Stolen by Lucy Christopher

shimmered on the sand behind you, making your body look like it was glowing … like it had a kind of aura.
    “I made damper,” you said. “Eat.”
    You pointed to some lumps of bread resting on the countertop. I took one. It was the same size as a bread roll, but funny-shaped. It was too hot to hold comfortably. I tried shoving it in my mouth instead, but it burned my lip. You got me a glass of water.
    “You ready?”
    I nodded, stepping out into the sunlight. The heat wasn’t so intense this time, but even so, sun rays began to tickle the back of my neck. I wobbled on the wooden crate, shielding my eyes and looking out. It was so big, that view. I’ll never remember it perfectly. How can anyone remember something that big? I don’t think people’s brains are designed for memories like that. They’re designed for things like phone numbers, or the color of someone’s hair. Not hugeness.
    You kicked the gravelly sand at the edge of the crate. It was a dark red color, like rust. It was as if it had been weathered from blood instead of rocks. It was nothing like the creamy sand of a beach. You took a few steps, running your finger through the dust that stuck to the side of the house, creating a wiggly line on the wood. I jumped off the crate and followed. You walked the couple of feet to the corner of the house, which, I noticed for the first time, rested on large concrete slabs. There was a dark and cool-looking space underneath it, just about wide enough to crawl into. You bent down onto your knees, and pushed a stick into the gap.
    “Still under there,” you muttered. “He’s just too far in to catch.”
    “Who is?”
    “Snake.”
    I leaped back from the building. “What kind of snake? Can it get into the house?”
    You shook your head. “Not likely.” You glanced up. “Just make sure you’ve got boots on if you’re walking out here, OK?”
    “Why? Is it dangerous?”
    You shut one eye against the sun as you studied me. “Nah,” you said. “You’ll be all right.” You stood up, your knees reddish brown. “Just wear boots, ‘K?”
    You leaned against the house, squinting as you looked down its length. I looked, too. The building was rough and untidy, like a large piece of driftwood. You jumped up, gripping the metal roof, and hauled yourself across the planks to look at a row of shiny panels.
    “Our electricity,” you said. “Our hot water, too.”
    I squinted.
    “Solar power,” you explained, then, when I still looked blank, added, “obviously we’re not on a grid.”
    “Why not?”
    You looked at me like I was some sort of idiot. “Out here the sun’s strong enough to power Pluto. Using anything else would be stupid. I haven’t had time to connect it all up properly yet, though.” You wiggled some wires that disappeared into the walls, checking everything was secure. “But, in time, I can put more lights in the house, if you want them, that sort of thing.”
    I could feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead. Even though it was only early, the sun was starting to force its way through my T-shirt, making my armpits tingle. You dropped down from the roof into the sand, your feet making a soft thump.
    “Want to see the herb garden?” you said.
    You walked across the sand toward the outbuildings. I followed, my eyes scanning the landscape for anything, anyone … any sign of movement. You went to a small fenced-in area next to the four-wheel drive. The ground inside had been dug over and turned.
    “This is it,” you said. “Only it’s not working too well.”
    I looked at your collection of shriveled-up stalks. It looked like the herb garden Mum had tried to grow once, in the terracotta planters on our patio. Mum had never been much of a gardener.
    “It’s not working at all,” I said.
    I knelt and stuck my hand through the fence. I touched the ground. It was hard as concrete. I’d taken over Mum’s herb garden eventually. I’d made it grow parsley and mint … well, until