The Island of Dragons (Rockpools Book 4) by Gregg Dunnett (best love story novels in english .txt) 📗

gone. They must have heard the explosion. They must be back at the car. So I struggle through, and I press on, back to the car. But they’re not there either. What the hell?

It’s quiet now – silent again, with the snow coming thicker and harder than ever. And it’s dark too. There’s no glow from a fire, coming from inside the compound. Whatever blew up was just that, an explosion, but not a fire. Did James and Oscar go inside the compound? To check on me? I stop, dead still in the snow. It’s the only answer that makes any sense. And I’ve left them there.

I retrace my steps, before I can change my mind. I have to get them. To get us all out of here. I get to the fence, and crawl through again, and once again I set off across the snowy open ground before the buildings. But it’s quiet. I can’t see James or Oscar.

I call out to them, but I don’t hear anything, not even my own voice. I come closer to the building from where the explosion seemed to happen. And that’s when it happens. I come so close I almost kick it. Even in the darkness I can see what it is, just from the shape. It’s an arm. A human arm.

I stare at it. Blinking, shocked, for a long while. I don’t know how long. Then my brain starts working again. It’s not James’s nor Oscar’s. I know because it’s wearing a watch. A big silver watch, and the sleeve looks different. It looks like the sleeve of one of those reflective jackets that workmen wear. Or security guards.

I step forward again, terrified now about what I’m going to find. Expecting to see James and Oscar dying in a pool of blood and melted snow – but no, they were waiting at the fence. Why would they be here? OK then, the man whose arm that was, it’s possible he could be alive still, that he might need help.

But he’s not. There’s other bits of him. Like hunks of meat in the snow. I feel sick, but I don’t throw up. My head’s spinning. Everything hurts.

The next thing I know, I’m back at the car. Still no James and Oscar. I almost kick myself when I think to call James on his cellphone. Why has it taken me so long? But then he doesn’t answer. It goes to voicemail – I can only just hear it – and then, when I ring back a second time – to leave a message asking where the hell they are – it doesn’t even go to voicemail anymore. I just get a weird tone that I don’t understand.

I go back to the fence – and there’s movement inside now – a guy with a flashlight. A truck, so I know it’s not James and Oscar. Then the lights come on. All inside the compound, in the buildings. An alarm starts blaring out. I can see the site of the explosion more clearly now. It doesn’t look big, not as big as it looked when it happened. Not as big as it felt, close up.

I go back to the car. Still no sign of them. Could they have been captured? By the security guards? And if so, what should I do? There’s no point waiting here. I’ll just get caught as well. But if they have been caught, then I’ll have to give myself up too. Or should I?

I’m cold. I’m tired. I’m shaking. Maybe I’m in shock. Definitely I’m in shock. But I can’t just stand here, out in the snow, waiting until the police pick me up. I try James’ phone again. I still get the same strange tone, but this time I wait longer, and a woman’s voice comes on – the sort you get from the telephone company – telling me that number isn’t valid. Isn’t recognized. I check the screen of my phone. I didn’t type it in, I just used the number dialed. It can’t have changed.

I know I have to leave. The place is lit up like a football stadium, and there will be police coming. A man died. And I was right there. I don’t know what this means. But I get in the car, and I start the engine, and then the noise of it freaks me out, even though I still can’t hear it properly, I can feel it, vibrating my head, and I know that other people will be able to hear it, and I might as well be advertising where I am. So then I start moving, keeping the headlights off. Four hundred meters down the road, I turn them on, because otherwise I’m going to wipe out into a tree. Then I drive further away. Two miles down the road, a trio of police cars come toward me, their beacons flashing red and blue against the snow of the road surface. They scream past me, one after the other, and even though I can’t make myself not look across at them, no one from inside the cop cars pays me any attention.

Somehow, without really even meaning to, I get away.

Chapter Forty-Seven

I drive home. I don’t mean to, but there’s nothing else I can do. Nowhere else I can go. And this time I don’t bother about trying to hide, I just drive up to the house, expecting to see Dad’s truck on the drive, and the lights on – but it’s late, so the house is dark. And then I realize Dad’s truck isn’t here after all. He must be staying over with his girlfriend.

When I realize I’m still on my own, I want to cry.

I go inside, and put the heating on, because I’m seriously cold. I look on Dad’s computer, for news reports about what’s happened, but there aren’t any, not yet. I make coffee, and then don’t drink it. I pace up and down. It truly