Thief!
brown, not green like Frankie’s. But in everything else she looked exactly the same . . .
    Lydia stared at the girl. ‘Are you Frankie’s sister?’
    No, that didn’t make sense. Two sisters would hardly have the same name.
    ‘I don’t have a sister. My name is Frances, but I hate Frances so everyone calls me Fran.’
    Frankie’s real name was Frances too . . .
    Lydia’s hand flew to her pounding head. She closed her eyes, swaying unsteadily.
    ‘Are you all right?’ Fran was immediately concerned.
    ‘I . . . I don’t know. I d-don’t think so,’ Lydia replied faintly.
    Fran raced forward, only just managing to catch Lydia in time before she keeled over. Lydia breathed deeply, trying to fight off the feeling of nausea that was tumbling her stomach around like clothes in a washing-machine.
    ‘You’d better come with me,’ Fran said. ‘We can’t stand here chatting all day. We’ve only got ten minutes before curfew and I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to get caught by the Night Guards.’
    ‘The Night Guards? Who are they?’ Lydia asked.
    ‘Huh? Don’t they have Night Guards where you’re from?’
    ‘I’m from London. I mean . . . I was, until I moved up here,’ Lydia said, confused.
    ‘London! You escaped from London?’
    ‘Pardon?’
    ‘Never mind that now. You can tell me how you escaped later. Right now, we have to get home.’ Fran helped Lydia to walk, still supporting her weight.
    Lydia noticed the road in detail for the first time. Before it had been smooth tarmac, but not now. Now it was rucked and the tarmac was broken. Broken blocks of concrete were scattered here, there and everywhere.
    ‘What happened to the road?’ Lydia pointed.
    ‘What d’you mean?’ Fran frowned.
    ‘Did the storm really do this? Or has there been an earthquake, or something?’ Lydia asked, confused.
    ‘It’s always been like this.’ Fran looked as confused as Lydia felt.
    Lydia watched Fran. If Fran was playing a trick on her, then it was a very good trick. Fran even managed to keep a straight face so that she didn’t give the game away. And Lydia still couldn’t get over just how much Fran looked like Frankie.
    I must be dreaming, Lydia thought. I’m probably still lying on the moors and dreaming all this.
    That had to be the explanation! So the best thing to do was to go along with the dream until she woke up. She just wished it made a bit more sense.
    ‘I feel a bit better now,’ she said. She straightened up and took some more deep breaths.
    ‘Where d’you live?’ asked Fran.
    ‘Rosemary Street,’ Lydia replied.
    ‘Where?’
    ‘Fourteen, Rosemary Street.’
    ‘Never heard of it. Where’s that?’ Fran frowned.
    Before Lydia could answer, an ear-piercing shriek filled the air. It was so loud that Lydia’s hands immediately flew to her ears. Just as abruptly as the noise had started, it stopped. Lydia barely had time to open her mouth before the noise began again. Four more sharp blasts filled the air like the screech of a high-pitched, gigantic whistle. Her fingers in her ears, Lydia waited for yet another blast. None came.
    ‘What on earth was that?’ Lydia gingerly removed her fingers from her ears.
    ‘We only have five minutes until curfew.’ Fran looked around, worried.
    ‘Curfew?’
    ‘Yeah, at eight o’clock.’
    ‘What?’ Lydia looked around. When she’d left home it hadn’t even been two o’clock yet. Eight in the evening and it was only just beginning to get dark. In November it got dark before five o’clock . . .
    ‘We’ll have to go for it now or we’ll never get home in time. Are you up to running?’
    ‘I think so. Where are we going?’
    ‘My house. I don’t know where Rosemary Street is and we don’t have the time to go looking for it. Come on.’
    Fran started racing along the road, jumping over the concrete blocks littering the road like a mountain goat over rocks. Lydia had no choice but to follow her.
    This is the

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