Brother Michael cut the air with the rod, slicing it back and forth. With a malevolent grin, he said, “Children who wish to disobey the rules will receive this!” He waved the rod again, and this time the end of it lit up in an explosion of blue sparks. The tip of the rod fizzed and spat short bursts of electricity into the air, illuminating Brother Michael’s chin which jutted from beneath his hood.
I was right — I had been sent to live in a prison! The rod that Brother Michael was waving about was some kind of Taser — like the cops carried before the world got pushed.
I tucked my hands beneath the desk, and wondered if the police knew what was going on here. But then I thought of what Isidor and I had discovered on the Web about how the world was now, and guessed that the police couldn’t give a crap as to what happened to me or any of the other kids at the school.
“We take every pleasure in giving you children the odd zap,” Brother Michael said, firing up the end of the rod again. “Because on occasions you will need it. And believe me, one day you will thank us!”
Waving the electric rod around in front of the class, I noticed that one of Brother Michael’s fingers on his right hand was missing. Where his index finger should have been was a stumpy lump of flesh. But instead of it being grey like the rest of him, the stump was purple in colour and it looked raw like a piece of meat that had been gnawed at. Unable to stop looking at it, the flesh along my spine began to prickle and tighten.
“Want to get a better look at it do you?” Brother Michael asked, and he was now looming over me, thrusting the stump under my nose. I looked up at the shrouded figure before me, and that invisible fist tightened itself around my intestines again, making my stomach cramp.
“Do you want a better look, Kayla Hunt?” Brother Michael spat, the painful-looking stump just millimetres from my face. God, it smelt so bad I thought I might just puke.
I jerked my head away from it, the smell of rotting flesh and decay making me gag. “No, Brother,” I whispered.
Nodding beneath his hood, Brother Michael said, “Very well.”
I glanced sideways at Sam, and gave him a look as if to say,
Chapter Nineteen
Soon after Kayla had left for Ravenwood School, Potter, Isidor, and I packed a bag each and set off for the farmhouse that we had rented on the outskirts of Wood Hill. Potter had wanted to drive the Rolls Royce Phantom that he had found housed in the large garage at the rear of the manor.
“Yeah, and why don’t we paint it pink and really draw attention to ourselves?” I said, taking the keys to the smaller Ford Focus that Isidor and Kayla had been using on their trips to and from Wood Hill over the last few weeks.
“You’re such a killjoy, Hudson,” Potter said, snatching the keys from me and climbing behind the wheel of the Ford.
I got in beside him and Isidor sat in the back. All of us were dressed in jeans, warm sweaters, and boots. None of us stood out and that’s what I wanted.
Potter drove us across the Welsh Moors as we made our way through the bleak countryside towards the town of Wood Hill. Isidor had his head buried in a book for most of the journey and Potter chain-smoked, flicking the ash and blowing smoke out of the window.
“Close the window,” I groaned. “You’re letting the rain in.”
With a cigarette held between his teeth, Potter closed the window. At once the car filled with a cloud of blue-grey smoke.
“Better?” He asked, peering through the rain-streaked windscreen as he navigated the narrow winding roads.
“Not really,” I said, winding down my own window and drawing in a lungful of clean air.
“I thought you were getting wet?” Potter asked, shooting me a sideways glance.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, taking my iPod and placing it into the dock on the dashboard.
Potter frowned in confusion and looked back at the road.
“Fancy some music?” I asked him.
“Sure, why not?” he replied.
“Isidor?” I said, twisting in my seat to look at him.
“Huh?” he said, not taking his eyes from the copy of
“What do you fancy listening to?” I asked.
“Oh anything,” he said, without looking. Then, added, “How about
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Potter groaned beside me.
With a smile, I said to Isidor, “I don’t have that song but…” Then, scrolling through the tracks on my iPod, I found the song that I was looking for and hit the play button. Within moments,
A sullen look fell over Potter’s face.
“Don’t be such an old misery-guts,” I said to him.
“Abba?” he groaned again. “Haven’t you got any U2?”
“Not in this world,” I reminded him.
Isidor started to sing along in the background as he continued to read his book.
Potter glanced at him in the rear-view mirror and said, “I really don’t get you, Isidor.”
“What’s not to get?” he asked between singing the words.
“Well just take a look at you,” Potter said, keeping one eye on the road ahead. “You’ve got the eyebrow piercing, the Shaggy-Doo beard and tattoos up your arms and neck and your singing along to Abba. I mean, what’s going on?”
“So what you’re saying is that I should be listening to something more gothic — dull and depressing?” Isidor said, still not looking up from his book.
“Well, yeah,” Potter said.
“If I wanted that sort of thing, I’d spend more time listening to you, Potter,” Isidor said, glancing up from his book and winking at me.
“Very funny,” Potter said.
“Leave Isidor alone,” I smiled at the sight of Isidor giving Potter a taste of his own medicine.
“Whatever,” Potter sulked.
We spent the rest of the journey in silence, until suddenly I noticed that Potter was strumming his fingers on the steering wheel in time and singing along to
It was early afternoon when Potter pulled the car up in front of the farmhouse. The rain hadn’t stopped the whole journey, and the sky was so overcast that it could have been night. The farmhouse was situated at the top of a narrow dirt track that was barely wide enough to fit the car. On each side of the track there were slate stone walls that were covered in wild ivy, nettles, and thorns.
The farmhouse itself was neat and tidy and had been looked after. There was a small kitchen and living room downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs with a tiny bathroom that was just big enough to fit a tub. The nicest thing about the house was the real fireplace that was set into the far living room wall. It was surrounded by red coloured brick and the owner had been kind enough to have stacked a pile of freshly cut logs before it.
Isidor took one of the bedrooms and Potter and I took the other. Once we had settled in, I checked my emails on my iPod to see if I’d received a message from Kayla. There wasn’t one. Looking out the living room window across the fog-covered moors, I wondered if Kayla was safe. I still had fears about her locked away in Ravenwood, and if I’d had my way, she wouldn’t have gone. But Kayla wasn’t my sister, although I thought of her as one. I loved
