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Uh, well there doesn’t seem to be anyone around. Could you maybe . . . well, yeah, could you call me back? Please.’
    The pounding is reaching deep into my brain and giving me a splitting headache.
    We head for the town square and Billie cranes her neck to study the sky. ‘There aren’t even any birds.’ It’s as empty as the streets below it. A few clouds, but no birds
or planes.
    ‘Do they evacuate birds?’ she asks.
    ‘They do now.’ It’s a bad joke – weak. But I’m trying not to freak out completely.
    ‘Let’s keep looking.’
    ‘We’ve been looking.’
    Billie looks me straight in the eye. ‘OK. Here’s what I think. There’s been a mass evacuation. There’s a war or something breaking out, and a missile is heading our way.
Only they forgot to tell us.’
    ‘Mum wouldn’t forget me. Your dad wouldn’t forget you either. Neither of them have called us.’
    ‘What about Kyle – has he texted back?’
    ‘No. Not yet.’
    ‘So text him again.’
    My fingers jab at the touchscreen. Where is every1?
    We wait, staring at my phone. Seconds turn into minutes, but no response comes.
    ‘Call him,’ Billie snaps.
    I do but a voice tells me that ‘
no connection is possible at this present time
’. I hang up and look at Billie and she’s as spooked as I am.
    ‘Why am I not enjoying this?’ she asks.
    ‘Why would you?’
    ‘Well, this is a dream right? Having a town all of your own. We can do anything, go shopping, choose the best clothes.’
    ‘That’s called looting,’ I say.
    We carry on towards the town square and Billie slips her hand into mine. It feels cold, like it’s lacking blood, but I hold on tightly as we emerge on to the cobbled square. It’s
usually packed with people. You can sit there all day and watch half the world pass by. But not today. A children’s roundabout, giant cups and saucers, sits idly in the middle. The sign reads
Five years and under
and I know we’re both wondering where all the five-years-and-unders have gone.
    ‘What about the church?’ Billie says suddenly. ‘People go to churches in times of panic.’
    There’s an ancient church that dominates the centre of town and if panicked, scared people are going to gather, that’s where they’re going to go.
    We run down the cobbled side road, charge past the war memorial decorated with the names of people who were also here once but aren’t now, then burst into the church grounds. I know even
before we open the great wooden door that it is empty. It just has that feeling.
    Billie’s eyes dart everywhere but the nearest thing to a human being is a large porcelain statue of Jesus, and even he has his head bowed and won’t acknowledge our presence.
    ‘Jesus,’ says Billie.
    On the way home I phone Mum again, this time not cool, but totally frantic.
    ‘Mum?
Where are you?
I’m scared. Mum! Mum, pick up! You there? Mum!’
    Billie and I aren’t talking. We are locked in our own dark thoughts as the fear spreads through us. No cars pass by – there’s no movement anywhere.
    We walk towards an empty bus, parked at a bus stop. Its door is wide open and for some reason it looks almost inviting. Before I know it, I’ve crossed the road to take a closer look.
    ‘Rev!’ Billie hurries to catch up with me. ‘Stay close.’
    I stop at the open door and I’m sure I can hear voices.
    ‘You hear that?’ I whisper to Billie.
    ‘Hear what?’
    ‘Voices . . .’
    Billie takes a moment. ‘Voices? Seriously?’
    I take a step forward, listen harder. The voices are there, I’m sure of it, but they’re too faint and I can’t quite make them out.
    ‘Rev, don’t get too close.’
    I hold up a hand to get Billie to be quiet and take another step towards the open door. There’s a strange heat emanating from inside. ‘You feel that?’ I ask her.
    Billie remains static – doesn’t come any closer.
    ‘Wait, it’s not voices. It’s
a
voice. There’s someone on the bus,’ I say. ‘They’re saying