There was a lot for Devin to take in. Staring people, canvas tents, strange machinery and, surprisingly, horses – beautiful horses that looked as ill at ease as she was. Everything was muddy, and she couldn’t hear properly because the tight-fitting helmet squashed her ears. It was hard to believe she’d actually been in this exact same place, just days before. It looked so different.
Rocky kept an easy pace with the big man’s footsteps, his feet sure and steady on the rutted ground, while Devin trip trapped alongside, a scared little Billy Goat Gruff off to the troll’s den. A little rhythm beat in her head that matched Rocky’s hurried words when the searchers had first appeared, terrifying in slick and silent black: ‘Don’t give anything away. Don’t let them know how much you know. And if you get the chance, darling, run.’
It was the ‘darling’ she lingered over, naturally.
The big man escorted them into a large green tent, and an unsmiling man called Jesse got them food. Sandwiches! And fruit juice! And little pies, mince and gravy, potato topped. She tried to eat slowly, aware that after several days of nothing but fish and eel and the occasional snack from Idelle’s stash, she might be sick. Rocky, however, ate as if the entire table was about to take flight, never to be seen again.
Throughout their meal, the big man, Griff, talked about the crash, how sad everyone was, how they’d been working round the clock to find them. Every now and then he’d press a hand to his head, and Devin was sure he was getting spaceship headaches. Frequent ones too. His voice would trail away and his eyes would glaze … just a little. Another man would fill in the gaps with a soft murmur until Griff got himself together, and then he was off, a torrent of words spilling out faster and louder as if to make up for his momentary lapse. He was a man on the edge.
When Devin finally worked out that Griff was the CEO of the entire Seddon Corporation, her stomach cramped and she dropped a half-eaten pie back on her plate, convinced she was going to throw up.
Griff, correctly reading her panicked expression, motioned the softly spoken man, Moses, over to take her to the latrines. He was big too, with huge, pudgy fists and ginger hair growing out of his ears. The utility belt at his waist was dragged down on one side by the weight of a knife and other tools.
Once outside, she took a moment to get her bearings. They’d extended the clearing, turned it into a flat, muddy expanse crammed with tents, while the bush hovered close at the perimeter, waiting for the chance to creep in and take it right back again. The sun was too bright. Everything was in heightened technicolour, angles too abrupt, edges too sharp. She could feel a pulse in her temple beating against the tight fabric of the helmet. Was the ship about to take her over again? She closed her eyes.
Moses took her by the elbow, urged her forward.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, in his surprisingly gentle voice. ‘It’s just the electromagnetic fields. You get used to them.’
Electromagnetic fields. Is that what they were calling them?
Once she was locked inside the little cubicle, she wondered how much use the helmets actually were. Griff’s didn’t seem to be doing anything at all. Slowly she slid her fingers under the black fabric and tugged it off.
The effect was immediate. The pulse in her temple slam-danced against her skull and she winced. The walls of the cubicle swam and melted, and then she wasn’t there any more, she was naked in the shower and hot water was streaming across her skin, clouds of steam rising from her pink flesh, the delicious scent of vanilla and coconut wafting in the air …
She raised her hands and watched the silvery spray dance across her fingers. She swayed, cracked her knee painfully against the edge of the toilet, and just like that, she was back in a dirty little cubicle that smelled of chemicals and waste.
The helmets did work. Most of the time.
She pulled it back on, tucked in her hair and opened the door. Moses stood a little way off, watching the horses toss their heads as they aimlessly circled the corral.
‘All right?’
His brown eyes searched hers and she gave a half-nod. One of the horses whinnied, and she remembered the pony she’d had when she was little, a chestnut filly that she rode bareback with her hands tangled in its mane because they couldn’t afford any tack.
‘You’re lucky,’ Moses said. ‘I always wanted a horse. I had a BMX, though. Called it Silver.’
She looked away. That was why he’d been able to speak for Griff. He’d been given a talent, a little bit of a boost, like Jahmin but far more dangerous. And then she wondered – how was she going to warn Rocky?
