Cassie yells through the screen door. ‘Poppy! Mum!’ She pauses, listens. ‘Poppy!’
The still house doesn’t answer, its purple shadows abandoned. The wind spurts and splutters, buffets the azaleas and spins leaves and garden debris into a frenzy. Cassie starts in the kitchen and races from room to room, closing sticky windows, slamming and latching them against the galloping wind.
On the veranda again, she teeters on the edge of the top stair, the wind curling her hair into her eyes. Poppy and her mum should be back from the chicken sheds by now. A cold chill chatters under her skin and goose bumps form under her flesh. She rubs her arms. A shimmering flash of white light washes away the garden’s colour. Thunder pounds the hills. Cassie races down the stairs, pulling her hair out of her fa
