Free Arnie Jenks and the House of Strangers by Tim Bradley Page B

watching Arnie as he rushed towards them, more menacing as silhouettes than when doused in snow.
    He felt relieved to pass them safely and was nearing the dense undergrowth beyond when he sensed something veer off to his right.
    â€˜There you are Thomas,’ he muttered, ‘now where are you going? The road is
that
way.’
    Arnie moved his head trying to see more clearly, but the figure had vanished. He staggered onwards, hesitating every so often in the hope of spotting Thomas, before arriving at a mighty spruce standing directly ahead – strong and unflappable. It gave him an idea.
    He tensed up, checked the route was clear then bolted nimbly, covering the short distance to reach the safety of the tree. He swung onto the bottom branch and threw his right leg up and over, trusting it would be capable of taking his weight. Tightening his stomach muscles, he levered himself higher, clutching and stretching to reach a position where he could watch unnoticed.
    As he climbed steadily upwards, his bird’s eye view spread out in all directions and not far away he could see lanterns burning. He counted eight in all.
    They must have called for reinforcements, feared Arnie, as their words drifted up to him;
    â€˜Right…well…we should try again in the morning…the traitor has probably gone to ground for now…thanks everybody. We’ll meet by the lodge gate at first light and start from there…’
    Arnie heard the voices agree the plan before the men slowly slunk away in a snakelike slither. He followed their direction of travel until he spotted in a clearing a lone walker hurrying along. The moon was peeking out from behind the clouds and shards of light started to fork lines upon the land below.
    It had to be Thomas, thought Arnie, and he was walking straight towards these men!
    In the distance he picked out a scrubby track reaching up over the hill and down towards the coast. It might just work, he thought. Arnie put his hands to his mouth.
    â€˜Thomas! You are walking into a trap! Run to your right, and keep going!’
    The words boomeranged as he watched in horror at what he had done. Thomas was stuck to the spot, confused at first, like someone caught in a car’s headlights. The moon stared down.
    The lanterns turned, searching for the source of the shout, twitching uncertainly, looking and pointing for the place. The lights started moving towards Arnie.
    â€˜Come on! Come on!’ whispered Arnie to himself. ‘Go Thomas, Go!’
    Thomas recovered, first reacting jerkily and then sprinting decisively towards the unmade track, and seeing the ridge take shape – he made a headlong assault for the mount.
    He skimmed, jumped and juddered around the rocks and mounds as he covered ground quickly. Arnie watched him run. He could almost feel Thomas’s determination as he sped on towards freedom.
    Arnie started to make his way down the tree, feeling like a fugitive himself, eager to make it back to the safety of the house. He saw the lights splitting up like fireflies dancing.
    Then a scream lanced the air.
    The searchers regrouped and started to shuffle agitatedly in the direction of the sound.
    Arnie reached the bottom of the tree in seconds. ‘Run to the house, you must get away,’ screamed the logical side of mind, but his conscience wouldn’t listen. ‘You have got to help him! You’re the only one who can,’ it pleaded. ‘He hasn’t another friend in the world.’ Arnie didn’t know what to do.
    Then a series of sharp piercing cries followed, each more painful and desperate, begging for help. Arnie stopped dithering and instinctively raced towards them.
    Thomas was grabbing at the man trap trying to pull the jaws open to free his twisted leg as Arnie flew into view. His face was ghostly white and his hands awash with blackening blood running thick and heavy along his calf. Shattered bone protruded through pink gaping