Raven's Gate by Anthony Horowitz

place?” He gestured at the building on the other side of the fence.
    “It’s a power station.”
    Matt studied the man more closely, noticing that he was carrying a shotgun, the two barrels broken over his arm.
    “You shouldn’t be here,” the man said.
    “I told you. I got lost. I was looking for…”
    “What were you looking for?”
    “I saw lights in the forest. Last night. I wondered what they were.”
    “Lights?”
    “And I heard something. Strange noises – a sort of humming. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on around here? You warned me to go away.”
    “Why didn’t you?”
    “I tried.” Matt left it at that. He was in no mood to explain what had happened to him on the moonlit roads. “What were you warning me about?” he demanded. “Why is everyone in Lesser Malling so weird? Who are you?”
    The man seemed to relax a little – but his eyes remained watchful. He rested a hand on the barrel of his gun. “My name is Burgess,” he said. “Tom Burgess. I’m a farmer. I own Glendale Farm, down the Greater Malling road.”
    “And what are you doing here? Are you guarding this place?”
    “No. I’m hunting. These woods are full of foxes. They come for my chickens in the night. I’m out to get a few of them.” He patted the gun.
    “I didn’t hear any shots.”
    “I didn’t see any foxes.”
    Matt looked back at the building. “You said this place was a power station,” he began. Suddenly the shape seemed more familiar. He had seen pictures at school. “Is it a nuclear power station?”
    Burgess nodded.
    “What the hell is it doing here?”
    “It’s nothing.” The farmer shrugged. “It was experimental. The government put it here a long time ago. It was before they started building the real things. They were looking into alternative sources of energy so they built Omega One, and when they’d finished all their experiments they shut it down again. It’s empty now. There’s nothing there. Nobody’s been anywhere near it for years.”
    “They were here last night,” Matt said. “I heard them. And I saw lights.”
    “Maybe you were imagining things.”
    “I don’t have that much imagination.” Matt was angry. “Why won’t you tell me the truth?” he went on. “You warned me I was in some sort of danger. You told me to run away. But I can’t run away unless I know what it is I’m running from. Why don’t you tell me what you know? We’re safe here. Nobody can overhear us.”
    The farmer was clearly struggling with himself. On the one hand, Matt could see that he wanted to talk. But strong though he was, and armed as well, he was still afraid. “How could you begin to understand?” he said at last. “How old are you?”
    “Fourteen.”
    “You shouldn’t be here. Listen to me. I only came to this place a year ago. I was left money. I always wanted to have my own place. If I’d known… If I’d even had the faintest idea…”
    “If you’d only known what?”
    “Mrs Deverill and the rest of them…”
    “What about them? What are they doing?”
    There was a rustle in the undergrowth, followed by an angry snarl. Matt turned and saw an animal appear, stepping out of a patch of fern a couple of metres away. It was a cat, its eyes ablaze, its mouth wide open to reveal its fangs. But it wasn’t just any cat. He recognized the yellow eyes, the mangy fur…
    He relaxed. “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s only the cat. It must have followed me here.”
    But the farmer’s face had turned white. All at once he had snapped the barrel of his gun shut and raised the whole thing to his shoulder. Before Matt could stop him, he pulled the trigger. There was an explosion. The cat had no chance. Tom Burgess had emptied both barrels, and lead pellets tore into its fur, spinning it in a horrible somersault over the grass, a ball of black that spat red.
    “What did you do that for?” Matt exclaimed. “It wasn’t a fox. It was just a farm cat.”
    “Just a cat?”