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Contents ( 50)
  1. CONTENTS
  2. PROLOGUE
  3. CHAPTER ONE
  4. CHAPTER TWO
  5. CHAPTER THREE
  6. CHAPTER FOUR
  7. CHAPTER FIVE
  8. CHAPTER SIX
  9. CHAPTER SEVEN
  10. CHAPTER EIGHT
  11. CHAPTER NINE
  12. CHAPTER TEN
  13. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  14. CHAPTER TWELVE
  15. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  16. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  17. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  18. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  19. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  20. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  21. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  22. CHAPTER TWENTY
  23. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  24. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  32. CHAPTER THIRTY
  33. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  34. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  35. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  42. CHAPTER FORTY
  43. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  44. CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
  45. CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
  46. CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
  47. EPILOGUE
  48. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  49. Also by Liz Flanagan:
  50. COPYRIGHT

Joe stood there trembling, eyes closed, basking in the purple glow. And he felt the first tiny twist of hope. There was something out there, waiting for him. It might be an illusion, caused by lack of sleep, but he clung to it. Maybe even monsters were allowed to dream. 50

He could start again, but he would have to do it the hard way. If he wanted to be someone better, that was up to him. And if he started now, maybe one day he’d be able to hold his head high again.

Maybe one day he’d be able to go home.

Slowly, slowly, he opened his eyes, sticky with tears and salt. He fell to his knees, feeling the sodden grass, cool under his scorched fingertips. He pushed back from the edge of the cliff and let himself cry at last. Deep, racking sobs shook his whole body, spread-eagled on the earth.

He wept for the strange and dangerous person he’d been today.

He wept out his anger and disappointment.

He wept out his jealousy and arrogance.

He wept out his shame and his sorrow.

He wept until there was nothing left.

He felt like a blank sheet of parchment, and it was a relief. Time to begin a new story.

Then he stumbled back to his hiding place in the cave. Somehow he still had his shipwreck kit and the lantern looped over his shoulders, but he had lost the bag of food.

Back at the cave mouth, he took a moment to light the storm lantern, noticing distantly that his burned fingers were shaking. He ignored that and lifted it high to cast a trem­bling golden pool of light. Now he could see the entrance to the cave clearly, with the little rounded curve at the side where he’d slept last night, and a larger cavern to the right that was full of roosting bats. He wrinkled his nose at the strong, distinctive smell. A few paces past both, there was 51a kind of doorway facing him. He went through and saw a wide flight of worn steps.

Steps?

Steps were made by someone. Steps led somewhere.

Hadn’t he wanted a new path? Well, here it was. Not caring where it took him, Joe lifted the storm lantern and started down the stone stairs. The darkness didn’t scare him. He put one hand to the inner wall: it felt cool and coarse. The air smelled of salt and damp and dust. The yellow circle of light held him safe as he walked down, down, down.

Joe came to the bottom step. The passage led away into the gloom. It was wide enough for him to walk with his arms outstretched, tall enough so he wouldn’t bang his head. The walls had a gentle curve to them, as if carved by wind or rain, but it was too deep down here for either. The tunnel turned and Joe carried on, taking it slow and steady. He climbed, twisted, turned and turned, travelling up the tunnel like a rat.