I reach the wall where we fell into the garden the previous day. Past the wall I see only a jungle of new plants, with unknown shadows shifting here and there inside. For some reason I feel safe, even though this new place exudes a deadly malevolence. This is how things will be, not how they are. But really, what does that change? It's only a matter of time.
I climb onto the wall and step forward.
I land beside the Range Rover. It's a wreck, rusted and holed, as though it has been here forever.
The view before me changes instantly, back to something I can almost recognise. It's not normal by any means, but the road is still vaguely visible, and I can see stone walls dividing fields, hedgerows planted by hopeful farmers, gates and fences that are already smothered with rampant growth.
And ahead of me, a few dozen footsteps away, the things that had run at us from the hillside, shooting and killing Danny the Irishman in the process. They have taken root. They were once people, perhaps, but now their arms and legs have stretched, thickening into gnarled branches and fresh shoots. They scream when they see me. I scream back, shock and terror pushing me back against the stone.
The first of them reaches with impossibly long arms, clacking twigs together and rumbling in its chest. A chuckle? Hunger? I cannot stay to find out.
I lift myself up and roll back, tumbling to the ground behind the wall once more. For an instant I hear the gruff chuckling continue, but then it fades and is replaced once again by the sounds and smells of what will be.
My heart is racing, and I think I'm going to be sick. But there is a spread of bluebells around me—flowers I know and love—and suddenly I realise that this bluebell spring will not be my last.
"We're both staying," Cordell says. Jessica is beside him on the bench. Her face is red and puffy, her eyes distant, but she still gives me a small nod. That means a lot.
I sit opposite, glancing back at the wall.
"What did you see?" Cordell asks.
"Things changing. Has Michael spoken to you?"
"Yes, both of us."
I nod. "Good. Good."
Cordell drains his pint. "So what now?"
I smile, pick up his glass and stand. "What's yours?"