reasoned that the pipes were vented at various places and when the fog thinned enough, something activated the vents and emitted clouds of artificial fog to continue the illusion.

“This is crazy,”
Izzy
said. “Why would anyone do this?”

Ratty shook his head.

“Come on,” he eventually said. “We’ve got to get out of here.” They followed the pipe until they came to a nondescript, squat building. Ratty heard a generator chugging away inside and the sibilant hiss of compressed air as valves opened and closed. Cautiously, he checked around the building before trying the door, which was unlocked and swung open as he pushed. Finding a switch inside the doorway, he flicked it on, flooding the room with light, revealing large, steaming tanks.

“I think we’ll be okay in here.”

“Famous last words.”
Izzy
ran a hand through her hair and shook her head. “What’s happening here? How on earth did we get in this mess?”

Ratty wished he knew. “Look, let’s get some rest, try and get some sleep,” he suggested.

“Sleep! I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again.”

But she did.

It was Ratty who couldn’t.

The hissing machinery kept him awake, but at least the squat building was warm and dry. He huddled in a corner with
Izzy
, the compressed air playing a tuneless recital as valves opened and closed. At times, his stomach seemed to join in with its own musical accompaniment. He was hungry, but there was nothing he could do about it; he had more pressing issues to deal with.

Just because he couldn’t sleep, didn’t mean he couldn’t let
Izzy
. Besides, he liked cuddling her as she slept; the rhythmic cadence of her breathing had a comforting influence.

When
Izzy
eventually woke a few hours later, Ratty stood up and examined the machinery more closely.

“I think this must be used to make the fog,” he said. “If we can damage this machinery enough, then I think we could stop it working.” He knew there must be lots of fog generators around the village, but he hoped that by breaking at least one of them, it would disperse enough of the fog to allow them to see where they were going.

“It looks too dangerous to me.”
Izzy
examined a pipe and jumped as compressed air hissed out at her.

“We’ve got to do something,” Ratty said, checking the generator. “If I just turn it off, they’ll come and turn it back on. That’s why I’ve got to break it.”

“And what if there’s a back up generator somewhere that kicks in?”

Ratty hadn’t considered that. He frowned. “Well, we’ll just have to hope there isn’t.”

“I don’t know. I think we should just carry on following the pipe. We don’t want to make them angry.”

“
Angry
. I want to make them more than angry, I want to make them pay for what they’ve done.” What was it his granddad used to say, ‘when you’ve lost your temper, you’ve lost the battle’. Ratty wanted to make Moon and his companions very angry. Very angry indeed.

The generator was about eight feet square and water leaked into a pan from a pipe at the back. Other pipes went from the generator to a large tank surrounded by metal cylinders about five feet high and a foot in diameter. Ratty decided his best course of action was to break the generator. Breaking something else could prove too dangerous. He took the knife out of his pocket and used it to unscrew a faceplate on the generator to reveal a circuit board. Next he fetched the pan of water from around the back.

“Stand back,” he said.

When
Izzy
backed away, he threw the water over the electrics. A loud bang reverberated around the room and sparks shot out; smoke curled lazily from the machinery and the generator fell silent. Air still wheezed through the pipes, but it was getting quieter, like a snake too tired to hiss.

Hoping that a main trip switch had been thrown somewhere and that none of the wires were now live, Ratty reached inside and tugged out wires, circuit boards and various other components. He dropped the bits on the floor and ground his heel into them so they were well and truly broken.

“I’d like to see them put that back together again.” He nodded his head as he inspected his handiwork. “Now let’s get out of here, before they come to see what’s wrong.” He grabbed
Izzy’s
hand and led the way outside where it had started to rain. He didn’t know how long it would take for the fog to disperse, but he planned to try and speed up the process by blocking up as many vents on the main pipe as he could. If the vents interlinked with other generators, then he knew breaking one generator wouldn’t be enough.

They followed what appeared to be the main pipe, stopping to stuff earth, grass, branches and anything else they could find into each vent they found. After walking for about an hour, Ratty was sure the fog was thinning slightly. But perhaps it was wishful thinking. He didn’t know how many vents they had blocked; it seemed like hundreds.

Then without warning the pipe disappeared beneath the ground like a huge worm and they floundered on in the fog.

He knew it had been too much to hope that the pipe would lead them out.

Although certain the fog was dissipating, shapes were still silhouetted in bas-relief; trees stood like cardboard cut-outs in a bleak landscape where everything appeared dead. It was like being in a nether world, halfway between heaven and hell. The rain didn’t help. It made the atmosphere cold and miserable and he was deliberating on his circumstances when he suddenly stepped out of the fog into a clear vista.

Ratty was stunned. They were out. He turned and looked back at the undulating bank of fog, his mouth open in disbelief.

“We’ve done it.” He punched his hand in the air, unable to believe their luck.

Izzy
shook her head and pointed behind him. “Yes, Einstein, you’ve done it all right. We’re in the village.”

Ratty looked where
Izzy
was pointing and through the hazy rain he saw the church in the distance, and beyond that, the houses of
Paradise
leading up the hill.

“I don’t believe it.” He felt the strength drain out of his body and his shoulders slumped.

Izzy
punched him hard on the shoulder. “You bloody stupid idiot. Of all the ...” She shook her head in disbelief and punched him again. “I told you we should have gone the other way. I told you I thought we were going the wrong way. Didn’t I tell you?”

“What do you want, a medal.” Ratty grabbed her wrists to stop her hitting him.

“Now what are we going to do? I’m soaked wet through.”

Just then a shot rang out, the sound muffled by the rain. Another two shots followed the first one.

“What’s that?”
Izzy
asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m not waiting around to find out.” He released his grip on her wrists. “Look, stay here if you want, but I’m going back into the fog to find out what’s going on.”

“Are you mad?”

“Quite possibly, but I’m not angry.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I haven’t lost the battle.”

***

Chase backed away from Adam, her teeth clenched. “What do you mean, that’s the least of my worries?” She looked at the locked door, panic etched across her face.

Adam raised his hands in a placating manner. “Moon’s men are searching for you, that’s all.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Why? What does he want with me?”

“You’re pregnant. He wants you where he can keep an eye on you and do tests.”

“Like a lab rat, you mean?”

“Something like that.”

“No, not something like, exactly like. So when are you going to tell him where I am? I mean, it was you who told him I was pregnant.”

Adam looked sheepish. “I’m not going to tell him. I told you, you can trust me, and I mean it. Come on let’s get Mandy through into the lounge. You need to dry yourself.”

Although she didn’t trust him, Chase helped him carry Mandy down the hall and into the lounge where they lay her on the settee. Mandy was mumbling incoherently to herself. Chase could hardly make it out, but she thought she was talking to someone called Candle Wax.

“If you go upstairs, I’m sure you’ll find some of Mandy’s dry clothes. I doubt she would mind you wearing them and you’re about the same size.”

Chase had to admit she felt uncomfortable and the thought of being dry was favourable to catching pneumonia, but she didn’t trust Adam. She thought that as soon as she left the room, he would somehow contact Moon to tell him she was here.

As though he sensed her apprehension and distrust, Adam said, “I’m not going to do anything. Don’t worry, if I was going to do something to you, I would still have the gun in my hand.”

Chase conceded that he was right and she walked out of the room and went upstairs to find some clothes.

When she came back down wearing green combat trousers and a black jumper, she found Adam checking on Mandy. “Is she okay?”

Adam looked Chase up and down. “Yes, she’s just in a narcoleptic state. I think it was brought on by shock. Seeing Belinda ... killed like that.” He shook his head and sighed. “I didn’t have any choice. You’ve got to believe me. She would have killed you.”

“And what about the vicar? Is he dead too?”

Adam nodded imperceptibly.

“Then you did lie to me.”

“I had to. I couldn’t tell you the truth.”

“No, but you could tell Moon I was pregnant.”

Adam sighed. “That’s my job. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Exhausted, Chase sat down on the plush settee. The room was richly furnished, although it looked slightly unkempt and a mouldy smell lingered in the air, as though the room hadn’t been cleaned in a long while. Ornaments dotted the mantelpiece above a mock coal fire powered by gas. She recognised pieces of
Ditchfield
and
Murano
glassware placed either side of an ornate carriage clock. A samurai sword hung on one wall, the scabbard and grip of which appeared to be carved from bone. In fact, the more Chase looked around, the more items of value she spotted. There was a porcelain harlequin figure on a walnut side table by the window and Venetian wine glasses in a display cabinet along another wall. There was also a vast library of antiquated leather bound books in a bookcase that reached to the ceiling.