The Key to Finding Jack, Ewa Jozefkowicz [top e book reader TXT] 📗

it that way, it made me wonder whether Jack had felt lonely. The thought made the drumming start in my head, and I had to get up and walk around the room to try to make it stop.

When had he last been in touch with us? He’d FaceTimed Mum the previous week on Thursday, and he’d left Dad a voicemail on Monday. He’d sent me a text on Tuesday morning. Pickles wanted to see the message. I wished I hadn’t told him about it, but Dad threw me a look and I handed over my phone.

How you doing, Flick? it said, I’m heading to an awesome town called Arequipa. So many llamas here. Maybe I’ll bring you one back if they let me smuggle him (or her) on the plane x

Pickles raised his eyebrow and jotted something down. I tried to lean over to see what he was writing, but he angled his notebook away from me.

Did he post anything on social media that might have given a clue as to his whereabouts? Jack wasn’t a regular poster, and his WiFi access had been unreliable for some of his journey. His last post on Facebook asked for hostel recommendations in Cusco, and his last photo on Instagram showed Jack in Arequipa, sandwiched between two volcanoes in the background. He looked thin, tanned and very happy. I gave Pickles the details of his accounts.

What were Jack’s distinguishing characteristics? His blood, which wouldn’t clot – although this wasn’t something that anyone would know if they saw him. Mum told Pickles about his special medical kit which he carried at all times. It included his injections and a note from his doctor about what steps he, or those around him, must take if an accident occurred, causing Jack to lose blood quickly. Just saying that aloud made her panic even more.

Had he travelled alone before? No.

And so on. He was making us so nervous. I was desperate for him to leave. But when he finally did, things got even worse.

Dad tried to occupy himself by unloading the dishwasher, but his hands were shaking and he dropped one of Mum’s favourite mugs. It was only a cheesy one with a cartoon superwoman on it that Jack had given her for Mother’s Day a couple of years ago, but when the handle came off Mum burst into tears.

Dad went to hug her close. For a few moments, he held Mum as her shoulders trembled.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered and I didn’t think he was talking about the mug. ‘They’re doing everything they possibly can, Gina. You know they are. And as soon as the power is up, they’ll get on to the guys in Peru. He will be found.’

I took the glue from the kitchen drawer and busied myself with sticking the handle back on to the mug. The trick was to keep occupied.

The earthquake was constantly on the news. There was one photo that appeared over and over of a bridge in Lima. It looked as though a huge hand had grasped it in the middle, knuckles brushing the water, crumbling the middle section, squashing tiny cars with its shocking force and causing trucks to slide helplessly off the sides. It was horrific and yet strangely beautiful at the same time.

Even when the live coverage had stopped, there were hourly updates given by journalists in Peru and the UK. Usually the numbers rolled across the screen.

Number evacuated. Number injured. Number dead.

I started avoiding the living room so that I didn’t have to see or hear the news. Whenever I needed to get to the front door from upstairs, I hummed as loudly as I could to block out the reports.

The one thing I did do was look up earthquakes online.

An earthquake is a shaking of the surface of the earth, resulting in the sudden release of energy in its upper layers.

It didn’t tell me much. What I wanted to know was what Jack would have felt. How terrified would he have been? I read about the different earthquake magnitudes, ranging from almost unnoticeable to devastating, and learned that Jack’s earthquake was towards the higher end of the scale. A lot depended on how far you were from the epicentre. The further, the better. The epicentre in this case had been near the capital, Lima, where Jack was heading to from Arequipa. But how far had he managed to get?

I searched further, skimming through more and more websites. What did it feel like to be in the middle of an earthquake? Survivors of large city-destroying quakes described them as ‘huge bumps followed by a rolling and a shaking feeling’, which somehow seemed inadequate. I shut my eyes, but I still couldn’t imagine anything close. Then I found an article by a girl a little older than me, who’d said an earthquake felt as if a giant had picked up her house and given it a good shake, which was exactly my thought as I’d watched the bridge on TV. Words like ‘unexpected’, ‘terrifying’ and ‘aftershock’ jumped from the screen.

All this research made my head swim. I finally turned off the computer and rang Keira. Yesterday afternoon I’d sent her a message saying, My brother is missing. Even as I wrote it, it didn’t seem real. She’d wanted to come over after school, but I hadn’t felt like seeing anyone.

But now I needed to be with her. Plus, I wanted to tell her about the key and ask for her help in solving Jack’s riddle.

‘Oh Flick. It’s horrid. I’m really, really sorry this has happened,’ said Keira. This was why she was my best friend – unlike everyone else she didn’t try to reassure me. She sat next to me and hugged me tight.

‘S.F.? They’re somebody’s initials, right?’ she asked when I told her about my discovery. ‘But why would Jack leave this key in a box under his bed? Do you know what it’s for? Does it open something, like a safe?’

‘No, I