by Anna Day
‘You sure you want to do this?’ Danny whispers.
The sound of his voice makes me start, but I manage a numb nod of the head.
I watch Danny open the cupboard door, and it’s as if it’s happening in slow motion, because I already know what’s in there. Who’s in there.
The door swings open, releasing the full stench of rotting flesh into the air.
His throat is cut open and yellow around the edges, and judging from the state of him, Timothy’s been dead for quite some time. I scream. And then Danny’s pulling me into him, slamming the cupboard door closed with his foot. A strange buzzing noise starts in my ears and I suddenly feel very far away, a cloud of shock cushioning me from the horror. I realize I’m still holding my phone in my hands. I begin to fumble with the keypad, frantically tapping out 999. I haven’t even hit the call button when a nasal voice cuts through the buzz.
‘I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,’ it says.
I turn to see a man. Tall, beautiful and strangely ghostly. His skin looks stretched, like he’s had too much surgery. He leans against the door frame, and behind him, I see a small study. On the desk is a computer, the glow of the screen lighting up a chair.
His long, elegant fingers are wrapped around a gun, which he points first at Danny, and then me.
‘Alice,’ he says. ‘It’s about time we met.’
30
VIOLET
‘Is that . . . ?’ Nate begins.
‘President Stoneback,’ I finish for him.
‘I don’t understand,’ Nate says. ‘Why would a President keep his duplicate here – he must know they experiment on them.’
I circle the tube. ‘It isn’t the President’s duplicate. It’s the President. He’s in a coma,’ I garble. ‘He’s in a coma and he needed somewhere to hide his body so nobody would find it. Where better to hide an unconscious body than amongst a load of other unconscious bodies.’
‘Why’s he in a coma?’ Nate asks.
I spin to face him. How can I explain? How can I tell him that the President is in our world? That he’s crossed over just like I did, and left an unconscious body behind, just like me. I just shake my head and peer through the murky container. There’s a tiny loop on the inside of the President’s arm. ‘Look,’ I say, pointing for Nate’s benefit. ‘It’s the real President, not a dupe.’
A flash of realization hits me, followed by a surge of adrenalin and a sudden clarity of thought. I look into his perfect face and I say, ‘So you’re the crazy author.’
ALICE
The beautiful, stretched man walks backwards to the computer, always facing us, never lowering his weapon. I recognize him, but I can’t quite remember where from.
Danny squeezes my hand. ‘Do you know him?’ he hisses.
I nod. ‘I think I do.’
The man smiles. His teeth are so perfect they look fake. ‘Come now, Alice. I’ll be super offended if you don’t remember me. Although last time you saw me I was on a screen at the Gallows Dance.’
I gasp. ‘President Stoneback?’
He laughs. ‘I’m afraid so, my dear.’
Danny shakes his head. ‘President Stoneback from The Gallows Dance? You mean the actor? Alice, what’s going on?’
Stoneback glares at Danny. ‘He’s an annoyance. Can I shoot him, Alice?’
‘No,’ I scream. I try and shove Danny behind me, but he resists with ease. We end up kind of grappling, trying to shield each other from harm.
‘How sweet,’ Stoneback says, covering the ground between us in two easy strides. ‘A lovers’ tiff.’ He brings the butt of his pistol down on Danny’s head so quickly, I barely have time to scream.
‘Danny? Danny?’ I kneel beside him, checking his pulse. It’s there, but weak. I can see the red of his blood sticking his curls together and trickling down his forehead. I smudge it away with my thumb.
I look up at Stoneback, forgetting the gun in his hand. ‘You leave him alone, you nasty shit.’ I go for him, claws out, screaming. But the President is strong and fast, instantly showing me up as the Imp that I am. Within seconds, he has my arm wrenched painfully behind my back.
‘So you’re Fanboy?’ I say.
He laughs. ‘You are a beautiful ape, Alice, but you are an ape all the same. Did you really think your silly editor would destroy the Imps?’
‘He wanted to put the diss back into dystopia,’ I reply.
The President whispers into my ear. It sends a chill down my spine. ‘The Fandom is a delicate beast, Violet. It wants conflict, but it also wants hope. I was able to get inside Timothy’s head for a little while, but just like Sally King, he began to resist.’
‘You mean Timothy was Fanboy?’
‘Timothy started the Fandalism site under my influence, and it all seemed to go well. At first I thought the fanfic would pave the way for a third book. I got him to bribe that silly fansite, Daily Dystopia, to see if I couldn’t persuade you and Violet to write something truly awful for the Imps. But after a while, Timothy began to rebel – he knew the Fandom would not respond well to full-on Imp genocide. It was only when I got here I realized I didn’t need the third book. Fanfic was enough.’
‘So why come over now?’ I ask. ‘Why not the first time round?’
‘If you remember, we were stuck in a loop first time around – technology was limited by time. You build a machine as quickly as you can, only for it to disintegrate and reset as nothing. But you and Violet broke the loop, and suddenly we could progress. We could not only bring you to into our world, we could also cross into yours.’
‘So you came over when, exactly?’
‘You really are the lowest form of Homo sapiens, aren’t you, Imp?’ He laughs. ‘I came over when the tunnel opened, when Violet and Katie crossed over.’
‘At Comic-Con?’
‘Yes, at Comic-Con, and what better place to arrive – the best cosplay ever. I’m even in a couple of – what are they called? – selfies. For such a bunch of ugly monkeys, you like looking at yourselves, don’t you?’
My brain really is struggling to take this all in. ‘But Violet said Baba visited her in a dream. I thought Baba wanted them to cross over.’
‘She did. Oh, it has a wonderful circularity to it, wouldn’t you say?’
‘What has?’ I say, frustration rising in my voice.
‘The first time you crossed into our world, I brought you, and Baba piggybacked Violet in as well. She stole my idea of using you to write the sequel, but made sure you returned pro-Imp. Hats off to the precog, she had me fooled. Well, this time, I used her tunnel. She opened the tunnel to bring Violet and Katie across, and I linked in with my own technology, slipping into your universe undetected.’
‘But Baba would know you were going to do that, surely?’ I say.
‘Her precognitive abilities faded, Alice. Old age, perhaps a little help from Timothy, who knows. Her precognitions of Fanboy were hazy at best. By the time she’d figured it out, it was too late. I was over here. And suddenly, I could influence my world via the Fandom in a way I’d only dreamed of before. The first thing I did after killing your silly editor was kill Baba . . . with my keyboard, no less. Such power, Alice. You have such power and you have no idea; to create worlds and people, to manipulate them like puppets.’
Tears well in my eyes. ‘Nate is not a puppet, Willow is not a puppet, Violet –’ I’m shouting now – ‘IS NOT A PUPPET!’
The next thing he says breaks my heart.
‘Well, puppets or not, they did exactly as I hoped – they entered a world where I can wipe them out with the push of a button. All I had to do was get Timothy to start writing Nate bad, and plant a few thoughts in Violet’s parents’ minds about switching off his life support. You say you’re not puppets, yet you were as easy to manipulate as pawns. I thought you’d cross over too, but no matter, I can just kill you now instead. Stop you writing another sequel and ruining everything with your bloody peace and love.’
‘But they
could still stop the virus, or get hold of the serum – survive as Gems,’ I say.
‘Ah yes, the serum. Oscar had that wonderful idea when he met you, in the loop you infiltrated. So thank you. The power to turn Imps into Gems. It’s a hoax, you do realize that? The serum doesn’t work. But we had to offer some sort of protection to the few, shall we say special, Imps. After all, no Gem would agree to wipe out all the Imps, not when there are so many Imps posing as Gems, so many Gem children with dirty, half-Imp blood. And by the time they realize the serum’s a dud, it will be too late. The virus will be out there. It’s time for a deep cleanse, Alice.’
Tears stream down my face. The last hope, that my friends could somehow survive by taking the serum, is shattered. I wriggle, trying to free myself from the President’s grasp. A wave of pain shoots up my arm.
He must see my tears because he laughs. ‘Oh yes, good old ape emotions. I sent you those threats hoping to throw you off balance, trying to stop your clever little Fandom Rising stint.’
He marches me to the computer, and I have no choice but to obey.
‘Before I kill you, Alice, I want you to see how they will die.’ He forces me to look at the screen, at his latest post on Fandalism, his fingers curling painfully into my chin. Above the text sits a new graphic. A picture of a swallow, limp and dead, wrapped in Fanboy’s signature barbed wire.
It’s a symbol, a message.
Fandom Rising has failed.
Fanboy has won.
Nate stood beside Oscar.
‘Are you ready, Nate?’ Oscar asked.
‘Let’s do it,’ Nate replied.
Oscar pushed the button. Nothing happened. But Nate heard him whisper the words: ‘It is done.’
Nate imagined the viral canisters detonating all over the country. He imagined the viral particles spreading into the air and hanging like a mist, just waiting to be inhaled by unsuspecting Imps and Gems. And then, he imagined it being passed between the Imps like the deadliest of influenzas.
He ignored the burning guilt in his stomach and lifted the bottle of serum to his lips. It tasted sweet and bland and nothing like he expected. ‘This is sugar water,’ he said, fear catching in his throat.
Oscar nodded. ‘My apologies, Nate. It’s nothing personal, you understand.’
‘But Howard said—’
‘Howard has a message for you: once a rat, always a rat.’
‘Is he talking about me, or him?’ Nate said, sinking to his knees, overcome with grief, anger and guilt. He had helped destroy his people. The Imps. And now he would die too.
Nate looked at Oscar, tears blurring his vision. ‘Just kill me now. Please, I beg you.’
Oscar smiled – a perfect smile, in a perfect face, on a perfect body, filled with a perfect immune system that would protect him from an imperfect fate – and he said, ‘Now where would the fun be in that?’
The blog finishes.
Fanboy has destroyed the Imps.
‘Violet,’ I whisper. ‘Nate. I’m so sorry.’
The President pushes me to my knees and presses the muzzle of the gun into my temple. My first instinct is to sob, to beg, and for a second, I think I may wet myself. But I look at Danny lying on the floor, his eyes beginning to open, and I feel something strengthening inside me. I will not give the President the satisfaction of seeing me afraid. I hold Stoneback’s gaze with my own, and I force my lips to smile. Then I say, in a light voice, ‘You know, that last paragraph was really overwritten.’
VIOLET
‘What do we do? Nate says.
I remember the bullet wound on Nate’s sleeping body, the flatline when Katie died, the writing Alice carved on to my forearm. If we kill him in this universe, he will die in ours. I can kill the President and I can stop him writing all his poison. Then we can stop the virus launch. I can save all of the Imps, I can save Ash, and I can go home with Nate.
‘Violet?’ Nate says.
I smile. ‘We kill him.’ I pick up a nearby fire extinguisher and smash it into the tube again and again. I pour every ounce of rage, of injustice, of desperation from my body into that metal battering ram, stopping only when the glass begins to splinter. The liquid drains away and the tube lifts, allowing the President to flop out. We catch him as best we can and lie him on the floor; the liquid streams from his skin and forms a puddle around him.
‘We just kill him?’ Nate says. ‘In cold blood?’
I can’t tell him about the crazy author, he would never understand. But that’s OK, the President has numerous other crimes to focus on. ‘He’s trying to wipe out the Imps, Nate. He’s murdered countless people. This is the only way.’
Nate nods and reaches into his belt, pulling out a curved hunting knife. He looks up for a second.
I grip his hand, so that we both hold the weapon’s handle. ‘We do it together.’
There’s no time to debate the morality of murder. I think we both know what we are about to do is wrong. We hold the blade high above the President’s chest. Instinctively, without agreeing to do so, we aim for his black, black heart.
‘On the count of three,’ Nate says.
We count together. ‘One . . . two . . . three . . .’
It surprises me how easily we plunge that knife down, straight into his flesh.
ALICE
I close my eyes and brace myself for the click of the trigger, for the burst of sound and the nothingness which awaits me. But it never comes. Instead, I hear this low grunting sound. The pressure of the gun leaves my temple. I open my eyes. Stoneback is clutching his chest with both hands, blood spreading from beneath them as though he’s stabbed himself with an invisible knife. At first, I think he shot himself by mistake, but that’s impossible; the gun was still pressed to my temple only seconds ago and there was no blast. He looks down at his chest and then back to me. ‘She found me,’ he whispers.
‘Who?’ I shout. ‘Who found you?’
He forces out her name, spraying my face with blood. ‘Violet.’
The gun hits the ground only seconds before the President. A pool of blood creeps across the kitchen floor. I step out of the way. I’m wearing Jimmys after all.
‘Stoneback?’ I whisper, scared I may wake him. He doesn’t reply. I use the toe of my shoe to prod at his face. It lolls to one side, lifeless. He’s definitely dead. I’ve no idea how it happened, but somehow Violet has killed President Stoneback. She’s killed Fanboy.
Maybe she managed to stop the virus being launched too.
And maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance she can bring Nate home. My chest swells.
I glance at my watch. 11.30 a.m. Well, she doesn’t stand a chance if his life support is turned off in thirty minutes.
I’ve got to stop them.
I dash to the computer. The last post was published over twenty minutes ago – it already has hundreds of views. I could sit down and write an epilogue, something where the serum is real, try and help my friends via the Fandom. But I don’t have time. I have to focus on what I can do in this world. I have to trust that Violet is doing her bit in their world, and judging by the dead President sprawled on the floor before me, she’s doing something right.
I pause to put Danny into the recovery position. He groans and his eyes fix on me. ‘Al? Are you OK?’
‘Yeah, I’ve got to go do something really important, then we’re going to get you some proper help, OK?’
He smiles weakly. ‘Did you just save me?’
I can’t help but laugh. ‘I suppose I did.’ I wipe the President’s still warm blood from my face and lean over to kiss him on the lips. He tastes of apples and mint and home.
VIOLET
We just stare at the President, both of us taking shallow, quick breaths, our hands still clamped together and holding the knife. His blood pumps from around the blade and mixes with the fluid on the floor.
Loud crashing sounds from the room behind us, where Yan is performing his mind blend. The knife clatters to the ground and I run
back into the lab, desperate to help my friends, desperate to keep Ash safe.
The source of the crashing soon becomes clear: Willow and Ash attempt to hold the door shut, the one which leads to the corridor. The lock has already buckled, and with every thud, the door rears open a little further. I rush to help them, leaning my weight against it.
Yan is now tapping wildly away on the computer – Oscar is unconscious at his feet. ‘I’m nearly there. Just buy me a couple more minutes.’
The door bows; pain shoots up my arms into my chest.
‘The serum is fake,’ Yan explains as he waits for something to load. ‘Oscar’s mind was pretty well protected from telepathy, but I dug that out. It was a hoax, to convince Jeremy and the other Gems to go along with the virus.’ And then another screen loads up and he’s tapping again at the keyboard.
Nate grins. ‘Good job that the serum wasn’t the plan any more then.’
Gunfire erupts from behind the door. Ash and Willow pile on top of me, pressing me into the ground. The cold of the ground stings my cheek, my heart bangs wildly in my chest, and my muscles tighten with dread. We can’t die, not now, not when we’re so close to stopping the launch and going home.
The door flies open and four Taleters enter the room, heavily armed. They aim straight at Yan.
‘No,’ I scream.
Willow moves faster than I thought possible, his long legs carrying him into the path of the bullets. A series of red flowers bloom across his chest. My ears ring with the beat of gunfire and my heart fills with horror. Willow stumbles backwards, his face frozen with shock.
‘NO!’ A scream from outside the room. ‘NO. GOD, NO!’
Willow slumps to the ground. Silence. Jeremy Harper races into the room and collapses on to his son. The sound of Jeremy’s weeping combines with the sound of Willow’s laboured breath. Sorrow squeezes at my chest. Not Willow. He doesn’t deserve this.
Yan looks at me, his face drained. His voice sounds in my head. It’s done. The launch has failed. You have saved the Imps.