Free Hidden Among Us by Katy Moran Page A

her on my phone. Nothing. No network coverage. Even if she’d tried to text me, I wouldn’t know.
    “Why don’t you just work, you stupid thing!” Like an idiot, I threw my mobile across the yard, watching it skid across the moss-covered cobblestones.
    I couldn’t stay near that place a moment longer. It wasn’t safe. Houses are meant to keep things out, not allow them in when all the doors and windows are shut. But bad dreams and sickness move like smoke, seeping through tiny cracks. Getting in and breaking loose. You can’t hide from them.
    Now Connie was gone.
    I walked along the lane, head down against the rain. My boots were still wet from the night before so my feet were freezing, as if summer had given up and died.
It’s going to be OK
, I told myself again and again.
She’s gone to hospital. Doctors know what they’re doing. She’ll be fine. They’ll look after her
. I thought of Mum rushing into my room, shaking me, trying to wake me, but I’d stayed awake so late I was too deeply asleep. What if Connie had wanted me to come with them?
    What if I never see her again?
    A shiver slid down my back.
    “Look, you should just watch out.”
    I turned around and Joe was standing there, wearing a cagoule that had been repaired with black shiny tape. His hair was already soaking wet. Rain dripped into his eyes. He’d followed me. Not Rafe. Even now Rafe was going to make me suffer, more than a year later. I would never be forgiven.
    “What do you want?” I shouted at Joe. Couldn’t he see I just wanted to be on my own?
    “Running away in the rain – that’s not exactly going to help anyone, is it, you daft cow,” Joe snapped.
    I turned away, facing the hedge, not wanting him to see me crying. The rain hammered down, dripping off the hood of my waterproof.
    “Listen,” Joe said. “I found a mobile outside the house.”
    I took it without looking at him, embarrassed. Had he heard me shouting, seen me throw it across the yard?
    “We’ve run out of milk,” he went on. “I’m going to the village.”
    I didn’t answer, just carried on walking, and he walked behind me. Neither of us said a word; what was there to say? I didn’t know the first thing about him. The lane was dark, even at eight thirty in the morning. Trees met overhead in a great green arch, keeping out what little daylight there was. Rain splashed through the leaves. After a while we passed a pub. The lights weren’t on inside, but behind the leaded windows I could just see people moving about: silent, ghostly. I shivered, unable to shake the feeling they were watching us.
    Where was Connie now? I pictured her lying small and pale on a hospital trolley, being rushed down a corridor. What did they do when you had meningitis, anyway? Would she have to have injections, a drip: needles stabbed into the back of her hand? Connie hates needles.
    All I could do was keep on walking. If I stood still, I wanted to scream.
    Hopesay Edge was nothing more than a few rain-battered stone cottages, a war memorial, and, weirdly, a butcher’s shop with skinned red carcasses already hanging up in the window. The lights were on inside, even though a sign on the door said it was closed. I couldn’t see any other shops at all. Finally, as we were crossing a sodden village green, Joe suddenly peeled to the left and started walking towards the church.
    Oh, no
. A mixture of panic and outrage bubbled up in my belly.
What on earth is he doing in there?
If he had some kind of religion obsession, this wasn’t the time or place to indulge it.
    Joe stepped into the porch and hauled open the big door. Finally, I noticed an advertising board standing just outside. On one side a news headline read LOCAL MAN WINS PIG, which would have made me laugh at any other time. On the other side, there was a fluorescent orange sign with “Village Shop” written in black marker. So I followed Joe inside. Even the porch had that churchy smell – slightly damp, old books. At