Free Almost True by Keren David Page B

minutes fresh air won’t hurt, surely. And I go to the front door and push it open as quietly as possible.
    I’m outside. For the first time for more than a week. And once I’m outside I know exactly what I need to do to chase away the scary feelings. I need a run. SurelyI could have just a short run?
    At the end of their driveway is the road, and there’s no pavement or anything – it’s not really built for people who aren’t in a car. One way goes uphill, one way down. I start running down the hill. If I meet a car on the way I’ll probably get run over, but that doesn’t really bother me right now.
    It feels so good to be running again, even though I’m not really dressed for it. I’ve got my running shoes on, but I wouldn’t normally run in jeans. After about fifteen minutes I begin feeling a bit hot and uncomfortable, and I’m still feeling achy. Never mind. I run on.
    A dark grey cloud covers the sky, and it seems to get lower and lower until it’s almost pressing on my head. Thunder growls like a pit bull, and then a raindrop spits onto my head. I pull up my hood, but it’s hopeless, the rain starts and it’s like running in a car wash. There’s water flooding down my face, my shoes are filling up, I’m wet through to my boxers. I don’t care. I keep running.
    There’s a path leading off the road through some fields. It’ll be safer, I think, and run on past cows and tractors, squelching through mud and cow shit and all kinds of horrendous smells. I must have been bitten by some sort of insect, because my face feels incredibly itchy. My jeans are heavy with water, clinging to my legs.And the rain is still pouring down. But it’s great to be running. I just don’t know where I’m running to.
    My jeans are so heavy that I lose the rhythm of the run, stumble over a ridge of mud and fall, splat! into a huge puddle. I’m so wet that it doesn’t make much difference – except that now I’m filthy too and I stink of God knows what. Some people come to the countryside on purpose, I don’t know why.
    I pull myself up and I carry on running. I’m out of the field now and into some woodland. It’s getting dark already, and the path is petering out. I don’t care. I run through brambles, pushing past branches, getting scratched by holly and all the time getting wetter and wetter as the rain pours down.
    And then I hit a big hard lump of wood, my ankle turns under me and I come crashing down into green plants that prick and tear at my skin. I roll away and the pain in my ankle jabs like a knife.
    â€˜Aaah,’ I groan with pain as I try to stand up, but my ankle can’t take my weight and I collapse into the mud again.
    I’m lying in a stinking muddy puddle, it’s almost dark and I’m surrounded by trees. I’m in the middle of nowhere. My skin is on fire – I’m clawing at it, trying to stop the itch, but it just makes it worse – and my ankle is probably broken. I’m not sure how anyone’s ever goingto find me. I’m probably never going to be able to run again. I might even die here in this wood.
    I’m dizzy with exhaustion and someone’s got inside my head and is hammering their way out. The cold and wet and pain keep me awake – which is good, I realise, hazily, because it wouldn’t be a great idea to go to sleep. Not when it’s so cold and getting dark.
    I’m just thinking of having a try at crawling when I look up and my heart gives a big thump.
    Two silent figures are standing over me. And one of them has a knife.

CHAPTER 9
Rio
    You wouldn’t think that anyone could be pleased to see a ghost, but when I realise that one of the people standing there is Alistair, I let out a little sigh of relief. The other guy is shorter, his face hidden under the shadow of his hood. All I can see is the blade of his knife, shining against his