Free P.N.E. (The Wolfblood Prophecies Book 4) by Avril Silk Page A

the legs of anyone they thought was dawdling. Some of the children started to cry. A klaxon started up, harsh and ominous, and from the loud hailers came the message:
    SIX MINUTES TO CLOCK-IN
    The klaxon continued eerily. Jo urgently wanted to get off the street. She tried to remember the lie of the land, but so much devastation, the slum buildings and the all-pervading fog made it hard to recognise. She was struggling to resist the rising panic that made it difficult for her to breathe, when she saw a strange shimmering ahead of her, and at the centre a distinctive circular building. The Roundhouse at Camden! Above its domed roof, the blue forget-me-not ensign of VergissMeinNicht lent the only splash of colour in the drab landscape.
    In another reality, the old engine shed, with its railway turntable, had been famous as an outstanding music venue. For a brief and notorious time, however, VMN had created an arena there where street children fought to the death to entertain the dissolute and depraved. Jo could not afford to remember her time in the arena, when Lucy had almost killed her. She needed to think about her present predicament, and work out her location.
    A sudden glimpse of a canal told her she wasn’t far from Camden Lock. Although the busy, colourful market she remembered was reduced to rubble, Jo’s memories of coming here with her mother, and staying with Ali’s friend Quinn, came flooding back. He had been so kind and funny, and the Vermin had murdered him.
    Jo tried to blot out the memory of his lifeless body being hauled from the canal.
    She was walking faster now. Somewhere nearby there was a pillbox leading to the Underground station where, when Jo was twelve, fugitives from VergissMeinNicht, including the Ferals and Crazy Em, had hidden in fear of being exterminated. That was before Titus grew a conscience, dedicated his life to God, and created the Glory Foundation, a philanthropic organisation created in part as penance for his sins.
    It was obvious to Jo that the reality she found herself in had more in common with the days of the VMN than those of the Glory Foundation, and she was certain that reason and dissent would once more have been driven underground. If she wanted to find Reg the best place to look would be the Deep Level Shelter, the last place she ever wanted to go again.
    FIVE MINUTES TO CLOCK-IN
    As Jo watched out for the pillbox she found herself hoping against hope that when the priest had spoken of Reg, he meant her Reg; leader of the Righteous; honourable, reliable and always on the side of the underdog. Some things can’t ever change , she thought. Reg and his rag-bag army would always be needed as long as greedy, powerful tyrants and their followers tried to ride rough-shod over the poor and vulnerable.
    Even thinking about Reg helped Jo feel more optimistic. Even so, the crowd of workers had reduced considerably and soon she would be dangerously isolated and visible.
    FOUR MINUTES TO CLOCK-IN
    It’s here somewhere, she thought determinedly, fully alert. As she looked around, searching for the pillbox she noticed what passed for a shop in Bayne. A rough painted sign said ‘Quinn’s Trading Post,’ and a display of rags and tatters – little more than garbage – was all that was on offer.
    THREE MINUTES TO CLOCK-IN
    Then, with a sob of relief Jo saw the pillbox. She nearly missed it because right in front there was a gigantic bronze statue of Lethe, and unbelievably, Jo’s father, Paul. Lethe posed with her arms outstretched in welcome; Paul struck a manly pose of disciplined authority. Around the base, ornate calligraphy proclaimed
    LOVING MOTHER AND FATHER
    OF A GRATEFUL NATION
    Jo nearly stumbled in astonishment, her mind reeling at the sight before her, but she managed to check herself. She noticed that the people around her touched the statue reverently as they passed, then bowed their heads, so she followed suit.
    TWO MINUTES TO CLOCK-IN
    The klaxon was still wailing its