Zoe ran. Harder than she had ever run in her life. Her feet pounded through the deserted streets of derelict buildings. Somewhere, not far behind, she could hear the gang coming after her. It felt as if her heart would burst, but she didn't slow down. She'd been planning to leave the island for a long time but had been putting it off. It was a big decision to set out to sea in a tiny rowboat. Now she had no choice.
Before, no one had bothered her. Zoe was a loner. Most of the people left on Norwich hung around together in groups, but she preferred to be on her own. It was safer that way, because you never knew whom you could trust.
Somehow, someone had found out about the boat she'd been hiding. A boat was an escape route, a way to get away from Norwich, which got smaller every year, as the sea kept on rising. It didn't matter that there could only be room for two people at most in her boat. Others had joined in the chase, and now a mob of about fifteen people was hot on her heels. There was only one way out; to get to her boat before they got to her. So she ran on, while her body screamed for her to stop.
"Get back here!" someone yelled at her, though they couldn't see her.
It wasn't far to the little shed where she'd hidden Lyca, her boat. A couple more streets of derelict shops to where what was left of the city fell away into the sea. If the sea hadn't come she might have been shopping here herself, with her parents perhaps. From much practice she squashed the thought of her parents as soon as it started, and kept on running.
Just before she rounded a corner, she heard more shouts from behind. They had seen her.
"There!"
"Come on!" shouted another voice. "Get her!"
She made the corner, but her feet slipped from under her on the wet ground. She went sprawling and slid clumsily in the mud. She started to panic badly and made a mess of getting up again. She had dropped her pack as she fell, but there was no time to pick it up.
The sound of running feet came closer. Another two seconds and they would be around the corner. She got up and practically threw herself over a wall. She landed awkwardly, but she'd won a little more time. She was in a graveyard. It led away down a hill to where a small brick shed stood near the water's edge. Once it had contained all the equipment for looking after the graveyard, but now it contained Zoe's boat. The previous night she had rowed around from the warehouse where she had found the boat and fixed it. The old building had been unsafe when she'd discovered it and had been getting worse. She had decided to find a new place to keep her boat, and the shed seemed ideal.
In the dark she had dragged the boat the short distance from the water to the shed. It had been very hard work. At night she hadn't noticed the deep ruts the boat's keel had made in the sodden grass. In daylight, even in her mad rush, they were obvious. She would be lucky if no one had already found it.
"Lyca," Zoe panted as she opened the shed door, "please be here, Lyca."
It was all right. The boat was still there waiting for her.
Pulling it across the grass, and then into the water, she dared to look behind her for the first time. Her stomach twisted with fear. The gang were storming down the hill, weaving in and out of the crumbling gravestones. Zoe moved faster. She clambered aboard and put the oars out, then started to pull. They were at the water now, and though one or two stopped, the rest came splashing madly after her.
"Take me with you!"
"Come back! We won't hurt you. Just take us with you!"
Zoe could see their eyes clearly. She saw fear. But since she'd lost her parents, she'd made it a rule not to trust anyone. Zoe had heard people say they'd lost someone, when really they meant they had died. In Zoe's case, "lost" meant exactly that. It was still unbelievable, and so stupid.
She looked at the crowd in the water again. If she went back, there'd be a fight over her boat, and she wouldn't have a chance. She rowed on, pulling harder, even though she was safely away.
She watched as the people slowly dragged themselves out of the water and waded back to the shore. Natasha was there too. Her blond hair hung wet across her eyes, her clothes were soaking, but she didn't care. Even from this distance, Zoe could see the anger on Natasha's face. That hurt most of all. Natasha was the closest thing she had to a friend. Zoe used to see her when the supply ships came. Then they stopped coming. After that she saw her sometimes at the allotments, when she went to put some work in to earn food. They would only have a little chat, but it was enough to keep Zoe from cracking up. But now the allotments had sunk into chaos too.
Zoe suddenly remembered their conversation the last time they'd met.
"What've you been doing?" Natasha had asked suspiciously. That made Zoe nervous. It wasn't long ago that they'd laughed and joked with each other, but something had changed between them.
"I've . . . nothing. I haven't been doing anything."
She had been about to tell Natasha about her boat, and her plans to escape, but had decided not to. Maybe Natasha had guessed? From something Zoe had let slip? It didn't matter now. The crowd stood quietly, watching her as she rowed away.
Zoe didn't feel scared of them anymore.
. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
