The Fearless by Emma Pass Page A

in the ceiling illuminate speckles of mould on the walls, and here and there more of those spindly trees have taken root in the carpet.
    ‘You can still get in there,’ Jori says, pointing at the auditorium steps. At the top are two doors with round windows, half hanging off their hinges. As I squeeze through them after my brother, I get a shiver of déjà vu. How many times did I do this when I was younger, with Sol or one of the others?
    Once we’re on the other side, I put a hand on Jori’s arm to stop him and hold out the lantern. ‘Are the steps still safe?’
    ‘Not the ones at the side,’ he says. ‘The ones in the middle are OK, though.’
    We descend them carefully, the boards creaking and cracking under our feet. At the back of the stage, there’s a vast screen. I remember how I used to wonder what would happen if we still had electricity and could’ve switched the projection equipment on. Would we see films from seven years ago – films of life as it used to be? Even now, the thought makes me shiver.
    Jori hauls himself up onto the stage and goes pelting across it. ‘Come back here!’ I say as I jump up after him. There used to be steps here too, but most of the treads have rotted away.
    He giggles.
    ‘I mean it,’ I say. ‘Stay where I can see you.’ Then, to my right, I hear a scuffling sound. ‘Jori! What did I just tell you?’
    ‘I’m not doing anything,’ my brother’s voice says at my left elbow, making me jump.
    ‘But I just heard you—’ I hold the lantern up, but all I can see is the screen. ‘Never mind.’ Maybe it was a rat. There are plenty on the island, despite the maintenance crew’s efforts to get rid of them.
Maybe I should make sure
, I think. I shine the lantern into the corners, trying to ignore the chill creeping up my spine. To my relief, there’s nothing there.
    I find Myo’s bag underneath a board at the back of the stage, just like he said. It’s a large, battered-looking leather satchel. I can’t resist peeping inside. He has all sorts of stuff in there: a knife –
hang on
, I think.
Didn’t Sol say Myo attacked him with his knife and that he got rid of it?
– a rolled-up jacket, some binoculars, the first battery operated torch I’ve seen in years, some foil pouches with
MRE
and
Meal, Ready to Eat
on the front, and . . . chocolate bars? I take one out and frown at it. It
is
a chocolate bar – a Cadbury’s Bournville, in a crackly red plastic wrapper. Where did he get it? I’ve never known the barterers to trade stuff like this. Not the ones who come down this way, anyhow.
    ‘What’s that?’ Jori says, and I realize he’s never seen chocolate before. We had it on the island when we first came here, but he was too little to eat it, and after six months or so, it was all gone.
    ‘Chocolate. Want to try some?’ I say. After we’ve come in here to get his bag back on this freezing cold night, running the risk of being caught by the Patrol, I reckon Myo can spare us one chocolate bar.
    ‘You mean like that stuff you used to buy with your allowance?’ he says. I’ve told him about the food we used to eat before the Invasion many times.
    I nod, and tear open the wrapper. The chocolate has a white bloom on the surface, and the texture’s weird – kind of brittle and powdery – but I still get a wave of nostalgia as I nibble on it. When Jori tries it, though, he makes a face and spits it out. ‘This is
horrible
. It tastes like dust.’
    He’s right. This stuff is definitely past its best. Regretfully, I chuck the half-eaten chocolate away and pick up Myo’s bag, slinging it across my chest.
    ‘Come on,’ I tell Jori. But he isn’t beside me any longer.
    ‘I heard something,’ he whispers, his voice carrying through the darkness to where I’m standing.
    ‘So did I. A rat or something. Nothing to worry about.’
    ‘No. It sounds like
breathing
.’
    We both go quiet. All I can hear is the thud of my heartbeat in my ears, and the