Tested

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

I was the last one up the next morning.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” the old man said cheerfully when I made it downstairs.

“She needed a good sleep.” Dad still sounded wary. “Hasn’t had one in a while.”

“I know what that’s like,” the man said. “Porridge in the pot left for you.”

Dad glared at me until I said, “Thank you, uh, sir.”

“Oh, call me Samuel.” He followed me into his kitchen and watched as I ate.

Afterward, he smiled at me. “I think we could use some bread today. Are you willing to learn?”

I nodded shyly, and he got us started. He told me exactly what to do, and I found myself forgetting my worries.

“There you go,” he said. “I knew you were strong.”

I blew hair off my face as I kneaded the dough. Soon, the scent of freshly-baked bread filled the cottage.

“It looks like real bread,” I said gleefully. “Look at it, Dad.”

“Great, Jess,” he said distractedly. He was busy studying an old map that Samuel had given him. It turned out we weren’t far from a village. A city lay not too far to the north, and the old man had marked out a route for us.

“Once you cross that bridge, you’re halfway there,” he said. “Long way to Scotland on foot though.”

“Maybe we won’t have to go that far,” I said. “There might be boats closer to here.”

“I still don’t trust those boats,” Samuel said. “You could stay here for a while, see if that help comes through.”

“We can’t,” Dad said. “Your food will last a lot longer with just you eating, and the more people there are, the more likely something might come sniff them out. Better to go it alone. Safer.”

“Smart plan,” Samuel said, nodding as he glanced at me. “But you should stay until your ankle is stronger at least.”

“That’s kind of you,” Dad said, “but—”

“We’d love to,” I blurted. “He hates asking for help, but he’s in pain, and another night out on the moors on that foot could really do some damage, right?”

Samuel winked at me and turned to Dad. “Your girl is right. You need to rest that ankle.”

I cheered inside. I had at least one more night of a hot fire, hot soup, and fresh bread. Not to mention books. I’d had a dream the night before that the old man was really my grandfather and that we had just found each other, so I stayed there forever, feeling safe and warm and normal. Finding a grandfather was like a cure, and I didn’t have to fight the red rage anymore because it never came back. But I had woken up. Dad and I would have to return to reality, our version of reality, and run again, run until we had to fight.

We tried the radio, hoping to hear something, but all we got was static. That evening, we had more soup, and Dad listened as I tried to read the book again. The book was a challenge in my head. Every page I read felt like an achievement, a step closer to being a normal person. Maybe if we stayed in that cottage long enough, Dad would want to live a normal life.

On the second day, a radio signal came in.

“Help… almost... We… war… Evacuations… Scottish…west coastline… day… limited…”

“Same message,” Samuel said. “Recorded, obviously. Must be someone out there making sure it gets replayed.”

“Or it’s on some kind of loop,” Dad said. “Either way, my ankle is better, and we’re making our way to the coasts. I need to get out off this island. I have to try.”