These Hills Called Home | ONC 2024

[12] In Too Deep

    The morning vanished into a blur of bleak skies and black winds. Preparing the pub for opening was dull work, yet a newfound dread had crept into Gemma's heart the longer she had worked in unshakeable silence. Without Iris' litany of unimpressed scoffs, every weeping bow and lamenting crack from the floorboards had echoed relentlessly around the pillars of Gemma's mind. Hopping onto the ATV to ride away from the pub's suffocating walls had come as a greater blessing than ever.

    Fingers tensed around Gemma's waist as the quadbike bounced over bumps and potholes, and a hot breath circled over the curves of her cheek. Even through the dust storm, fraught nerves and dark fear kept a solid hold on the lines of Avery's face. "Stick with me, Vee," she said, removing one hand from Nathan's waist to rub reassuring rings into her friend's wrist. "I've got you."

    "I'm cool. I'm chill. I'm so chill," Avery said, opening her long-shut eyes and forcing her fear aside to grin at her friend. Another bump struck the ATV's undercarriage, and a sudden cry split her façade apart. Tightening her hold, she clung to Gemma's back until the worst of her shock waned away, leaving crimson embarrassment to bloom in its place. "Thanks."

    A small hill sent another, softer shiver through the vehicle, and the pictured farmhouse awaited them on the far side. As shown in the photos, tall grasses and budding wildflowers engulfed all sides of the building, bunches of moss crawling up the surrounding fence posts like wicked ivy. Sturdy elms unfurled their sprawling branches in the muted daylight, and countless ribbed, rounded leaves showered over the house's thatched roof and stone chimney. Beside the murky brook that coursed past the house's crumbling bank, a skinny, scratchy track carved a rough path to the rest of the farm lanes.

    The quadbike shunted to a halt at the farmhouse's outer gate. "Welcome to Brookbank Grange," Nathan said, whipping his helmet off and shaking his hair out of his face. He watched the two girls lean on each other's shoulders as they staggered to their feet, and a pent-up sigh fired from his nostrils. "Sorry about the rough ride. My head's kind of a mess. If something bad happened to Jake on my own family's land..."

    "Don't think like that, Nate," Gemma said through a stretch. A soft hint of drizzle crossed her forehead, and she wiped it from her skin before doing the same for the pair of droplets on Nathan's cheek. "We're going to figure this out, okay? Let's get inside and see what's what first."

    "Hopefully we see some cosy chairs too," Avery added, working the kinks out of her neck. "Hell, I'd even take stretching out on a crappy carpet. I think my bones are still jangling around."

    Nathan laughed, yet worry maintained its tight grip on his muscles. "I swiped the spare keys before I left," he said as he fished in his jacket's inner pocket for a set of ringed small silver keys. "You might want to get a light handy. The windows are boarded up, and I don't think this place has power right now."

    Clusters of knotted cobwebs dangled in the torchlight of Gemma's phone as Nathan jostled the door open. Adorned with cracked wood and threadbare velvet, armchairs and their accompanying stools filled the sitting room they entered, scattered by a storm long since past. Stone shards chipped from the brickwork to coat the side tables and mantelpiece with a thin, chalky dust.

    "Guess we're standing after all," Avery mumbled, examining the soot-like residue that marked the scarlet fabric of a nearby seat. She tapped the chair's toppled stool with her foot and whipped her light towards Nathan. "This place is a dump. Didn't you say they were fixing it up?"

    "Would you watch where you're pointing that?" Nathan cried, one hand slapped over his dazzled eyes. After his friend redirected her beam, he looked around, running a finger along a dusty shelf. "They were, or at least they said they were. I definitely remember convoys of work vehicles driving out here every day for weeks."