|| Amelia ||

The next day, I rouse early to help the Scottish man with the cows again. There's something therapeutic about walking down a quiet lane in the morning sunshine, listening to the rustling of leaves from the trees above.

We get right to work. I steal into the chicken coop, sending a flutter of wings but nothing much else, and pick all twelve eggs, warm and waiting in the hay.

It's good to get out of the barn, I think because that means I don't have to face Sarah again.

She's a madwoman, she is. I don't know what Zach sees in her. All I see is a calculating beast, one who will kill us all.

There's a cry of surprise from further down. I slip out of the coop, making sure the gate is firmly locked behind me.

"Ooh, look at what I found!" comes a voice from further up the path. I hurry to the voice, trying not to drop the egg-box.

"What is it?" Zach asks. He's coming from the other end, bucket laden with fresh milk. Angie appears by his side, retying one of her plaits.

The Scottish man is looking down at the mud-dried path. There, on the ground, is a small object, about the size of a large phone but bulkier and caked in dirt.

Angie bends down to pick it up, wiping away the dried dust, revealing small buttons underneath.

"It looks like a pin pad," she says, turning to us.

"A what?" repeats her brother, taking the object from her hands. I lean in closer and realise that she's right. There are twelve buttons, a row of three going horizontally and four going downwards. The numbers one to nought are printed on the buttons consequently. Some are rubbed off, but there's enough to guess what it is.

"Try typing something in," prompts the Scottish man. Zach hands the box back to his sister.

Angie presses four random buttons and 'enter'. Two short beeps arise from the machine.

"Access denied," I read from the screen. "Whatever's inside, you need a passcode to get in."

Angie examines it in her hands. "It's not very modern, is it?" she observes with distaste.

"Don't forget that it's survived a fall to the ground and has probably been stepped on a few times," Zach replies.

"It looks pretty robust," I agree, then hold out my hand to take it. The sides are cracked, but most of it seems in good enough shape if you exclude the dirtiness.

We look up to the sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel. A beam of a smile lights my face.

"Dad!" I squeak.

He glances at us happily, even nodding to the Scottish man. "I thought I'd show you our Camp. It's about a mile from here - a good walk, but I want you to see it." His face softens. "I want you to see where I live."

I slip the pin-pad-slash-machine into my pocket; it leaves a good-sized bulge but there's nothing I can do.

"I'm up for it," I tell him.

The others agree apart from the farmer since he's still got work to do on the farm.

There's a skip in my step as I walk beside my father.

"How are things going?" he asks me. "It's been a while."

I like the fact that he doesn't mention anything of before. Most of it has gone from my mind like I've forced it to, but some of it still remains, resurfacing into my nightmares.

I fill him in on everything. And as I do, I take in our surroundings. We're a long way from the farm now; if I glance back I can see the red top of the barn roof, the spire of the church in the nearest village which is even further away.

Trees litter our sides, revealing green foliage beyond, and other paths all connecting, intertwining into some sort of maze. I switch between recalling parts of my tale and gazing in wonder at the scenery, the way the light catches the leaves, the thought that all this would have been ice just a few weeks ago.

He listens patiently all the way through, a thoughtfulness tinting his eyes. It feels good to be beside him again, to let our strides fall as one. It reminds me of the family walks we had when we were smaller before this mess began.

There it is. The mess. My life.

It's always there.

"I told you most of what happened to me last night," says my father. He looks at me with a sidelong glance, and the smile that follows is one that I know I should treasure. "I love you, Meelie. You know that, don't you?"

I glance at the path before us that's scattered with tree roots. "Yes."

"Good." When I look up, the smile is still there, and there's this affectionate gleam in his eyes. "I'm so happy," he says softly, "to have found you. At last."

"What about Mum?"

The light leaves his face.

Of course, I have to ruin it.

"I have no idea where she is." He says the words softly, as though they might break at any second. "Let's hope, though, that she's safe."

I nod but don't reply. The answer hangs in the air, untouched, but we both know it's there.

"We're here."

He's stopped us in the middle of the dense undergrowth. Ahead, looming from the foliage is a small wooden shack. Moss climbs its walls, ivy sinks its vicious fingers into the rotten wood; it's a playground for weeds.

"This is our base."

I can hear Angie and Zach behind us.

"Lovely," Angie says, and I smile.

"I know it doesn't look the best, but at least it keeps the rain off."

We advance towards the building. My father raps his knuckles on the badly-cut door twice and waits.

It swings open. Zoe stands at the doorway. Her face turns glum when she sees us.

"Jack and... his daughter. Come in. Oh, and her friends too." We make no comment as we enter.

There's a sense of despair about the place. It's not very well put together; damp seeps through the wooden panels, a moth-eaten carpet stretches out before us, caked with mud. At the far end of the room, there are two cloth-stripped armchairs, stuffing falling out of the cushions. Littered everywhere are clothing, food tins, and packets with their printing rubbed off almost entirely. Near my feet, a familiar tin of chopped tomatoes rolls around, absolutely clean, no trace of sauce left.

People cram into the space. A few are huddled together playing a game of cards; others sit with their backs against the panelled walls talking, and some just stare into space, their faces blank, flexing their fingers so that little sprays of ice puff into the air. My father was right last night; there are about ten of them all together.

"I know it looks like a dump," comes Zoe's scratchy voice. "It is a dump."

"Yeah," replies my dad sadly. And no one says anything for a while.

In the silence, I take out the machine that we found. Upon examining it in more detail, I can see a slight crack in the glass, a dent in the metal.

"What's that?" comes a voice from behind me.

I turn to find Dad looking at the instrument in curiosity.

Sheepish, I hand it to him. Zoe steps in closer, an expression of recognition on her face.

"We found it on the path outside the farm," Angie says from beside me. Zoe looks up at her, then back to the metal again.

"You need a code to get in," adds her brother.

"It still works," I finish.

My father pours over it for a while, turning it over in his hands. "That's interesting. I've never seen it before."

"I have," says Zoe, her voice loud and clear. When we all look at her, pressing for more details, she continues. "I went searching one night," she explains. "In your barn before any of you had got there. I found a bag in the entrance and this was inside it. I thought it was a tin of tuna or something valuable, but it wasn't. So I just chucked it out. Didn't realise it would have ended up on the path though."

"Some pretty heavy tin of tuna," my father grumbles.

"Stop criticising me!" Zoe whines. "It's got no value."

"It might have," I reply. "Someone's probably looking for it right now."

"Give her a break," Angie says tiredly. When I look at her, her eyes are on Zoe, whose face softens in understanding. "She didn't know what it was and neither do we. And she's also right. It's worthless."

Dad hands it back to me; I place it into my pocket once again.

"You'd better start heading back before that farmer misses you."

All at once, I'm filled with a sadness that I never knew existed. It grows as we head out into the forest again, and it's at its worst as the farm comes into view.

"Keep out of Sarah's way," my Dad tells me gently. "She's got a strong mindset, that one."

The mentioning of Sarah still sends a shudder through me.

"I've been trying to. She's always stuck in her hidey-hole though. Josh never seems to leave her side."

"How is Josh, by the way?"

I eye him. "I couldn't care less about him, Dad."

"You should. He saved you from the arms of the police."

"But he also betrayed me to Sarah," I rebuke.

"Aah, that's the thing. Sarah's the real problem here, not him."

"No-"

"Don't you think that being a Government official means you have to abide by every rule?" His voice is hard. "You can see it in him, Amelia. He has to do everything Sarah says because she's his boss. Do you think he liked betraying you?"

I stay silent, battered down.

"Sometimes people have a duty," he continues. "And I think Josh is caught up in a big mess. The last thing you do is isolate yourself from him."

We reach the barn gate. All of a sudden, I don't want him to go. I have a sudden urge to cling to him in the same way I did on my first day of Primary school.

Don't leave me, Daddy! I begged that time. I still remember the way the tears clung to my cheeks.

Today is no different. He gives me one last smile before turning away until I can't tell where he begins and the forest ends.

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