Free Leave the Last Page by Stephen Barnard Page B

his pages end, and what might be to come, I wonder about this.’ He pointed to a phrase in Tom’s story from the last paragraph:
Summerbridge volcano.
‘I don’t imagine for one second that we’ve suddenly got a volcano in town, but maybe that name…’
    He entered the word Summerbridge in combination with the various districts of the town and the surrounding area. It wasn’t too long before he got a match. Charlotte read the screen from over Ben’s shoulder. ‘Summerbridge Mill.’
    â€˜I know that area a little,’ said Ben. ‘It was once a busy paper mill but it’s been out of action for a couple of years. There are plenty of empty warehouse properties around there too.’
    â€˜Perfect place to bed down for the night, maybe?’ asked Alex.
    â€˜That’s just what I was thinking, and it won’t hurt to look,’ replied Ben. ‘Particularly as I know for a fact that before yesterday that mill was called
Sundbury Mill
and had been for at least thirty years. I knew of it when I was a kid.’
    â€˜And I bet it’ll be Sundbury Mill tomorrow too…’ As unbelievable as all this was, Alex couldn’t deny the evidence that was mounting up in front of his eyes. His earlier scepticism left him and all he saw now was a plan of action that might lead to his son and his mother.
    He stood up taller and made a grab for his car keys. ‘So what are we waiting for?’

CHAPTER EIGHT

    TOM WOKE UP ALONE.
    He was wrapped up in the dust sheet, but his grandma wasn’t beside him. He sat up and quickly scanned the room. Daylight came through the dirty windows in irregular streaks, but it was enough to see all sides of the long room they’d slept in. It was bare and grimy, and apart from doors, pipework, lose cable snaking around and broken pallets shoved in corners, there wasn’t much to look at. There certainly wasn’t another living soul in there with him.
    He jumped to his feet.
    Or rather, he tried to. He pushed up with his hands and his brain sent a command to his lower legs to fold up under him so that he could spring up in a second. Except that the legs wouldn’t do as they were instructed. They moved slightly, slowly, but not in the manner he’d come to enjoy the day before. With some effort he got his feet flat on the floor and was able to balance his body sufficiently well to allow himself to ease himself up and stand.
    But that was pretty much it. He tried to stride, and barely managed a shuffle.
    Adventure’s over then,
he thought.
Back to square one.
    He shouted for his grandma.
    Two minutes later Patty came into the room from a doorway behind him. She had a large bottle of water in her hands. ‘Sorry, dear. Just nipped out to the shop for a few bits and bobs. You looked so peaceful I didn’t want to wake you. Have you been up long?’
    â€˜Grandma, my legs aren’t working properly!’ He demonstrated a brief shamble of about a yard. ‘I can’t run.’
    â€˜Curious,’ she said as she strode towards him. ‘Remember, you couldn’t do that much twenty-four hours ago, so don’t be downhearted. Perhaps it’s just because you’ve been asleep. Here: take my stick.’
    He accepted the walking stick and leant his weight against it. He used the extra support to lift his feet alternately. ‘Maybe it is because I just woke up. Is that the same for everybody?’
    â€˜Well, it is for me, but I’ve got a dodgy hip. Give it time. Come to think of it, I didn’t need the stick much yesterday, but this morning I’ve been aching.’
    â€˜Do you want it back?’
    â€˜No, don’t be silly, I’ll manage.’
    While he was waiting to see if his legs warmed up, he inspected his grandmother’s stick. She really had decorated almost all of its surface. ‘Hey, there’s a sticker here says
Green Day
. We have that in school