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'I want to get home before it gets dark again, before it gets cold,' I said.

'I'm no safer at home than anywhere,' said Gillian.

'Come with me, then. We can look after each other.'

Gillian thought it over. When I worked out that the Cold Knights were most dangerous when the temperature was below freezing, she had started thinking I might be worth listening to. I was already walking towards the school gate.

'Martian,' said Gillian. 'Are you coming or staying?'

Captain Brent was inspecting the damage, clucking to himself about the side being let down.

'I can't leave him,' John said. 'He's my Dad.'

'Useless,' hissed Gillian, exasperated. 'Bring him along if you must. But be quick about making up your mind.'

I didn't think Captain Brent would come, and knew he would be a deadweight if he did (and with his gun, dangerous?). John spoke softly to his father, hauling him out of his muttering mood, then was firm, as if issuing orders. It got through.

'Military escort,' said the Captain. 'Jolly good idea.'

Gillian held out her hands in wonder.

'You're the leader,' John said to her. 'Let's go.'

'She knows the way,' said Gillian, meaning me.

'Where do you live again?' asked John.

'Totter's Lane.'

'I know it,' said John. 'By the junkyard.' 'That's exactly it,' I said.

'Good position,' said John. 'Defensible.'

'You live in a junkyard?' asked Gillian.

'Sort of.'

'And I thought our gaff was a tip,' said Gillian.

Later –

It's a short bus ride, just five stops, from the High Street to Coal Hill. I can leave the Box at half past eight in the morning, catch the bus at the stop outside the Pump and be at School in time to mill around and gossip for a few minutes before nine o'clock Assembly. Usually, I don't even bother to get the bus and walk, saving the pennies for chocolate. But the buses weren't running today.

The early morning sun disappeared. Grey cloud churned. A chill wind started blowing.

Before leaving School, Gillian thought to break into the Science Laboratory – kicking in locked doors was addictive –and 'requisitioned' a small thermometer.

As long as the mercury was above 32° Fahrenheit, the Cold Knights would be asleep. No matter how gloomy it might get, it rarely froze in England in the day-time.

John said the thermometer wouldn't be accurate.

'There's the wind-chill factor.'

'Okay, cleverclogs, how would you tell if it were freezing?'

'When it's snowing,' said John, looking up.

I felt cold specks on my face.

The school is away from the shops, in a quiet residential area, next to a park. Front gardens were thickly carpeted with snow, and dune-like drifts humped in the park. The miniature boating lake was frozen solid.

As we made our way down Coal Hill Road, a long sloping street of back-to-back houses, it was impossible not to notice things. Smashed windows and open doors. Prone lumps in the snow. Masterless dogs dragging their leads. A cat licking the face of a frozen woman slumped at a bus stop, her eyes open, her hands like claws. Overturned cars, snowdrifts piling against them.

The snowfall got heavier and we made slow progress.

Everywhere, there were snowmen. Some child-made Frosties, like ours at School – with old hats, pipes, coal-lump buttons, carrot noses, brooms tucked under their arms. Others were dormant Cold Knights, having hauled themselves together and stood to attention. They were icier, more substantial, with great glassy slabs like armour. Some sprouted approximate faces. All had icicle beards. Many were streaked red.

'It's like an army of occupation,' said John.

It couldn't be much past ten o'clock – we should have been finishing R.E. and going off to Science. But the sun was gone. High up, white clouds were swirling, thickening, becoming grey.

Gillian kept shaking her thermometer.

The wind whipped my face like stinging nettles. It was against us. Loose snow from last night's fall whisked up into the air and flurried at our faces. My shoes were full of ice and my skirt and