The Power of Five Oblivion

long ginger hair that fell in untidy curls and a thin, very pale face. Her eyes and lips gave nothing away. It was impossible to guess her age. She was quite near to me but she gave the impression of being far away, melting into the darkness that surrounded her. The darkness suited her.
    Two men stood behind her, both wearing black police uniforms and helmets and visors that covered their faces. They were armed with machine guns.
    “We know that the boy is somewhere in the village,” she was saying. She wasn’t the woman I had heard on the phone. Her voice was extraordinarily clear, reaching everyone in the square as if it was being secretly amplified. “He is the only one we have any interest in. Tell us where he is and we’ll go away.”
    “I’ve got to tell them…” Jamie whispered to me.
    “No.” I gripped his arm. “You can’t.”
    Everyone knew the woman was lying. They had heard the shots in the forest. The village had been discovered, invaded and in that moment all its defences had gone.
    I saw somebody push their way through the crowd and Miss Keyland appeared. She was wearing a shawl against the chill of the night and, as usual, her yellow wellington boots. She wasn’t looking very pleased with herself. I think she was only just beginning to understand the consequences of what she had done.
    “My name is Anne Keyland,” she announced.
    “Yes?” The helicopter woman sounded uninterested.
    “I was the one who telephoned you.” This caused a ripple, a mutter of disgust that spread through the crowd. The people who were nearest to her shrank away and suddenly Miss Keyland was on her own, separated from the rest of the village, watched from every side. I saw Sir Ian shake his head in disbelief. But she went on anyway. “You promised a reward for the boy. There are a lot of things we need here. The crops are beginning to die out. We all know that. The water levels are lower every year. We have no more medicine if anyone gets sick, no oil for the generator. These are all things you can give us.” She had raised her voice and I guessed that she was speaking to us all now, trying to explain what she had done. “You promised me that no one would get hurt.”
    “I promised it if you co-operated.”
    “We are co-operating.”
    “Then where is the boy?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “If you don’t know, you’re no use to me.” The woman’s hand had disappeared into her pocket and drawn out a small gun. Without even hesitating, she shot Miss Keyland where she stood. There was a spray of blood, picked up by the lights. Miss Keyland crumpled in a little heap. Nobody moved.
    “So who is going to tell me where I can find Jamie Tyler?” the woman demanded.
    Once again I felt Jamie tense up beside me and knew that he couldn’t stand any more of this, that he was going to make himself known. But before he could move, I heard a voice call out and recognized Rita, although I couldn’t see her on the other side of the square, lost in the crowd. “Jamie’s not here,” she said. “He left before you came. He went through the wood, heading over to the east.” Rita had built a lie into her response. She knew full well that Jamie and I had headed north. She had no idea, of course, that we were both back in the village.
    “Is that true?” the woman asked.
    “Yes.”
    She shrugged. “Then I’ve been wasting my time.”
    She raised a hand, almost like flicking away a summer wasp. It was a signal for all hell to break loose.
    The two guards raised their machine guns and opened fire, the noise of the bullets deafening as it echoed off the buildings on every side. The circle of villagers, silent and resentful one moment, broke apart and suddenly everyone was screaming and stampeding into one another, forgetting everything in a desperate attempt to find a way out. At the same time, they found that the entire square was surrounded. The policemen from the forest had arrived even while the woman was talking and had taken up their positions, kettling us, with riot shields … and worse. They had flame-throwers, machine guns, huge batons and gas canisters. They stood there, waiting to pick their targets off one by one.
    As soon as the shooting began, Jamie and I took off, moving as fast as we could. I actually felt the breeze of bullets as they sprayed over my shoulders. One hit a man next to me – I think it was Mr Christopher, the baker – and he fell down with a little sob and didn’t get up.