concerned.
‘Dunno,’ said Fred. He’d wedged the roll-up behind his ear. ‘They don’t tell us. Anyway they seemed more interested in the mayor’s new estate workers than anyone else, so I reckon it was one of them they was after.’
Flick felt a surge of relief. They weren’t after Shea at all. She put her foot back on the pedal.
‘Be back before curfew,’ Fred said. ‘Corporal Ross is on tonight, and he won’t keep the gate open for stragglers, not after yesterday’ shake up.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back,’ Flick called as she set off.
It was a pleasant ride through the lanes, with the sun poking through the clouds and a light breeze. It was still quite chilly though and would be for another few weeks, particularly at night. Before too long, she’d reached the cottage, and dismounted.
‘Shea!’ she called. ‘It’s me, Flick. You there?’ This was the moment of truth, finding out if he’d survived, died or gone; if he really was a Scav, or dangerous. There was silence.
‘Shea?’ she called again.
‘In here!’ came from somewhere inside.
Flick allowed herself a cautious smile. She unloaded the supplies from her bike and went into the cottage. The first thing she saw was a nice fire crackling in the grate, with a pile of branches close by. As she cast her eyes around the room, she noticed a little cooking pot, currently empty, and the fabric sail that she’d dragged from the crash site was covering a pile of bracken and leaves, making it into a comfortable looking bed.
But otherwise the room was empty.
‘Shea?’ said Flick, puzzled. She put the supplies down, and her hand hovered over the knife in her belt.
‘Sorry,’ the voice came from behind her. ‘Can’t be too careful. You never know who’s out in these woods!’
Shea came into the room cautiously. Flick couldn’t help noticing he had her old stone knife in his hand. He grinned, but didn’t put the knife away. Only when he’d looked outside and satisfied himself that nobody else was about did he put the knife back into his belt.
‘Welcome to my little abode!’
‘Looks like you’ve got a cosy little place going here,’ said Flick.
‘A nice little home from home,’ said Shea. He’d managed to make himself a crutch out of some branches and vines. He hobbled into the room, and motioned for her to sit. He carefully eased himself down, which took some effort.
Flick watched him carefully. ‘How are you? How’s your leg?’ she asked.
‘About as well as can be expected,’ he replied. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s just a sprain, but it’ll still be a week or two before I’m running around. The rest of me is pretty sore and I’m covered in bruises, but otherwise I’m pretty good.’
Flick leaned over and looked his leg up and down, feeling over it gingerly with her hand. Shea winced, but not as much as he had a couple of days earlier.
‘So what’s in the bag?’ he asked, pointing at the offending article.
‘I brought some supplies,’ replied Flick, dragging the bag over. ‘There’s bread–only from the baker’s, I’m afraid. We didn’t have enough of our own to spare any today,’ she said, pulling the long thin loaf out and waving it around.
‘I’d better take that before it has someone’s eye out,’ said Shea, reaching for the bread. ‘Well, my eye anyway!’ He laughed, and for a moment they both had hold of the bread. He looked at her and smiled. Flick looked back at him. She couldn’t help noticing the way the corners of his mouth turned up when he smiled. Her gaze drifted up to his big brown eyes, which also seemed to smile at her. She felt her tongue rasp in her mouth, it had become so dry. She swallowed and blinked.
No, this wasn’t right. Scav, remember!
Then the moment passed. ‘Oh sorry,’ she said, letting go of the bread and pulling more things out of the bag. ‘Here’s some cold cooked meat, and some vegetables. Should keep you going for a few days.’
‘Thanks,’
‘Dunno,’ said Fred. He’d wedged the roll-up behind his ear. ‘They don’t tell us. Anyway they seemed more interested in the mayor’s new estate workers than anyone else, so I reckon it was one of them they was after.’
Flick felt a surge of relief. They weren’t after Shea at all. She put her foot back on the pedal.
‘Be back before curfew,’ Fred said. ‘Corporal Ross is on tonight, and he won’t keep the gate open for stragglers, not after yesterday’ shake up.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back,’ Flick called as she set off.
It was a pleasant ride through the lanes, with the sun poking through the clouds and a light breeze. It was still quite chilly though and would be for another few weeks, particularly at night. Before too long, she’d reached the cottage, and dismounted.
‘Shea!’ she called. ‘It’s me, Flick. You there?’ This was the moment of truth, finding out if he’d survived, died or gone; if he really was a Scav, or dangerous. There was silence.
‘Shea?’ she called again.
‘In here!’ came from somewhere inside.
Flick allowed herself a cautious smile. She unloaded the supplies from her bike and went into the cottage. The first thing she saw was a nice fire crackling in the grate, with a pile of branches close by. As she cast her eyes around the room, she noticed a little cooking pot, currently empty, and the fabric sail that she’d dragged from the crash site was covering a pile of bracken and leaves, making it into a comfortable looking bed.
But otherwise the room was empty.
‘Shea?’ said Flick, puzzled. She put the supplies down, and her hand hovered over the knife in her belt.
‘Sorry,’ the voice came from behind her. ‘Can’t be too careful. You never know who’s out in these woods!’
Shea came into the room cautiously. Flick couldn’t help noticing he had her old stone knife in his hand. He grinned, but didn’t put the knife away. Only when he’d looked outside and satisfied himself that nobody else was about did he put the knife back into his belt.
‘Welcome to my little abode!’
‘Looks like you’ve got a cosy little place going here,’ said Flick.
‘A nice little home from home,’ said Shea. He’d managed to make himself a crutch out of some branches and vines. He hobbled into the room, and motioned for her to sit. He carefully eased himself down, which took some effort.
Flick watched him carefully. ‘How are you? How’s your leg?’ she asked.
‘About as well as can be expected,’ he replied. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s just a sprain, but it’ll still be a week or two before I’m running around. The rest of me is pretty sore and I’m covered in bruises, but otherwise I’m pretty good.’
Flick leaned over and looked his leg up and down, feeling over it gingerly with her hand. Shea winced, but not as much as he had a couple of days earlier.
‘So what’s in the bag?’ he asked, pointing at the offending article.
‘I brought some supplies,’ replied Flick, dragging the bag over. ‘There’s bread–only from the baker’s, I’m afraid. We didn’t have enough of our own to spare any today,’ she said, pulling the long thin loaf out and waving it around.
‘I’d better take that before it has someone’s eye out,’ said Shea, reaching for the bread. ‘Well, my eye anyway!’ He laughed, and for a moment they both had hold of the bread. He looked at her and smiled. Flick looked back at him. She couldn’t help noticing the way the corners of his mouth turned up when he smiled. Her gaze drifted up to his big brown eyes, which also seemed to smile at her. She felt her tongue rasp in her mouth, it had become so dry. She swallowed and blinked.
No, this wasn’t right. Scav, remember!
Then the moment passed. ‘Oh sorry,’ she said, letting go of the bread and pulling more things out of the bag. ‘Here’s some cold cooked meat, and some vegetables. Should keep you going for a few days.’
‘Thanks,’
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