though he knew enough not to underestimate anyone. According to Gene, the Diogenes Club was calling this particular brouhaha 'the Winter War'. That didn't sound so bad. After the last few months, a little winter in July would be welcome.
Beyond Yeovil, they came to a roadblock manned by squaddies who were turning other drivers away from a 'military exercise' barrier. The van was waved out of the queue by a NCO and — with no explanation needed — the barrier lifted for them. A riot of envious hooting came from motorists who shut up as soon as a rifle or two was accidentally pointed in their direction. Even Gene kept mum once they were in bandit country — where they were the only moving thing.
As they drove along eerily empty roads, Susan continued to relay Head's directions. 'Follow Tapmoor Road for two and a half miles, and turn
Jamie spotted the signpost, which was almost smothered by the lower branches of a dying tree, and took the Sutton Mallet turn-off. It should have been a short cut to Alder, the village where they were supposed to rendezvous with the rest of the draftees in the Winter War. The van ploughed to a halt in a four-foot-deep snowdrift.
The temperature plunged — an oven became a fridge in seconds. Gooseflesh raised on Jamie's bare arms. Keith and Sewell Head wrapped themselves in sleeping bags. Susan's teeth chattered, interrupting her travel directions — which were academic anyway. The road was impassable.
Only Gene didn't instantly and obviously feel the cold.
Jamie shifted gears, and reversed. Wheels spun, making a hideous grinding noise for half a minute or so, then the van freed itself from the grip of ice and backed out of the drift. A few yards away, and the temperature climbed again. They were all shocked quiet for a moment, then started talking at once.
'Hush,' said Gene, who was elected Head Girl, 'look.'
The cold front was advancing, visibly — a frozen river. Hedges, half-dead from lack of rain, were swallowed by swells of ice and snow.
They all got out of the van. It was as hot as it had been, though Jamie's skin didn't readjust. He still had gooseflesh.
'It'll be here soon and swallow us again,' said Keith.
'At the current rate, in sixteen minutes forty-five seconds,' said Sewell Head.
It wasn't just a glacier creeping down a country lane, it was an entire wave advancing across the countryside. Jamie had no doubt Head knew his sums — in just over a quarter of an hour, an arctic climate would reach the road, and sweep around the van, stranding them.
'We have to go ahead on foot,' said Gene. 'It's only a couple of miles down that lane.'
'Three and a half,' corrected Head.
'A walk in the park,' said Gene.
'Thank you, Captain Scott,' said Susan. 'We're not exactly equipped.'
'You were told to bring warm clothes.'
'Naturally, I didn't believe it,' said Susan. 'We should have been shouted at.'
Jamie hadn't been told. He'd take that up with Fred and Vanessa.
'Fifteen minutes,' said Head, unconcerned.
'There's gear in the back of the van,' said Jamie. 'It'll have to do.'
'I'm fine as I am,' said Gene. 'Happy in all weathers.'
Jamie dug out one of his father's black greatcoats for Susan. It hung long on her, edges trailing on the ground. Head kept the sleeping bag wrapped around him, and looked even more like a tramp. He must be glad he came out with his scarf and gloves. Keith found a black opera cloak with red-silk lining, and settled it around his shoulders.
'Careful with that, Keith,' Jamie cautioned. 'It was the Great Edmondo's. There are hidden pockets. You might find a dead canary or two.'
Jamie pulled on a ragged black-dyed pullover and gauntlets. He fetched out a hold-all with some useful items from the Legacy, and — as an afterthought — slung the Shade goggles around his neck and put on one of his Dad's wide-brimmed black slouch hats.
'Natty,' commented Gene. 'It's the Return of Dr Shade!'
'Sod off, Frenchy,' he said, smiling.
'Burgundina, remember?'
The cold front was nearly at the mouth of the lane, crawling up around the signpost. He rolled up the van windows, and locked the doors.
Gene climbed onto the snowdrift, and stamped on the powder. It was packed enough to support her. Bare- legged and — armed, she still looked comfortable amid the frozen wastes. She held out a hand and helped haul Susan up beside her. Even in the coat, Susan began shivering. Her nose reddened. She hugged herself, sliding hands into loose sleeves like a mandarin.
'Come on up, lads, the water's 1-lovely,' she said.
Jamie, Keith and Head managed, with helping hands and a certain amount of swearing, to clamber up beside the girls.
Ahead was a snowscape — thickly carpeted white, trees weighed down by ice, a few roofs poking up where cottages were trapped. Snow wasn't falling, but was whipped up from the ground by cold winds and swirled viciously. Jamie put on his goggles, protecting his eyes from the spits of snow. The flakes were like a million tiny fragments of ice shrapnel.
Gene pointed across the frozen moor, at a tower.
'That's Sutton Mallet chapel. And, see, beyond that, where the hill rises… that's Alder.'
It ought to have been an hour's stroll. Very pleasant, if you liked walking in the country. Which Jamie didn't, much. Now, it seemed horribly like a Death March.
Susan, he noticed, stopped shivering and chattering. She was padding, carefully across the powder, leaving deep footprints.
Gene applauded. 'Now that's
Jamie didn't know what she meant.
'She's a pyrokinetic, remember?' explained Gene. 'That's not just setting fire to things with your mind. It's control over
Susan turned, smiling wide. Hot fog rose from her shoulders, and snowflakes hissed when they got near her as if falling onto a griddle.
'Are my ears burning?' she asked.
'Never mind your ears,' said Keith. 'What about everything else?'
Susan's footprints were shallow puddles, which froze a few seconds after she had made them.
'I'm not a proper pyro,' she said. 'I don't set fires. I just have a thing with warmth. Saves on coins for the meter. Otherwise, it's useless — like wiggling your ears. It takes me an hour to boil enough water for a cup of tea, and by then I'm so fagged out I have to lie down and it's cold again when I wake up. That's the trouble with most of my so-called Talents. Party pieces, but little else. I mean, who needs a drawer full of bent spoons?'
'I think it's amazing,' commented Keith. 'Mind over matter. You could be on the telly. Or fight crime.'
'I'll leave that to the professionals, like Jamie's Dad. You're not seeing me in a union jack bikini and one of those eye-masks which aren't really disguises.'
'You'd be surprised how well those masks work,' said Jamie. 'When she was Kentish Glory, Mum wore this moth-wing domino. Even people she knew really well didn't clock it was her.'
'I like a quiet life,' said Susan. 'So, enough about me being a freak. Gene, what's your secret?'
The blonde shrugged, teasing. 'Diet and lots of sleep.'
'Come on, slowcoaches,' said Susan, who was getting the hang of it. 'Last one there's a rotten…'
The snow collapsed under her and she sank waist deep, coat-skirts spreading out around her.
'Shit,' she said. 'Pardon my Burgundian.'
