The Naming of Cats by T.S Eliot. Who knew a poem could get stuck in my head? Josh's soft, gentle voice is glued to my mind and I can't get him out.

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,

It isn't one of your holiday games,

Of course it's not. Angie's gone. Zach's gone. This isn't a game, Sarah. I swear it's not.

You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter

When I tell you, a cat must have three different names,

You're as mad as a hatter, Sarah. Maybe I am too. We're mad, Sarah. We're driven to insanity but for different reasons.

I'll stop the poem right there. Maybe that'll coax you to read the rest of it. Or maybe you won't. I'm guessing you have a lot more important things to be getting on with, right?

I'm next to your tent now. And who knows what will happen next? Maybe you'll end up dead tonight. I'd like that. I can be the one to see the life leave your eyes.

Hide, Sarah Miller. Even though this isn't a holiday game, we can still play hide and seek, can't we?

I have the recorder in my hand. A lightweight thing about the size of a matchbox. Push a few buttons. It beeps, turns on, tuck it into my pocket. You're being recorded. You have nowhere to hide now, kitty.

I lean forward to open the flap now. You're in there, sitting down at the table, stirring your cup of coffee like you have no other care in the world. We'll see about that. We'll see very soon.

I walk in. She looks up—you. Why am I addressing this to you? Maybe it's because I can't get you from my mind, just as I can't get Josh's beautiful singing voice from my head. You both poison my brain, turn it black, bitter, worthless, Josh and you.

I try to smile but it feels fake.

"Oh, Amelia. Hello."

"Hello," I say back.

You seem surprised. Of course. You didn't expect my arrival.

"What are you doing here?"

I curl my finger around the chair opposite you and slowly ease myself down into it.

"Oh, I just wanted to talk."

"You're not allowed in here, you know—"

"Yeah, I know. But this is really important."

You frown and I bet you're wondering now. I bet you're thinking about what could possibly be wrong with me. But let's leave that for another day, shall we? I want to get to grips with you, Miller. No one seems to want to pierce your many secrets.

"Okay," you say. "What's wrong?"

I lean forward, slowly, carefully, making sure every movement is clear and that you'll get the message before I say the words.

Mouth open slightly I whisper, "I know."

You look more confused than ever. Maybe you didn't get the message the first time round. Maybe you're stupider than I thought.

"You know what?"

"I know everything, Sarah."

You're looking scared. I can see it in your eyes.

"You know... everything?"

I nod, slowly, in a small way but you understand. "I know, Sarah. I know where the trucks go. I know that you feed lies to the people of your Camp. I know that you're leading them to their death."

You clamp a hand over your mouth. No, Sarah. I want you to talk.

You release your hand and now your eyes harden and there's the enemy I always saw.

"Well," you say. "You're a clever little girl for working that out."

My jaw hardens. "Josh told me, actually. Apparently he found that page in your tent."

I stop but I want to say more. I stop when I see the slightest smile crinkling around the sides of your mouth. It isn't a nice one.

"Apparently," you say.

"Yes," I reply. "Apparently."

The smile is fully there, I won't deny it.

"You see," you say. "I've got various people working for me, Amelia, and your little lover is one of them."

You pause. I don't react.

"Josh has been working for me for countless of years now. We know each other inside-out—I met him a while back at the government meetings."

You see the look on my face and laugh.

"Yes, the government. I work for the government, Amelia. And so does your little Josh." You pause again. "Now—" you lace your fingers together on the table in front of you—"where shall I begin? Well, I certainly think you deserve a bit of an explanation."

I lean back, knowing this will lead to a big long story. But not necessarily one with a happy ending.

"Josh and I were recruited once we were discovered to have the Power," you begin pleasantly. "And the government wanted to use us as spies, if you like. Both of us. I would pose as the leader of the Camp, the one to gain everyone's trust. Once you have someone's trust it makes things a whole lot easier."

You stop. Look at me. I don't reply.

"And so I set up the Camp and Josh was told he had to start gathering people. The main goal was to bring everyone to the Scottish Highlands—the Camp, and then export them to the trucks, where they would be taken to their..." you pause again.

You can't say the word 'death'?

Okay, let me say it for you.

"Death."

You nod and swallow hard. "Yes. And so Josh made the storm with your little buddy Zach—is that his name?—to deter the so-called 'government'. But what you guys didn't know was that Josh was on our side all along."

Your side, Sarah. Not mine.

"So Josh was never..." I trail off. Can't say it. For all this time, I thought that what Josh felt for me was real. Even though at first I thought he was trying too hard, it all melted away in the end.

All those kisses were lies?

"Josh never loved you," you say coldly. "He's very good at pretending—God bless him. He had you wrapped right around his finger. That's what he does—what he's been trained to do. Has all the girls falling for him, that one."

Oh no. Heck. What have I done?

"And so Josh saved you from that storm—acted the hero. He brought you back using that weird way of his, swirling in a storm and moving in that. Then he tried to gain your trust so he could lead you away to here. To me. To the jaws of—"

"Death."

"Yes, right. And then Josh wanted to make it look like he was going to be executed, so we both agreed to make a page of names written by him—I have a list of every single name in the Camp. It was to bait you—make you want to protect him. And so you lead him away and he would have succeeded in forcing the others onto the trucks if you hadn't found out the truth. But, as we know, your little friend and her brother didn't quite make it..."

You smile. It looks horrible on you.

But still, I say nothing.

You look at me. Raise your eyebrows, expecting me to react. But I don't.

"Is that a good enough explanation, Amelia? Or have you any questions?"

"Why are you telling me your plans?"

Your eyes lock in mine and I'm submerged in the coldness of them, a blue that chills me to the bone.

"Because there isn't much time left for you," you say. "You know too much; you found out our darkest secret and we can't risk you here, alive."

Alive. Oh no.

Your smile gets wider. "Yes, Amelia. You guessed it. You're going die today. There's a truck waiting for you outside."

And that's when the hands grip my arms, locking both onto my back, firing stabs of pain into me.

But I haven't forgotten about my plan, Sarah. I haven't forgotten about the recorder.

"Stop," I say but it sounds too soft. "Stop!"

The hands pause from dragging me towards the exit. I take that single moment to wrench them off and then dive for my rucksack. I expect the guard's hands to be on me again but there's nothing—you must have stopped them for now.

I unzip my rucksack hurriedly and pull the thing out, pressing the stop button.

"Yes?" you say. There's a hint of worry in your voice. "What's that?"

I turn to you and dangle the machine from its rope. It swings like a pendulum.

"I've got everything you just said recorded on here, Sarah."

I turn to the place where the connection to the speaker is. Slowly, watching you, I slip the audio jack into the input hole. You wince but don't say anything.

"With one press, everyone will know."

You stop and I can see you're thinking carefully about this.

"What do you want?" you say carefully.

I know what I want. I know very clearly.

"I want you to step down. Stop the trucks. Stop every truck you were ever going to send out. And I want you to save the people—the ones with or without the Power. Everyone."

You grit your teeth. I almost smile. I know you're going to give in. I know it. I know it.

"No," you say.

The word sounds wrong to my ears.

"What?" I say, unable to keep the confusion from my voice.

"No," you repeat, voice growing colder and colder. "I was sent to do my duty. Kill them. I'm not going to stop the trucks."

Okay then, Miller. We had a deal.

My finger pushes the button and your confession fills the whole Camp like smoke.    

Winter has come is almost coming to an end! There will about three or four more chapters but I'll tell you when that will be so don't worry. Until then xx