I think this is our third day adrift on this sofa. I think?

—

Wow, it’s the fifth. Simon and I put our heads together and worked it all out. Schroeder pretended to sleep the entire time. He can be a big help sometimes.

It’s still raining out. Hasn’t stopped since I stopped writing earlier today. Looks a little brighter to the east though. Maybe this rain will peter out soon and we can get to work rebuilding the sofa fort. The soggy throw rugs we’re using as tarps just aren’t cutting it.

—

Rain. Rain. Rain.

—

Schroeder is talking in his sleep. Cute. He’s curled up against the arm of the sofa. Guess he really was asleep all this time.

I’m trying to figure out what he’s saying. Can’t quite make it out. The what? Closer to – something. The heart? Are you muttering Rush lyrics in your sleep, Schroeder? That is hilarious.

Wait a minute. The heart? Oh.

OH.

THAT.

—

Depressed. I feel kind of, I dunno. Unsettled. Uneasy. Maybe it’s the rain. And the grey, dreary sky. The clouds are so wet and heavy they’re dragging low over the water, like misty jellyfish. Looks weird.

Or maybe I’m just tired. I didn’t exactly get a lot of sleep last night.

Ugh. I’m gonna write again. I’m gonna write about crazy, funny things. I just want to laugh at something. Even thinking about Doris’ stupid name won’t hack it. Hee. I smiled just now as I wrote that.

Okay, here goes.

So, Doris, Sikes and I cleared out that house. We spent the night there. Well, Doris and I did. Sikes zapped back to the police station. I think. He mentioned the liquor store at one point. If it turns out he lives there as well in order to keep a vigil over the town’s booze supply I’ll laugh my ass off long and hard.

The next morning all of the Widerstand kids began to arrive. They straggled out of the dark two or three at a time, all tousled and yawning. Schroeder must have booted them out of bed early. It was an hour before dawn when the first two arrived, Joe and Rat-Tail.

Schroeder himself put in an appearance shortly after. The first words out of his mouth when he saw me were, “Holy shit, you’re alive.” At first I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about. Then it occurred to me that I hadn’t been Red Rovered in the dead of night. Whatever that means.

Joe and Rat-Tail gawked at me too. I hate that. I hate being stared at. But hey, I was alive. So much for the Red Rover theory. What a load of bunk.

Speaking of bunks, watching nearly a dozen kids in backpacks cram into that tiny cottage was a scream. Kids jostled for space, bumped into things, crash. I think they would have all stampeded for the bedrooms had Jack not arrived on the scene. He immediately dove into the throng, bellowing orders. I watched him thrash kids into order. Then it dawned on me that the claim I had staked over the grandkid’s bedroom was getting shaky. Crap!

I rushed upstairs. Sure enough, when I ran into the bedroom that bug-eyed girl in glasses was sitting on the bed. She glared at me when I burst through the doorway.

“This is my bed!” she said. “I called it first!”

“Like hell you did!” I said. “I spent the night here. That bed is mine. You have three seconds to get off it. Three.”

“It’s my bed and I called it!” she said. She hugged her backpack to her chest and looked defiant.

Glasses had guts, I’d give her that. “Two.”

“You’re new here and I’ve been here for a whole year! So screw you, it’s mine!”

“One! Is that my backpack?!”

It was.

So I grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and ripped my backpack out of her arms. I threw her into the closet and slammed the door shut. She howled at me as I pawed through my backpack in a huff. Everything seemed to be there, save for my burnt clothing. Guess it got left behind.

I dug out my cell phone and checked it anxiously. Looked okay. I glared at the closet door. “You little vulture! I’m gone for one day and you steal my things?”

“You’re going to be dead soon anyway!” she shouted. Her voice was muffled through the door. “Schroeder said so!”

I was getting real tired of Schroeder’s guff.

I threw my backpack on the bed and yelled, “See everything in this room? It’s mine! Keep your mitts off my things or I’ll stomp my foot down your throat!”

I stormed off while she hurled abuse at the closet door. I shoved past the unruly mob of boys crowding up the stairs. Time to find Schroeder and put an end to this Rover nonsense.

“Will you stop telling people I’m going to die?” I said.

He was down in the tiny kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. He sat hunched over the bowl with his arms dropped around it like he thought someone might steal it from him. Noelle sat on the counter behind him, looking grim.

“What?” he said. “There’s still a good chance you’ll drop dead any moment now. I don’t want any of my kids getting attached to you before it happens.”

“I’m not going to die! Stop calling them your kids!”

He slurped milk off his spoon and dropped it into the bowl. “I wouldn’t say that. You may have survived the night, but there’s a lot we need to teach you to keep you alive. Like how to ride a bike. Noelle, have they all been herded over from the old hideout yet?”

I stared at him in angry bewilderment. What? Ride a – huh?!

“I know how to ride a bike,” I said.

“I think so, yes,” said Noelle. “Graham went back to fetch them. He should be back in an hour or so.”

“Good. Graham knows what he’s doing. Doesn’t his family raise horses or something?”

“I know!” I said loudly. “How to ride! A bike!”

Schroeder and Noelle both glanced at me.

“Not a Hinterland bike,” said Schroeder.

Fuck’s sake.

Time passed. Out of a lack of anything better to do I stood in the doorway of my bedroom and fended off the mob of boys as they roamed through the house and staked out their sleeping places. Morgan Mumford does not share.

Then Jack came around and told me I had to share the room with someone. So I told him that this was the girls’ room. He gave me a tired and irritated look but didn’t argue it. So now Noelle and I were roommates. Glasses could shack up in the closet.

Not long after that little Joe ran up. He nervously told me that Schroeder had issued a royal summons. I was to meet him in the backyard in ten minutes. I ignored it.

Ten minutes later another boy came up. I didn’t recognise this one. He wore a dirty grey hoodie with the hood pulled up and had these real heavily shadowed, half-lidded eyes, like he hadn’t slept in a month.

“Get your ass down here now,” said the Unabomber. He shrugged. “His words, not mine.”

I stomped downstairs and into the kitchen, where Jack was now tacking a big map up on the wall. I stomped into the mudroom and kicked open the door to the backyard.

It was gloriously sunny outside. A light breeze rustled through the warm summer leaves. Cell phones twittered high up in the branches of trees. Except for one, whose ringtone was stuck on Marimba.

“Somebody shut that goddamned thing up!” said Schroeder.

Noelle picked up a rock from the garden and flung it into a tree as straight and hard as a bullet. I heard a crack and a squeal and a moment later a cell phone tumbled down onto the lawn.

“Wow,” I said. “Nice aim.”

She smiled. Schroeder rounded on me.

“It’s about time!” he said. “I don’t have all day to wait for the Princess to prance her way downstairs, you know. Graham!”

The shed door banged open, rattling on its wrecked hinges. Rat-Tail stepped out. Boy, that kid was a punk. He wore an AC/DC t-shirt with filthy cargo shorts. Chains hung from the belt loops.

He pushed two bicycles with him.

“God,” I said in disgust. “So you were serious about the bicycle thing.”

“Shut it! Graham, bring ’em both over here, would you.”

Graham walked the bicycles over. He gave me a sunny smile. Except now I wasn’t looking at him. I was staring at the bikes.

One of them rolled along quietly beneath his hand. It was a red and black twenty one-speed road bike, real sleek and speedy looking. A seriously nice bike.

The other one was a big neon green and orange mountain bike, all covered in glittery stickers and mud. It jumped, it bucked, it crow-hopped, it shook its handlebars in a fury. Holy hell.

“What,” I said, “is that monstrosity?”

“That is your new best friend,” said Schroeder. “Time to learn how to ride a bike, Widerstand-style.”

I backed away a step. “Are you telling me those things are alive?”

“And kicking.”

“This is Duke,” said Graham. He patted the seat of the road bike. “He belongs to Schroeder. And this one here-”

He eyed the mountain bike, which was now trying to ram its front tire onto his foot. “This is Nuclear Abomination.”

I sized up that eye-searing green and orange paint and thought, sounds about right.

“Did you pull it out of the town dump?” I said.

“Shut it!” said Schroeder. “Everybody starts out on Nuclear Abomination. If you can ride that, you can ride anything that Hinterland throws at you. Bring ’em this way, Graham.”

We left the yard through the gate and walked out onto the street. Carmichael was a quiet, sleepy little street tucked away on the far end of town, down by the lakeshore. Lots of bushy red maples rose over the rows of little houses, so that only patches of sunlight fell down through the leaves to illuminate the sidewalks. In the real world its gardens were probably full of sparrows and honeybees and hungry housecats. Here in Hinterland I saw cell phones bouncing through the leaves. And a hot plate snoozing under a flowering bush, its electrical cord curled around itself. Jesus.

Graham walked the bikes out into the middle of the street. Schroeder stood on the curb and whistled at Noelle.

“Hey!” he said. “Show the new girl how it’s done.”

“Wow,” I said, when Noelle hopped onto the road bike and pedalled it around in circles. “You just sit on it and use your feet to move the pedals, how ’bout that.”

“Yeah? How about now.”

I looked back at Noelle and gaped. She sat upright with her arms crossed over her chest and her feet braced on the down tube. The bike just kept on going, cycling through a figure-eight with lazy ease.

I shut my mouth with a snap. Okay. That was worth some style points.

“I’ve got to try this,” I said.

Schroeder said nothing, just stood back and made a sarcastic ‘be my guest’ gesture at the mountain bike. It wasn’t hopping around any more – it stood beside Graham and vibrated furiously.

“Don’t let him push you around,” said Graham when I snatched its handlebars away from him.

“Schroeder or the bike?” I muttered.

He grinned.

“Just stay calm,” he said. “They know when you’re scared. Keep your seat. And hold on tight.”

I grunted as I swung my foot over the seat. Yeah, yeah. I’ve been riding bikes since I was six.

I rolled forward a little ways and kicked off with one foot. I turned the bike to follow Noelle and put my feet on the pedals. Well, so far so-

The front brakes locked.

The back tire bucked skywards and I went flying.

I crashed into the asphalt on my back. As I lay there gasping Nuclear Abomination reared and bucked a few more times, then toppled over onto its side, where it began to spin around in a temper.

Uproarious laughter echoed from the sidewalk. When I crawled onto my hands and knees I saw half a dozen kids standing there laughing. Oh god damn it.

“Shut up!” I said.

Even Noelle had stopped pedalling and stood with the road bike a short distance away, propped on one leg. She was grinning.

“Nice going, new girl,” yelled Schroeder from the curb. “I think you made it what, a whole three feet?”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Graham hurried forward to help me up, but I waved him back.

“I’ve got this,” I growled.

I marched over to the mountain bike and hauled it up onto its tires.

“Don’t give me any more of your shit, bike,” I said as I planted myself back on the seat.

It didn’t even wait for me to get my feet on the pedals this time, it just shot straight at the sidewalk. Kids scattered out of its path as it ramped the curb and made this tremendous mid-air contortion, like one of those fucking Lipizzaner stallions at the circus. It back-flipped into the front lawn while I crashed into a bush, sending leaves and that hot plate flying.

Kids were in hysterics when I crawled out of the bush. Noelle had her head down on her arms now, which were crossed over Duke’s handlebars. Her shoulders shook with laughter.

Schroeder yawned and slapped his hands over his stomach.

“Well, I can see where this is going,” he said. “I’m gonna head back in and talk with Jack. Stick with her, Noelle. Try to get this train wreck under control.”

Noelle wiped her eyes.

“Yes, of course,” she choked.

Only Graham looked worried. He trotted over to me again, and again I waved him back.

“I’ve got this,” I said through gritted teeth.

This time when I gimped back over to the mountain bike I didn’t bother to right it properly, I just yanked it up by one handlebar. I swear to god it squealed at me and thrashed around.

“You want to mess around?” I bellowed. “All right! Let’s mess around! It’s on now, bike!”

It got its rear wheel under itself and launched at my face, its front wheel spinning. I fell backwards with it on top of me. I wrestled one foot up as I hit the lawn on my back and kicked mightily, sending ol’ Nuclear Abomination sailing over my head. By the time it crashed into the neighbour’s garden I had already scrambled back to my feet.

“How about that, bike?” I gloated as it tried to crawl away. I stalked it a little ways, then grabbed its seat and dragged it backwards. “You like them apples? You want some more of that? I can do this all day!”

I got a face full of dirt when it bucked at me. Spitting and swearing, I wound back one foot and kicked it squarely in its fork, WHAM!

All of the kids stopped laughing and winced. All the boys did anyway. Noelle just sat there on the road bike with a big grin on her face. I was like, what the hell, guys, it’s a bicycle, it’s not like I just kicked one of you in the nads. But Nuclear Abomination did seem to wilt after that, sagging low on its tires. Huh.

I sat on the bastard and foot-walked him out of the garden. I pedalled over to Noelle and did a smug victory lap around her.

“So how about that?” I said. “Do I pass?”

“Don’t get too cocky,” she said. “He’s just waiting for you to let your guard down.”

I stopped beside her and patted the handlebars. “I think I’m gonna call him Nuke.”

Noelle laughed.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go for a ride.”

I followed her down the street. We cycled past rows of lonely houses, past gardens in late summer bloom. The sun flickered down through the leaves as pollen drifted in the warm, sun-dappled air. The breeze felt good on my new bruises and my sweaty face. Nuke hummed along quietly, his wheels ticking. I wondered if he had truly given in, or if Noelle was right and this was just a ruse to get me to relax.

It was so weird, biking through all of those bright and sunny neighbourhoods and not seeing a single living soul. Sprinklers still waved over bottle-green lawns while lawn mowers droned in the distance, as if it were a perfectly ordinary summer day. Only instead of people washing cars or weeding gardens I saw flocks of electric razors perched on picket fences. Skateboards raced across the street, pursued by territorial weed whackers. Beat up cars sunned themselves on hot asphalt driveways, sleepily flicking their windshield wipers.

Noelle and I swooped down to the main street. There were a lot more cars there, which we warily avoided by pedalling on the sidewalk. Now and then a car would make a half-hearted run at us, but the parking meters kept them from ramping the curb. Screech, bang, screech, bang, screech, screech, honk – that was all you heard as they jostled one another in the street like a pack of dogs.

What a madhouse. I stared in amazement as we cycled downtown. What had created all of this? What had brought this all to life? Was it Miller? Or was it something else?

We biked to the top of the main street and turned off at a funeral home, a creepy little building with a black wrought-iron fence out front and thickly leaded windows. As we cycled down a shady boulevard full of fragrant gardens I forgot where I was and started to enjoy myself. It felt good to be on a bike again, pedalling uphill until my legs ached and the wind tore my ponytail into a frizzy mess. The sun beat against my shoulders and a whirlwind of maple keys swirled up in my wake-

And that miserable bike jerked its handlebars around and rammed straight into the curb.

Which it hit at oh, forty kilometres an hour. Smash! went the front wheel and up went the back wheel, and over the handlebars I went, soaring majestically through the air. I crashed into someone’s lawn and somersaulted into an iron fence.

As I lay there groaning I heard the tick-a-tick-a-tick of the road bike as it coasted up.

“Holy shit, Morgan, are you all right?” said Noelle.

“Just fine,” I hissed. “I am gonna murder that sparkly son of a bitch!”

A sigh. “I’m sorry you’re stuck with him. Everybody gets stuck with him at some point. If it’s any consolation he hasn’t killed anyone yet.”

I slowly climbed to my feet. “I’m more surprised that nobody has put a hammer to him yet.”

Noelle dismounted and led the road bike to the curb, where my sweet ride was flopping around on the grass like a dying fish. Duke obligingly put down his kickstand and Noelle leaned him against it.

“Why don’t we stop here for a little while?” she said. “This is a quiet street. Seems like a good place for a breather.”

I limped over to Nuke. It rattled at me, but I just grabbed it by the frame, swung it around in a circle, and flung it up into the crotch of a nearby crabapple tree.

“Sounds like a plan,” I said.

Noelle and I sat on the grass for a while with our legs stretched out, saying nothing. Just soaked up the sun. I picked dirt out of my scrapes. I squinted around myself and thought, you know, this is a nice street. I couldn’t hear any lawnmowers bumbling in the distance or sprinklers swishing or kitchen appliances murdering one another in the hedges. The wind rustled in the needles of the pine trees.

And then my heart froze. Hang on a minute.

I knew this street.

“What’s wrong?” said Noelle when I jumped to my feet.

I spun around wildly. And there it was behind me, behind the iron fence I’d just crashed into. It stood high on a grassy knoll, its green lawn covered in pine cones. A stone path ran all the way up to the front door. It was the same front door I had run out of only three days ago. It was a sleepy house with peaked rooftops and rickety shutters.

It was my house.

“Morgan?”

“I’m home,” I breathed.

“Wow, Morgan. You live on Sharpe Street? Some of the biggest houses in town are on this street.”

I said nothing, just stood there with my hands closed into fists. Then I took a deep breath and yanked open the gate.

“Where are you going?” called Noelle as I strode up the path. “Oh! Morgan! Don’t go up there! Strange houses are dangerous!”

I ignored her. It was not a strange house. It was my dad’s house. That admittedly did place it on the strange side of things, but still. It was my home.

With Noelle at my heels I marched all the way up to the front door.

“I’m going inside,” I said.

“Is there any way I can talk you out of this?” she said.

“No.” I cast a warning look over my shoulder. “Don’t even try it.”

She pursed her lips.

“All right,” she said. “But we’ll need to text Doris first to see if he has any keys to this place. Oh, or not,” she said when I opened the door.

We padded into the front hall. I shut the door behind us and licked my lips. It was real dark inside, as if Dad had drawn all of the curtains shut. The air smelt like musty oak. Motes of dust drifted through what little daylight filtered through the windows. So dark. So quiet.

Without a word I led the way into the living room. My throat tightened when I stepped inside. Oh. The oil paintings, the vintage posters, the polished Moro spears – they crowded the walls, just like they had back at our apartment in Toronto. The row of Zsolnay figurines were back on the television cabinet. Grandfather clocks tick-tocked in the silence. Even the old sea chest was back in its usual place in front of the sofa. Nothing moved. Nothing stirred.

“Wow, Morgan,” said Noelle in a hushed voice. “It’s like a museum in here.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Your parents, they collected all of this?”

“My dad. He does. This is nothing. You should see the stuff he’s still got down in the basement. Can’t hang it on the walls.”

“My god.”

Noelle wandered around the room, her gaze lifted in awe. She stopped in front of a seventeenth century German half-suit of armour. I saw her lift one hand, as if to touch it. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah. I know.”

I scrubbed my eyes with my wrist. “Come on. Let’s see if the dressing table is still stuck in the staircase.”

It was.

“I was supposed to help him push this thing upstairs,” I said heavily as we stood there and stared at it, still wedged at an angle above the landing. “He kept forgetting it was here, even though we had to climb over it every time we wanted to go to the bathroom. I guess he’s just given up on it now.”

I felt Noelle put her hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off.

“Morgan,” she said. “You’ll see your father again one day.”

“I know that!” I rounded on her. “You don’t get to tell me that!”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t get to talk like you really believe you’ll just waltz home one day. That’s a damn lie!”

“We all want to go home, Morgan.”

“Wanting to go home isn’t the same as doing something about it!” I prodded her in the chest. “When was the last time you tried to find a way back?”

“There has to be one out there. We’ll find it.”

“You’re not even looking! Nobody is!”

“I have responsibilities here,” said Noelle. Her voice rose. “I help Schroeder keep these kids alive. I don’t have the luxury of being able to drop everything to go search for a magic portal out of here.”

“Oh, we’re back to portals again!” I turned around and waved my hands. “The imaginary portal, as Schroeder put it. How many times did he have to tell you it doesn’t exist before you started to wonder if maybe he was right?”

“Just because I listen to Schroeder doesn’t mean I can’t think for myself!”

“You know what I think? I think he’s deranged, that’s what I think. Ten years, he’s been stuck here? I think it’s affected his brain. I think he’s crazy and he’s talked all of you into believing every word he says. He’s like a cult leader. I bet you a year from now he’ll decide the only way for all of you to escape this place is to drink orange tang together in the basement.”

Anger flickered across Noelle’s face. For a moment I thought she would smack me. Instead she grabbed my arm.

“Wait, shut up,” she said. “What was that?”

“Oh, not this again,” I said. “What was what?”

Noelle gave me a fierce look and jabbed a finger to her lips. We stood together and listened, our breath shallow.

Tock, tock, tock went the grandfather clocks. Brass pendulums rocked back and forth in the silence. Then I heard it: the rumble of an engine on the street outside. It roared to the front of the house and shut down.

“Damn it,” said Noelle. “Does this house have a window that overlooks the street?”

“Dad’s room,” I said. “This way.”

We scrambled over the dressing table and ran up the rest of the stairs. I pointed Noelle to the master bedroom. Dad has the coolest room. It’s not very large, but elegantly painted in warm grey and silver and decorated with all kinds of neat old prints and war masks and ebony figurines. A big black silk Japanese folding screen painted with white cranes in flight stood next to the doorway to his bathroom.

It’s a beautiful room. But now it was a mess. Dresser drawers had been yanked out, clothing and papers flung across the unmade bed. Rumpled coverlets lay strewn on the floor. I saw photos of me scattered on the bed sheets, the photos that dad kept stashed in his drawer in an old camera box, wrapped shut with an elastic band. I recognised pictures taken at the cottage, at school: me scowling at the camera as I held up a fish, or sitting in front of a painted backdrop in my best school clothes. My heart ached. Oh, Dad.

Noelle ran to the window and twitched aside the heavy drapes. I came up beside her and peered down through the glass. The Triumph motorcycle was parked on the curb. There was an olive-green sidecar attached to it now. Cyril and one of the Henchmen were already trudging up the stone path.

“Not him again!” I said.

“One of Miller’s spies must have tipped him off,” said Noelle. “Damn. I thought this house seemed a little too quiet.”

“Don’t blame my house for this!”

The drapes swished shut as Noelle stood back.

“We need to find a way out of here,” she said.

“We are not climbing out onto the roof, thanks,” I said. “I fell for that one once already, and look where it got me.”

Noelle hummed, her eyes lost in thought.

“Say, Morgan,” she said. “Just how stuck do you think that dressing table really is?”

“I dunno. Pretty damn stuck. Why?”

“Hm. I have an idea. Just follow my lead.”

We ran back to the top of the staircase and pressed our backs to the wall, listening breathlessly. Things banged and crashed downstairs as Cyril and the Henchman booted their way through the front door. My nostrils flared and I glared down the stairs in indignation. That was my father’s collection they were knocking around.

“Morgan!” Cyril’s gravelly voice thundered through the house. “Morgan Mumford! I know you’re here! Don’t be foolish, girl, and come with me. Miller wants to have a word with you.”

I glanced at Noelle, who nodded. So I hollered back, “I bet she does! If by ‘have a word with’ you mean, ‘murder the crap out of’!”

The floorboards creaked as the intruders spread through the house.

“Don’t be foolish, Mumford,” said Cyril. “She only wants to talk. About Simon.”

Simon!

My eyes widened. After everything that had happened over the past two days I had kind of forgotten about him. Whoops.

So I yelled, “What does she want with him?”

“That’s not my place to know. Come with me and you can find out for yourself.”

“Yeah, right! And then she ‘disappears’ me, just like all those other kids!”

A pause. “You’ve been talking to Schroeder.”

“Damn right I have! He told me all about your boss Miller and what she does to people here!”

“Ha! Somehow I doubt you’ve heard the full story. Where’s Simon?”

“I don’t know! Where did you last put him?”

“Don’t play games with me, girl! Where is the boy?”

“Ooh ho ho!” Noelle made a ‘keep going!’ gesture, so I jeered, “Ooh, well! Hey, if he’s Miller’s son does that mean he’s the boss of you too?”

“Watch your mouth! Last time! Where is Simon Miller?”

I laughed. “I wouldn’t tell you even if I did know.”

“That’s it! That is it! I’m coming upstairs.” Loud footsteps stomped up the stairs. “I refuse to stand here having this conversation with you. You are coming with me. We’ll go see Miller together. Let’s see how brave you are when you’re standing in front of her.”

I tensed, but Noelle only held out her arm. She laid a finger to her lips and whispered, “Wait for it.”

A man in an oilskin coat came around the corner of the landing. The Henchman lumbered behind him, huge and mute. Cyril thumbed back the brim of his helmet and glared up at us. His face was beet red and bristly.

“You’ve got a real mouth on you, Mumford, don’t you?” he said. “Good god, is that Noelle with you? I suggest you walk away now, Noelle. Miller only instructed me to bring one little girl home with me today. Let’s not make it two.”

“And now!” said Noelle, and together we charged down the stairs.

Cyril’s eyes bulged. He stepped back and held out his hands, just as Noelle and I took a running leap. We slammed into the dressing table feet-first and sent that sucker flying, blam!

What a racket! It barrelled into Cyril and the Henchman like a boulder and flattened them into the wall. Noelle and I soared over them both and hit the stairs running.

We tore out the front door and raced madly for the bikes. I had to wrestle Nuke out of the tree before I could fling myself onto his seat and charge after Noelle and the road bike.

Behind us, the Triumph fired up with a bellow. I risked a glance back over my shoulder. The motorcycle had spun away from the curb and was hot on our heels, its engine gunning.

“Noelle!” I shouted.

But she had heard it too. She glanced back, then leaned hard to the side and peeled around the street corner. I followed her, yanking my bike up and over the curb.

We pedalled furiously down the sidewalk, standing up in our seats. The Triumph kept pace on the street, snarling, but unable to jump the curb now that it dragged that heavy sidecar with it. I panted and blinked sweat from my eyes. Ahead of us was a paved driveway. The moment we hit it the motorcycle would have the opportunity to swerve onto the sidewalk and mow us down.

And then Noelle did one of the most insane things I’ve ever seen in my life.

As we flashed past a garden she kicked her feet off the pedals, leaned over – way over – and ripped a decorative pole out out the sod. It was this iron thing with a big stained glass dragonfly on top. We hit the driveway and the Triumph roared up the pavement, and Noelle hurled the pole straight into the spokes of its front tire.

Even Nuke was shocked when the motorcycle slammed to a halt and catapulted into the air. He shot forward as the whole wreck flipped end over end and ploughed into a cedar fence. Wood shrapnel and shredded flowers exploded everywhere.

Noelle and I fishtailed to a halt only when dirt stopped showering down. We sat on our bikes and surveyed the mess. The Triumph and its sidecar lay upside down in an ornamental garden, half-buried in sod. The motorcycle’s wheels spun angrily, while those of the sidecar placidly ticked over. Wisps of smoke trickled up from gaps in its fairing.

Noelle and I looked at each other.

“That was amazing,” I said.

“Still think I’m just some brain-washed cultist?” she said.

I sobered a little.

“Look, I’m sorry I said that,” I said. “Seriously. But don’t get me wrong – I still think you guys put too much stock in Schroeder. Especially since you seem to have your head screwed on tighter than he does. You’re smart. You seem pretty tough. Why aren’t you leading Widerwhatever instead of him?”

“Because I don’t want to,” said Noelle.

“Why not? I bet you’d be good at it.”

“Because I don’t want the responsibility of taking care of people on my head. No one does. Not even Doris, not really. Schroeder’s the only one who’s ever stepped forward to accept it. I appreciate that, and I appreciate the fact that it’s a hard and thankless job, so I stay here and help him out as best I can. For now, that’s good enough for me.”

I regarded her skeptically. “And that’s it?”

She returned my gaze evenly. “And that’s it.”

Huh.

I glanced over at the motorcycle, which was still smoking. Flower petals fluttered down upon it like confetti.

“So, when do you show me how to do stuff like this?” I said.

“Why should I bother, when you’re already planning to leave us and strike out on your own?” said Noelle coolly.

“Are you mad about that? Look at this!”

I thrust both hands at the motorcycle.

“This is awesome!” I said. “I need to know how to do this sort of thing if I’m going to survive here, right? You don’t want me to die, right? Isn’t that what Schroeder was getting at?”

“What you need is to learn how to live here, just like we did. Not how to do violent stunts that will only get you killed.”

“But I really like violent stunts!”

Noelle sighed.

“Then stay with us just a little longer before you set out on your own,” she said. The annoyance drained out of her face, leaving her pale and grim. “Please. Watch and learn a few things about what Hinterland is like while living with us, if only to help prepare yourself better. Maybe if you stick around long enough I’ll even get a chance to show you the tougher lessons, like how to fight off things like cars and motorcycles.”

I eyed her warily.

“That sounded suspiciously like a bribe,” I said.

“It wasn’t meant to be one.”

“You can’t talk me out of looking for a way home, you know.”

“I know.”

“Not you, and definitely not Schroeder! I don’t care what he says. I will find a way out of here!”

“I understand.”

“But…” I gnawed my lip. “I might be persuaded to hang around with you guys for a week. One week. After that, I’m gone.”

Noelle smiled faintly. “I suppose that’s fair.”

I stuck out my hand. She leaned over on her bike and gripped it. Over the smoke drifting up from the Triumph we exchanged a silent handshake.

“Which segues into our next lesson,” said Noelle. “And that is: we get the hell out of here before Cyril catches up and sees what we did to his bike.”

“I hear that,” I said.

Yeah. I had a feeling the old man wasn’t going to be happy with us once he did.