Exodus Code by John Barrowman, Carole E. Barrowman Page A

phone.
    The rock in Gwen’s gut shifted, pressing down on her chest. Her lips felt cracked and dry. Licking them, Gwen tasted peaches. She hated peaches.
    Soft and slithery in her mouth. Rhys loved peaches. Gwen hated Rhys.
    She slammed the computer closed, hid it underneath the compartment in the floor again, brought down the antennae, and crawled from the SUV. Pul ing the camouflage tarp back over it, Gwen slammed the garage door and sprinted down the street.
23
    THE ONLY PERSON making any noise at Gwen and Rhys’s breakfast table the next morning was Anwen, who was enjoying the chance to practice her latest farmyard noises. Her squeals of delight were bouncing off the wal s as wel as the stiff cold shoulders of her parents.
    ‘I don’t know what’s got into you, Gwen,’ said Rhys, spooning oatmeal into Anwen’s mouth whenever she paused long enough from her babbling to take a breath. ‘It’s not like you to leave Anwen alone.’
    He handed the spoon to Anwen, reminding her how to hold it, laughing as she plunged it into the oatmeal, scooping an upside-down spoonful to her mouth, leaving most of it on her bib.
    ‘I’m sorry, Rhys. I’m real y sorry,’ said Gwen, buttering a slice of toast. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. ‘I just had to get out. I’ve been feeling so cooped up here lately.’ She paused and offered the buttered toast to Rhys, who arched his eyebrows but accepted it. ‘Friends?’
    He tore the toast in half, handing the other half back to her. ‘Friends. But don’t ever bloody wel do that again.’
    ‘For what it’s worth,’ Gwen said, ‘I had the monitor with me and I could hear her the whole time. If anything had happened, I would have been back here in a flash.’
    ‘Al gone!’ exclaimed Anwen with her hands in the air.
    ‘That’s not the point,’ said Rhys, taking the tray off the high chair and lifting Anwen out. ‘You heard me come into the house, but I could’ve been anyone.
    Could’ve taken her before you even knew she was gone.’
    ‘I know. I know. You’re right,’ Gwen said, taking Anwen from Rhys’s arms and setting her on the floor next to a pile of colourful plastic blocks. She refil ed her mug from the coffee pot.
    Rhys was right. Of course, he was right. But did he have to keep reminding her? She had said she was sorry. Many times. She had apologised last night when she had come rushing inside, her head thumping. She’d lied about where she’d been, blurting that she’d taken a walk to clear a headache, and this morning she had apologised at least ten more times before they’d even come downstairs for breakfast.
    How many times did it take for him to get it into his thick skul ? Real y. How many?
    Gwen noticed her hands were shaking. Too much caffeine. She emptied her coffee mug and put it in the sink. The clang sounded loud, like the noise her dad’s welding gun made when he was in his workshop. Her dad. She missed him so much. He’d never had a chance to spend much time with his only granddaughter.
    Anwen had waddled her way across the floor to the pots and pans cupboard and was in the process of emptying it.
    ‘From now on, if you feel like getting away again, you need to tel me,’ said Rhys, handing Anwen a wooden spoon from the drawer next to the cooker.
    Anwen banged the spoon against the pots, squealing with delight at the racket.
    ‘God knows I would’ve stayed home if you’d told me,’ added Rhys, shouting above Anwen’s squeals and the radio news. ‘And if you need a break during the day from being home with Anwen, just say so. You know your mum wil help when she gets back, and mine would be round here in a flash.’
    Gwen whirled round. ‘Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Rhys Wil iams! You’d like it if my mum or your mum had to take over because I’m doing such a bad job as far as you’re al concerned.’
    ‘No!’ said Rhys, pushing away from the table. ‘That’s not what I meant at al .
    ’
    ‘Oh, isn’t it? And