Free Piggies by Nick Gifford

terrible it was that Old Harold had been through the same experience as Ben and that so long ago he had given up believing in the existence of his own world.
    But what if what the old man had said was true? That this was all there really was...
    There was a sound from up ahead. Voices.
    Instantly, Ben melted into the undergrowth, hiding until he was sure it was safe to go on.
    This life seemed so natural to him.
    That thought came as something of a shock, but it was true. It was as if Zeb had spent the last three days reminding Ben the ways of caution and fear, rather than teaching him.
    The voices faded away, and Ben stepped out from hiding. He decided to keep clear of the main paths on his way back, just to be sure.
    Was it really so easy to fool himself?
    He couldn’t believe it. He had to hang on to his past. He wouldn’t give up like Old Harold had.
    And then an awful realisation struck him: the details of his memories were fading. He had only been in this awful upside-down world for a few days, yet it felt as if he had been here for far longer.
    When he tried to picture his bedroom, all he could see was that room where Doctor Macreedie had imprisoned him. When he tried to picture Kirby town centre, all he could see was the market square with parking spaces and the beasts coming out of the shops to stare.
    And when he tried to picture his parents, he couldn’t do it... The memories were fading.
    If they really were memories at all, and not just figments of his own imagination.
    ~
    He lay on the hard floor of the community hall that night, still struggling to remember, still struggling to come to terms with things.
    This was his world, he realised. Whatever had happened in his past, this was all that was on offer. It was a dangerous and frightening place, but he had found himself a community. Some of the people were good and some were not so good.
    Some of them hadn’t accepted him yet. Robby was one: always looking for conflict, always looking for ways to remind people that Ben was the outsider. Perhaps more dangerous, though, was Alik: a powerful figure in the woodland community. He didn’t trust Ben, he didn’t think he should have been allowed to stay.
    But others seemed more ready to welcome him: Walter, Zeb, Ros-Marie and her frail old grandmother. Walter had decided that the best thing was to make sure Ben learned the ways of the woods, which was why he had told Zeb to look out for him. They treated Ben as a young adult here, rather than as just another child. If there was one thing in this world that he liked, then that was it. He supposed people grew up more quickly, living in a world like this.
    He tried to stop himself thinking in these terms: comparing this world with the safe world in his memories. He would gain nothing by thinking that way.
    This was his world, now. This was all he had.
    A noise broke the darkness. The soft tread of feet.
    Peering through the gloom, Ben made out a tall figure. Zeb.
    The young man came across and squatted by Ben. “Good,” he said. “You’re awake. Dad thought you might like to come foraging tonight. See a bit more of the world.”
    Ben swallowed. “Sure,” he said. “Where are we going?”
    “McDonnell’s farm. About two miles east, on the edge of a small village called Tippham.”
    Ben knew the name. He climbed to his feet.
    Outside in the dark, four others were waiting: Anna and Rose-Marie and two teenaged brothers Ben barely knew, Rick and Adam. Anna led the way and they walked in silence for some time.
    Eventually, Adam spoke to Ben. “All you have to do is stay quiet and stick close to the rest of us,” he said. “We take whatever we can and we don’t take any big risks. Okay?”
    “Of course,” said Ben. “What are we looking for?”
    “You never know,” said Zeb. “The only rule is we never take too much of anything. Things we can carry, and things we can’t come by easily in the woods, like clothes and tools, are best. Electrical things, too