Everybody scattered into the nearest houses. Lana grabbed Kate’s hand and ran for a house with a gaping, doorless entrance. You could see right through this one to the empty windows on its other side. The rooms were light, clear, and empty, but the garden at the back was overgrown with large, shaggy plants and mounds of rubbish. The sea must have made it up through there during storms and left its mark inside.

‘Don’t copy me, Martha,’ said Lana. ‘Don’t come into my house.’

‘Eh . . . what?’ I said.

‘Just leave her. Come into this one with me,’ said James. ‘The one we went into before. There’s some cans which were full of something, so I didn’t take them, but I’m thinking it might be petrol. And there’s a whole load of garden tools in the back. Giant forks with spikes on them. Want to come?’

Chapter 29

29

It took me a few beautiful seconds to work out where I was the next morning. We were all sleeping close up next to each other as normal, so that wasn’t what was different. We were all cold, and the wind was blowing uncomfortably over our heads as normal, so it wasn’t that either. It was just the smells, and the sounds, and the stability of the earth that was different . . . and that lingering feeling of being happy. Trust me, that was the main thing. I knew from the second I woke up that I was excited and happy; and I don’t remember a time when I’d felt like that before.

There was still a fresh tang of salt on the air, but the wet grass smelt sweet and clean beneath us. It was soft, yes, but you could still feel that unmoving ground through it, solid and still. I could hear the wind catching on leaves and plants as it blew through them, with a crispy rustling and a soft sighing. Plants! There were different birds too. Little ones, brown ones, singing joyously.

It did all feel familiar, like Before, but also brand new and exciting and special. Just being there on that grass was making me think differently, remember more. Things, pictures in my head, half-memories, distant dreams, were starting to become real; twisting and sliding and locking into place, images shifting and ordering themselves into patterns. I knew that if we stayed there for longer, if I let myself think, then I’d remember more about what it was like. Before. And it was a nice feeling, if I allowed it; if I felt safe. I knew the others were thinking it too, because when I sat up, Kate pulled our blanket over her hair like she wanted to go back to sleep, but I could see she was smiling.