The Fandom(61)

He takes my hand – I think through practicality rather than intimacy, but it thaws my insides all the same – and leads me away from the coop, even deeper into the estate. We walk in silence for a mile or so, Ash constantly glancing behind his shoulder like we may be followed. This makes me a little uneasy, but the curiosity chips away at the fear, and that safe, steady hand gripping mine stops me from flipping out. We walk through meadows, climb a stone wall, cross a wobbly bridge and, finally, enter a wood.

The temperature falls and a rich scent of pine and damp grass fills my head. The leaves block out any ambient light and the beam of his torch only just alerts us to the trunks before we bash into them. I can’t remember ever being in a wood at night, only in the day back at home, picnicking amongst harebells – more Mary Poppins than Blair Witch. But everything seems scarier in the black – especially the noises. Cawing, shrieking, caterwauling. I focus on the sound of Ash and me, crunching through the undergrowth, drawing in mouthfuls of stiff night air. It’s slow going; zigzagging between trunks, stumbling on tree roots and bundles of weeds.

‘We’re nearly there,’ he whispers.

Something bursts from the undergrowth. A whirl of feathers, a loud clacking noise, something warm and soft brushing up against my face. I fall to the ground, too scared to scream.

‘It’s just a pheasant,’ he says.

He follows the brown body into the tops of the trees with his beam. I try and catch my breath, my heart punching into my ribcage.

‘Come on.’ He helps me stand. I can just make out the glint of his teeth, no doubt he’s grinning that massive grin.

‘Don’t you dare laugh, you massive git,’ I whisper, before laughing myself.

He places a finger over his lips and hushes me, and it feels like we’re back at the chicken coop the first time round, like he’s going to arch his back and start clucking like a hen.

‘There’s nobody here,’ I say.

He places the torch beneath his chin so it lights up his face. He looks like an evil hobgoblin. ‘We’ll see about that.’

A few more trunks, a few more roots and, suddenly, I realize I can see without Ash’s torch. A clearing. The moon high above, its light thinned by a smudge of clouds.

‘Ta dah,’ he says, his voice still low.

‘There’s nothing here.’

It’s just a clearing. A stretch of dirt, surrounded by a dense forest and a lattice of weeds. A pocket of stillness.

He runs his torch beam over a few of the nearby trunks then slips his hand into a tree nook. ‘In here, there’s a little switch.’

‘That’s what all the fuss is about, a little switch?’

‘This place is so far from the estate, nobody ever comes. But you know me, I like to explore.’ He fiddles with something inside the nook. The switch, I’m guessing. He looks at me, his eyes wide. ‘Don’t you think there’s something weird about this place?’

I look at the clearing. Just a load of trees. ‘In what way?’

He gestures with his head. ‘That side of the clearing looks exactly the same as this side. A mirror image. All the knots and branches and hollows . . . Everything.’

I peer across the stretch of dirt. I can just make out the nook of the tree, and next to it, two pale blobs – not blobs – faces. I’m about to freak out again, but something about those faces looks so familiar. ‘Is that us?’

He laughs. ‘It took me a while to find, but it’s a cloaking device, a clever mirroring gadget. It filters out human forms in the day, but at night, I don’t know, it just seems to miss us.’

I hear a sharp click. He pulls his hand free.

The air in the clearing seems to shimmer for a moment. Instinctively, I grab Ash’s hand. A large grey cube materializes. A bunker. I suppose it was always here, but it’s as though it’s fallen from the sky. A basic structure built from concrete, shorter than the trees, but more than tall enough for someone to stand inside.

‘What is it?’ I ask.

He squeezes my hand. ‘It’s what’s inside that’s more important.’

Together, we circle it. It’s no bigger than my bedroom back home. No windows, no door.

‘There’s no way in,’ I say.

‘There is for a squirrel.’ He loops his hands together and boosts me up so I can reach the top of the bunker. My fingers close around the ledge of the flat roof, wet with moss and slime. I think I’m supposed to haul myself up, but it’s like that bloody tree all over again, and I just kind of dangle. I hate the way I’m so helpless sometimes. Ash jumps up beside me, catching the roof with his hands and using his feet to climb the wall. Within seconds, he’s peering down at me, his hair flopping over his forehead.

‘Show off,’ I mutter.

He pulls me up, my wrists cracking from my own weight. This high, the wood looks alien, the leaves thicker, the trunks narrowing into the black of the sky. We crawl towards the centre of the roof, approaching what looks like a manhole cover.

‘The only way in,’ Ash says. He pulls a pin from his overalls and begins to tinker with the lock. I hear a reassuring clunk. He looks at me and grins, his eyes glass-pale in the starlight.

‘Are you some sort of secret criminal mastermind?’ I ask.

He shakes his head. ‘Just an enterprising street rat.’