Drake squinted up at the big screen. “Styx women? You’re sure about this?”
Elliott’s voice was uncharacteristically flat as she replied, “Yes. I had a clear view of her insect limbs.”
Will spotted more activity in one of his scenes. “Me, too.”
Drake shook his head. “This isn’t good. Keep your eyes peeled — we need to know what else went on before we pitched up.”
“Mum? Tell me what’s the matter. Are you upset because Dad was injured?”
Chester laid a hand on his mother’s shoulder, but she shuffled sideways along the work surface, to the next piece of buttered bread. She began to spread even more butter on it. “Isn’t that overdoing it a bit?” Chester said gently.
She remained silent.
“Because if you’re cross he got hurt, it wasn’t Drake’s fault — he did his best to keep us out of any danger.”
Chester craned his neck, trying to see her face. She certainly didn’t appear to be anxious.
“Why don’t you go and join Dad? Mrs. Burrows is putting a new bandage on him, and I’m sure he’d really like it if you were there,” he said softly to her.
“. . . made it back . . . made it back . . . made it back,” Mrs. Rawls mumbled, like a stuck record.
“What?” Chester couldn’t understand it.
He thought for a second. “They’ve forecast showers of chocolate frogs for tomorrow,” he declared confidently. “We should catch ourselves a few and eat them. What do you think of that? Chocolate frogs?”
Mrs. Rawls sounded normal enough as she replied — only Chester had heard the same phrase too many times before. “I’m just so glad you made it back safely,” she said.
Several of the monochrome views faded to black while others were filled with a seascape of wavy interference. “That’s where we came in,” Drake said. “The camera sensors are maxing out with the light from the explosions.”
Parry turned to him. “So we’re pretty sure the twins bugged out.” He shook his head as if appalled with himself. “No pun intended. And they extracted two of the Styx women.” He looked at Drake. “Their timing was very convenient. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Drake raised his eyebrows.
Parry went on. “The call on the cell could have been to warn them that we were about to enter stage left.”
“So there’s a mole in the Old Guard?” Will thought aloud. “Or one of Eddie’s Limiters is a traitor?”
“That’s not possible,” Eddie said.
As everyone had been talking, Chester had emerged from the kitchen and was standing beside Drake. “I need to speak to you,” he said, with a concerned expression.
“Hold on a minute, Chester,” Drake replied, rewinding to the moment when Will had seen the Rebecca twin enter the corridor, then freezing it. “You’re right — she’s definitely on a call. If the system clock on the security camera has been set at the right time, we’ll be able to tell roughly when the call took place. Danforth can try to trace the incoming number through the nearest transmitter.”
“Drake,” Chester said, his voice shaky with desperation.
“Where is the Prof, anyway?” Drake asked as he resumed his typing on the computer.
Chester slapped the screen of the laptop shut, almost catching Drake’s fingers. “Why won’t you listen? Something’s not right with my mum.”
“What do you mean?” Drake said, only now realizing how upset the boy was.
“She’s acting weird and just saying the same thing over and over again when I speak to . . .” Chester was gabbling, then trailed off as Drake and Elliott exchanged urgent glances. They both seized their weapons and began to move rapidly.
In an effort to catch a glimpse of Mrs. Rawls in the canteen, Will had edged toward the center of the Hub. But instead, he’d spotted something else rather incongruous.
“There’s Danforth,” he said, pointing into the entrance tunnel. All the section doors were open, and the small man was standing a distance down it.
At that moment, the Hub completely powered down, and they were all plunged into total darkness.
“Is it the Styx?” Mrs. Burrows said, sensing something was wrong. Will hadn’t seen her enter the Hub, and of course the darkness made no difference to her.
“No, we don’t know that. All of you stay where you are,” Parry ordered, trying to keep everyone calm.
“Where’s Emily off to?” Mrs. Burrows asked.
The emergency lighting blinked on. And, sure enough, in the pale yellow glow suffusing the passageway, Mrs. Rawls was striding purposefully toward the Professor.
“Mum!” Chester shouted after her.
She hadn’t reached Danforth when she came to an abrupt halt and wheeled around.
“What’s she wearing?” Chester asked in a choked voice as he saw his mother was dressed in some sort of bulky vest.
Elliott had her rifle trained down the passageway. “I might be able to wing him,” she whispered loudly enough for Drake to hear.
Drake gave the slightest shake of his head, then called out to Danforth. “What is this? What’s going on?” he asked.
“Plan B,” the Professor laughed. “I didn’t think you’d be on my tail so soon.” He was holding something in his hand. It wasn’t a weapon.
“What do you mean, your tail?” Drake demanded as he started toward him.
“Might I suggest that you keep well back?” the Professor threatened, brandishing the control in his hand. “I Darklit Mrs. Rawls when Sergeant Finch was having his nap. It may have been a little rushed and not as polished as I’d have ideally liked, but the task I’ve programmed into her is simple enough. She’s sporting enough explosive in her vest to bring the roof down if I tell her to detonate. And if anyone fires a shot at me, or even comes too close, she also knows what to do. It’s boom time.”
“DANFORTH!” Parry bellowed. “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?”
“Don’t raise your voice at me, Commander, old chap. I’ve overridden all the systems in the Complex, so please be civil to me. There isn’t anything you can do.” Danforth touched the control in his hand, and the section door between him and Mrs. Rawls began to close across the passageway. Mrs. Rawls didn’t move, standing as still as a statue. Danforth touched the device again, and the door immediately reversed direction, rolling back into the wall. Sergeant Finch was trying the buttons on the handlebars of his mobility scooter, but they no longer had any effect.
“Explain yourself, Danforth!” Parry yelled, his voice like thunder.
“You can’t win,” the Professor proclaimed. “The Styx are ushering in a new dawn. You know I finished translating the Book of Proliferation while you were down in London. It’s a blueprint for what comes next . . . after the human race. And what I found when I investigated Elliott — well — it opened my eyes. So it’s nothing personal, Parry . . . it’s evolution, and I want to be on the winning team.”
“So you’re jumping ship and joining the other side? Is that it?” Parry shouted. “Sounds pretty personal to me, you damn fool!”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Danforth replied. “I’ve had it with my own kind — they had the benefit of my life’s work, and all the thanks I got was an enforced retirement and house arrest in some Scottish backwater. It wasn’t right, but I don’t expect you to understand, Parry.”
“No, I bloody don’t,” the old man roared. “We all did what our country asked of us, and none of us expected medals in return.”
For the first time, Danforth lost his cool repose, his voice going up an octave as he rocked from foot to foot. “I didn’t expect flaming medals. I expected gratitude.” He took a breath, calming himself. “All I wanted was someone to say, ‘Good work, Professor Danforth — you made the world a better place with your ingenuity.’
But instead, I received a gag order in a buff envelope and a one-way ride in a police car to your moldy old estate, Parry.”
“So, like some whining brat, you’ve decided to betray us,” Parry said.
“It was a simple matter to trace the Rebeccas’ cell phone number. It was too late to salvage their operation in the factory, but I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. They didn’t. Once the new order is established, they want me to take over the development of their technology. It’s a job made in heaven!”
“You’re deluding yourself,” Eddie said. “They don’t need you.”
Danforth’s confidence wasn’t shaken by this. “Far from it. I’ve been guaranteed a place with the new kings of the castle.”
Eddie’s voice was its normal monotone, but Will could have sworn a vindictive note crept into it as he responded. “When you show up, they’ll simply execute you. You’re a Topsoiler.”
Danforth laughed drily. “On the contrary, I’m on the protected list, while the rest of you — including any turncoats like you, Eddie, old fellow — are most definitely the endangered species, along with the poor old pandas.”
“So you’ve told the Styx where to find us? Are they on the way here?” Drake demanded.
Danforth shook his head. “No. Call me sentimental, but I didn’t want your blood on my hands. They didn’t ask where you were — probably because the game’s moved on, and all of you will be dead within a matter of months, anyway.” He smiled to himself. “Don’t think that your antics at the factory have made one iota of difference. You can’t stop the inevitable, and the Phase is meant to be. It’s progress.”
He drew himself up to his full height, a conceited smile playing on his lips. “The Styx need me. My detailed examination of the Book of Proliferation showed them how they could have done things differently . . . done things better.”
“What are you talking about?” Drake said.
“Well, where else has conditions identical to the surface, with a supply of fresh human hosts and no interference from Neanderthal Topsoilers like you lot?”
There was a moment of silence, then the Professor rapped his forehead with his index finger. “You never think anything through, do you? On my advice, the Rebeccas are relocating the Phase to where it should have been staged in the first place — down in Colonel Bismarck’s inner world. Did not one of you dimwits anticipate that? The conditions down there couldn’t be more ideal.”
Danforth consulted his watch. “Anyway, it’s high time I went to meet my new chums.” Taking a step back, he waved the control in the air. “None of you is going to follow me because I’m going to lock this place down long enough to get clear. And my able assistant here, the delectable Emily Rawls, is my insurance that you won’t try to force your way out.”
In the darkness at the very edge of the Hub, Will became aware of a dim, slowly moving presence. He was about to alert Drake when Mr. Rawls broke from the shadows, stepping into the soft yellow light of the passageway. He’d clearly come straight from having his dressing seen to: His shirt was still unbuttoned.
“Emily! It’s me, my love. It’s Jeff.” Increasing his pace, Mr. Rawls extended his arms toward his wife.
“No, Dad!” Chester shouted.
“I’m warning you! Call that moron off!” Danforth said, retreating farther down the passageway.
But Mr. Rawls didn’t stop. “Emily — it’s me . . . Jeff. Don’t listen to that man,” he pleaded with his wife.
“Jeff, get back! That’s an order!” Drake shouted.
“This isn’t good,” Parry whispered.
Will saw Danforth operate his control. He was shaking his head as the section door slid across the passageway in front of him.
Mr. Rawls was still striding toward his wife, but he’d slowed to a crawl as he talked gently to her, his voice calm, soothing.
As he reached her, Mrs. Rawls swung around to face him.
Her expression was vacant.
“Mum! Dad!” Chester cried in desperation and began to sprint toward them.
“Take cover!” Parry yelled. He seized the handles of Sergeant Finch’s mobility scooter and rammed it toward the elevator area.
There was a searing flash of light and the bone-shaking roar of an explosion.
Will was thrown into the air, slamming against one of the desks and losing consciousness.
Then there was just darkness and dust in the Hub.
And the rumble of tons of earth and rock on the move, as the mountain reclaimed the entrance tunnel as its own.
The only way in or out of the Complex was sealed.
WILL CAME TO ON THE floor. He was laid out on several blankets and covered in a fine dust, which he was forced to wipe from his eyes before he could open them properly, though this didn’t do much to help because there was scant light in the room. On a nearby table, someone had connected a bulb in a portable holder to what looked like a car battery, and it was flickering only very dimly.
As Will sat up, his head throbbing viciously, he was seized by a coughing fit. Once it had passed, he became aware of low, somber voices. One of them was Elliott’s.
“You should lie down for a while,” Colonel Bismarck advised, coming into Will’s field of vision. The New Germanian had a bag slung over his shoulder with a large red cross on it.
“How did I get here?” Will asked, still in a state of confusion.
“You’re in one the briefing rooms. You had a bad knock,” the Colonel said, indicating Will’s forehead. “I stopped the bleeding and bound it, but you need to rest.”
Will felt the bandage as he tried to remember what had happened. “The explosion,” he mumbled, and it began to come back to him.
Despite Colonel Bismarck’s protestations, Will had made up his mind that he was going to get to his feet. In the penumbra cast by the feeble light of the bulb, he saw Chester and Elliott sitting in chairs at the other end of the room.
“Hey!” Will exclaimed, overjoyed that his friends were safe.
Then a memory — the split second before the explosion — dropped into place like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle. He remembered Chester’s parents in the entrance tunnel. They were together. Mr. Rawls was holding his wife, but the memory didn’t lead anywhere, dissolving into a spiral of fire and darkness and nothing.
As if a powerful gust of wind had propelled him forward, Will sought the edge of the table for support. “Hey,” he repeated, only this time it was more like a gasp.
“Hello, Will,” Chester replied, his voice expressionless. “How are you feeling?”
“Head hurts . . . bit dizzy. And my ears are ringing,” Will answered.
“Mine, too,” Chester said. “I’ve got a burn on my arm, but it’s not too bad. I was lucky.”
Will moved down the side of the table, meeting Elliott’s eyes as she looked up. He could see that she’d been crying, her tears leaving tracks in the grime on her face.
Chester was sitting ramrod straight and gripping the arms of the chair as if he were on a roller-coaster ride.
Will cleared his throat. “Chester . . . I . . . I don’t know what to say. I’m . . . so . . .” He took another step, extending his hand toward his friend’s on the chair, although he didn’t touch him.
Chester had been staring straight ahead at the flickering bulb, but now he focused on Will’s hand. His jaw began to quiver as if he was about to give in to his grief. But then he pulled his head up, his face blank as he stared at the light again.
Will remained before him, his hand still outstretched, fingers slightly splayed. He knew only too well how he’d felt when his father had been gunned down in cold blood by the Rebecca twin, but in that split second the explosion in the entrance tunnel had claimed both Chester’s parents.
Will wanted to say something to fill the
silence. “Is everyone else OK?” he asked, regretting his choice of words immediately upon uttering them. Is everyone else OK? Why am I bothering my friend with this right now?
“Yes, I think so,” Chester replied in monotone. He glanced fleetingly at Elliott, who nodded in confirmation, then moved his gaze back to the light. “Sergeant Finch lost some of his cats, though. That was sad.”
If Will could have felt any worse, this response did it. His friend was expressing sympathy for the cats when he’d suffered the worst loss imaginable. Chester had always been close to his parents, particularly after the untimely death of his sister. And Mr. and Mrs. Rawls had doted on their sole surviving child, only to have him snatched away from them when Will had taken him down to the Colony.
And through no fault of Chester’s, his parents had been sucked into the whole nightmare with the Styx, and now they’d paid the ultimate price for their unwitting involvement. Will felt such a crushing weight of responsibility that he wanted to throw himself at Chester’s feet. He wanted to beg his friend for forgiveness.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he reached again for Chester’s hand, this time actually making contact. Chester didn’t move as Will’s fingers brushed his fist, tightly clenched on the arm of the chair.
It was an awkward act, and Will didn’t know where to go from there. He wasn’t Elliott — he couldn’t hug his friend. Mumbling, “I’m so sorry,” he took his hand away and stumbled from the room. He had to get out, had to escape.
In the pitch black of the passage, he came to a stop. “Oh God . . . why did this have to happen?” he croaked, his throat constricting with regret and self-reproach. “Why did they have to die? Why them and not me?”
He edged backward until he found the wall — the wall beyond which his poor friend was trying to deal with his loss.
What twisted Will into knots was that, however much he wished for it, he couldn’t make things right again for Chester. He couldn’t bring his friend’s parents back. It felt precisely to Will as if he was in the throes of one of the fevered nightmares he’d suffered in early childhood, when he’d wake up with the unshakable feeling that he’d done something monumentally wrong. Although he’d never known what his crimes had been, the guilt was as powerful as any knife twisting in his guts.
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