Fart and Toast by Stuart Caldwell

Author:Stuart Caldwell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stuart Caldwell
Published: 2019-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

They slept (separately) on the idea of snooping around Rocco’s house for a computer, then over breakfast agreed it was a good idea which shouldn’t be rushed. There was a lot more they still needed to understand about this island.

It seemed crucial that Bob kept-up the façade of being Shane Carlisle. That way they’d be free to explore with the legitimate inquisitiveness of any new resident.

So at around 8am they set out for the day, this time heading south, to the left side of the house. Ignoring the track down to Rocco’s, they continued through light undergrowth, eventually emerging at a strip of boulders which bordered the beach.

Kizzie had been keeping up with Bob’s moderate pace but was struggling with her leg a little now, so they rested for a while and rehydrated. The view from here gave them their widest perspective of the coastline yet, which Bob roughly sketched out.

To their right, the forest seemed to merge into the sea. Somewhere beyond the trees was Rocco’s house, perhaps a mile away as the crow flew. To their left, the south, the rocks gave way to sand and the seafront ran virtually straight for several hundred yards. After resting they returned to the shade of the forest and remained on its edge, occasionally deviating onto the sand.

Slowly their initial horizon began to open-out again as the beach swung sharp left, bringing a series of small coves into view - some rocky, others sandy. Next to the first inlet they rested under a large palm tree, a light breeze cooling them as it swooshed towards the sea.

‘It’s unusual, that,’ observed Bob. ‘This time of day you’d expect the wind to be coming off the sea. Nice though.’

The sea was calm and the wind carried the echoes of the forest gently over their heads. They sat silently and listened.

Kizzie heard it first.

It was one of those sounds you had to tune into, but once you’d heard it, you couldn’t unhear it. It was a periodic thud, that reminded her of when as a child she’d watched her Grandfather pound the earth with a large log, as he levelled an area of ground where he’d buried Bogart, her pet rabbit.

After a while Bob tuned-in too.

The thud wasn’t regular - perhaps once every half minute - but it didn’t seem like a natural sound of the forest. It wasn’t far away either, so they decided to trace it.

Little by little the thud became more audible. It ceased at one point but then resumed after five minutes, initially at a faster frequency. Then in the distance they heard a woman’s voice. They couldn’t make out what she was saying but it was coming from the direction of the thud.

Bob suddenly stopped.

‘Look …’ he whispered, pointing through an area where the woods were thinning out, ‘there’s an ‘ouse.’

Kizzie squinted through the trees and saw it too.

The epicentre of the thud was close now, so they crept forward and soon got a better view of a large bungalow, in a clearing much like their own.

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