Page 22 of Hunted By Fae

Either way, it’s just a signal block—right?

Satellites or cell towers or whatever it is, that’s the fault. It doesn’t mean anything bad has happened to my dad.

If I’m right about the blackout, about what that darkness really is, then I shouldn’t worry about dad. He’s smart. He would know, too. And he would have gotten himself to safety. He knows where to go, the only place to go.

Still, the thickness in my throat is swelling.

The pad of my thumb drifts to the second name.

‘Eamon.’

I hit the name.

The screen darkens to a single image: Tinkerbell.

It’s my idea of a joke. Not so funny now that the call doesn’t connect, and it fades back to the call log.

The tears bubble up inside.

Silent, that twist of my face warps completely and I drop to my knees.

The phone is tight in my grip. I bring my fisted hands to my head, doubled over, and in the secrecy of the sparse woods, where the other girls can’t see me, I fracture.

“Bee!” The faint hitch of Tesni’s voice disturbs me. “Come back!Now!”

Hands dropping to my lap, I lift my reddened eyes to the cluster of trees. The milky film of tears warps my sight.

I blink, hard, forcing out the remaining tears, then shove myself upright. My boots scuff uneasily on the foliage.

I take a moment to wipe at my cheeks before I start for the campsite.

It’s all packed up.

Even the rubbish, the empty cans and bottles, foil wrappers, all swept up from the hard grass.

My steps are soft as I advance on the group.

Louise and Ramona huddle at the nose of the camper, the window rolled down to release the frantic radio transmission onto the campgrounds.

Ruby hangs out that very window, in the driver’s seat already, geared to go.

It’s Tesni in the doorway that I head for.

A dumb expression is slack on her freckled face. She turns that look on me, blinks once, twice, then slides it back to the nose of the camper.

The transmission carries on.

‘…the interference of satellite connection is disrupting communications. All affected areas are cut off from all forms of communication, including cell service and internet…’

I run a hand down my face. “Yeah, I know,” I mutter, muffled, then drop my hand to rest on my hip. “I’ve been trying to call my dad.”

Tesni frowns on me for a beat before she shakes her head. Loose strands of peachy hair slip over her flushed cheeks.

“Not the radio…” Tesni lifts her arm, then points her finger, stiff. “That.”

I trace along her pale, smooth arm, her straightened finger and black-painted nail, chipped, then past the length of the campervan.

Ruby is still leaning out of the rolled-down window.