The Fearless Read Online Free PDF Page B

you
dare
shout at me, Solomon!’ Mrs Brightman snapped.
    Mum screamed, her head thrown back, tendons standing out in her neck.
    ‘Hold on, Clare!’ Mr Brightman shouted. ‘Ten more minutes!’
    He thrust the gun at Mrs Brightman again, hunching forwards over the steering wheel and trying to see where he was going in the light from the remaining headlamp. A bright full moon had risen overhead, but trees covered the road, and the moonlight only broke through in a few places.
    Then he exclaimed, ‘There!’ and yanked hard on the wheel. Through my tears, I saw a sign that said
Dockyard ½ mile. Permit holders only. Trespassers will be prosecuted
flash past.
    A high chain-link fence flanked the road we were on now. Mr Brightman stamped on the accelerator and we surged forward, the engine howling. Mum cried out again. ‘Nearly there!’ Mr Brightman said.
    Ahead, I saw lights. Mr Brightman put the brakes on so suddenly I was thrown forward and my seatbelt locked, biting into my neck. ‘This is it,’ he said, grabbing the gun back from Mrs Brightman. ‘All of you stay here. I’m going to find someone who can help us with your mum, Cass. When I get out, lock the doors behind me. Don’t unlock them till I come back.’
    When he’d gone, Mrs Brightman jabbed a button on the dashboard, and I heard the locks clunk. The only other sound was Mum’s rapid breathing. Peering through the windscreen, I saw other cars in front of us, parked all over the place, and beyond them, huge buildings and gigantic cranes silhouetted in the moonlight.
    Mr Brightman returned a few minutes later with another man carrying a powerful torch, a rifle strapped to his back. He tapped on the window, making us all jump. Mrs Brightman unlocked the doors again. ‘This is Ian Denning,’ Mr Brightman said, indicating the man with the rifle. He was about Dad’s age, and had a light-coloured moustache and sandy hair. ‘We’re going to get your mum to a boat, Cass. You and Sol stick with us, OK? Diane, I need you to get the bags out of the back.’
    ‘I can’t carry all those! They’re too heavy!’ Mrs Brightman said, sounding outraged.
    ‘So just take the essentials!’ Mr Brightman said. ‘For God’s
sake
, Diane!’
    Mrs Brightman muttered something and pushed her door open. As she stamped round to the back of the Range Rover I saw she was wearing a pencil skirt and little heels.
    It took her for ever to pick which bags to take, and watching her, I realized Mum and I had left everything at the house. All we had with us were the clothes we were wearing.
    ‘Diane, hurry up, for crying out loud.’ Mr Brightman marched to the back of the Range Rover and started pulling bags out himself. ‘These’ll do. Sol can carry his rucksack.’ Ignoring Mrs Brightman’s protests, he slammed the boot shut and hefted one of the bags onto his own back.
    ‘Ready?’ he asked me and Sol as he put an arm around Mum. We nodded. ‘OK, Clare, we need you to walk as fast as you can. Kids, stay close. You too, Diane.’
    Mrs Brightman scowled at him. Her hair was coming out of its clip and hanging in her face.
    We followed Mr Brightman and Ian Denning, who were helping Mum walk, through the haphazardly parked cars towards another set of gates, where people were standing in a messy, jostling queue. Some people were crying. Others had stunned expressions on their faces, as if they couldn’t believe this was happening. A girl my age with long hair even curlier than mine was lying on the ground screaming, despite her mother’s pleas to calm down.
    At the gate a man and a woman with rifles were trying to break up two men who were squaring up to each other with furious expressions on their faces. ‘Come on, then,’ one of them kept saying. ‘Come on!’
    ‘Coming through!’ Ian Denning shouted as we got nearer. ‘Let us past, please!’
    ‘What’s so special about them, then?’ one of the men called. He was fat and balding and dishevelled-looking. ‘Slip you