Terminal

by Roderick Gordon

  Elliott was nodding. ‘I suppose there’s nothing to lose – unless the Styx are able to trace the signal too.’

  ‘I think we should take that risk,’ Will said, not believing for a moment that there was one.

  An insistent pinging alarm had sounded across the floor. Like a shot Danforth was over at the screen where the indicator was flashing. Silencing the alarm, he’d just pushed the person manning the station to the side so he could see the screen properly when the Old Styx came striding into the room.

  ‘What was that?’ he demanded.

  ‘A VLF … a very low frequency signal,’ Danforth replied with a degree of surprise, as he watched the long waveform meander across the bottom of the grid on the display. ‘But according to the sensors it doesn’t have any sub-coding.’

  ‘Meaning?’ the Old Styx said.

  ‘It doesn’t carry any information. It’s merely a marker of some kind.’ He indicated the next screen along on the desk. ‘And it’s just come on in London.’

  ‘Any guesses who it might be?’ the Old Styx said. ‘Is it military in origin?’

  ‘I wouldn’t necessarily jump to that conclusion. It’s not a frequency they use – it’s so low it’s scraping along at the very bottom of the spectrum.’

  The truth was that Danforth knew full well what it was likely to be, because he’d developed the VLF technology that had been used on the various missions to the inner world, particularly the last one to seal it off. And Danforth couldn’t reveal to the Old Styx why he was so interested by this new development; it meant that someone had made it back from this last mission. It was the very first indication that there were any survivors.

  If Danforth had anticipated one of the beacons popping up on the surface like that, he would have limited the range of the detectors, or programmed in a black spot to hide it. He just wished that he hadn’t been so thorough when he’d super-charged the detection system for the Styx at this installation, but he’d wanted to prove his worth to them. ‘Are we going to do anything about it?’ he asked the Old Styx.

  ‘We know where it is – we can despatch some Armagi to the location to have a look, but it’s not a priority right now,’ the Old Styx said, clasping his long, pale fingers together in front of his chest. ‘Because I have some pleasing news for you.’

  Danforth waited for him to continue.

  ‘We’ve decided to proceed with the offensive on GCHQ. We’re going in later today. And I know you would like to come along too.’

  ‘That’s wonderful. Thank you,’ Danforth nodded, although it was one of the last places on Earth he wanted to be.

  Drake was leaning over the fence at the side of the field, propping himself up with his good arm as he was violently sick.

  Jiggs regarded him with concern; the nausea was clearly intensifying, just as he’d expected it to.

  ‘Our heavy friend back in the Norfolk village was right about providing us with old-fashioned transport,’ Drake croaked without looking up. ‘Talk about being thrown back into the Middle Ages.’

  ‘They do the job,’ Jiggs replied.

  Drake groaned. ‘Sure, but being jogged up and down on that bloody animal isn’t helping me one little bit.’

  ‘Don’t you listen. He doesn’t mean it, old chap,’ Jiggs whispered to Drake’s horse as he stroked its neck. Jiggs was holding its reins and those of his own mount as he waited for Drake to recover. ‘He thinks you’re really a wonderful horse. He’s just not himself at the moment,’ he added conspiratorially to the horse.

  ‘If you’re talking about me behind my back to that refugee from a glue factory, I’ll n—’ Drake said, but stopped as the cramp in his stomach made him want to double up.

  Jiggs shook his head sadly, wishing that he was able to do more for his friend. They’d been giving main roads and any built-up areas a wide berth, which wasn’t ideal because a hefty dose of anti-emetics from a chemist’s or a hospital would have improved Drake’s condition.

  Although Jiggs didn’t really need to consult it because of his exceptional sense of direction, he slid the map from his pocket and re-checked the cross-country route they were intending to take to Parry’s estate in Scotland. In normal circumstances they would have naturally gravitated towards London, as it would have been a good place to try to pick up on Parry’s whereabouts. But if things were as bad down south as the portly man and the villagers had made out, it wasn’t somewhere that Jiggs wanted to tangle with, not with Drake in his condition. So they’d decided that Parry’s estate was the next best place to head for; even if Parry wasn’t there, there was likely to be a satphone or two hidden away in the house.

  Jiggs was just putting the map away when he heard a faint clicking from close by. ‘Hello, what’s that?’ he asked, frowning. He listened intently, and when it came again a few seconds later he realised that it must be coming from the Bergen roped to the back of his horse.

  As Drake shuffled back he found Jiggs between the horses, his Bergen at his feet, staring at a tracker.

  ‘This just woke up,’ Jiggs said, holding it up so Drake could see the needle, which was showing tiny fluctuations at the lower end of the scale and giving off the occasional rash of clicks, like a drowsy cricket.

  ‘What’s the direction of the signal?’ Drake asked weakly. ‘It’s probably an echo from one of the subterranean beacons.’

  ‘That’s the surprising thing. I don’t think it is,’ Jiggs replied as, holding the tracker in front of him, he turned ninety degrees to the direction they’d just come. ‘In fact, it’s originating from the south.’

  ‘The south? Drake repeated.

  Jiggs moved the tracker in small increments until the signal was at its strongest and making a regular ticking sound, with the needle holding remarkably steady. ‘No question about the direction. And from the bearing, I’d put my money on London as the source.’

  ‘Well, what do you know?’ Drake said, visibly perking up. ‘But the only reason anyone would activate a beacon here on the surface is if they wanted to attract attention … ours, because who else is likely to have the technology to spot a VLF signal, or even be on the lookout for transmissions at that end of the scale?’

  ‘And none of the beacons were left on the surface, were they? They were all taken down to the inner world. So how did this one find its way back?’ Jiggs said, anticipating the second point Drake was about to make.

  ‘Eddie and I were able to locate and rescue Chester from Martha because of his beacon, but it’s not him this time. So it has to be someone from our team,’ Drake concluded. ‘Someone’s made it home again, even after the nukes went off.’

  ‘Will?’ Jiggs suggested.

  Drake shrugged. ‘Or Elliott or Sweeney – or, if our mission went completely pear-shaped, it could even be the Styx?’ he said, heaving himself up onto his horse. ‘There’s only one way to find out. We’re going to London.’

  ‘Do you really feel up to it?’ Jiggs asked. ‘It would be wiser to stick to the original plan and head for your father’s house.’

  ‘Not on your nelly,’ Drake replied. He reached forward to stroke the mane of his horse. ‘I just wish this thing came with better suspension.’

  ‘So tell me,’ Will whispered, ‘we’ve now jumped a total of four fences and gone through three back gardens, but where are we heading? Do you actually know?’

  Since they’d left David’s house, Elliott had been leading them uphill through his neighbours’ gardens to avoid using the road. Without any hesitation, she now raised her arm and pointed. ‘Yes, that way.’

  ‘Any particular reason you want to go that way? Because we’re not too safe out here, you know.’

  Elliott began to answer, but he gently placed a finger on her lips. ‘Don’t worry – you don’t need to answer me. Remember I’m only a lowly human, here to do your bidding.’

  ‘Oh, do shut up, Will,’ she said, as she ducked away from his hand, but she was smiling.

  She led the way, and he followed wi
thout question as they clambered over the next fence, landing silently on the other side.

  This house was massive, even compared to David’s, but Will noticed something as he studied it through his lens. ‘Old people’s’ home,’ he remarked, as he saw a single Zimmer frame on the terrace. It was in front of the conservatory that ran across the rear of the property, and in which many armchairs were facing the garden.

  ‘We had quite a few of these in Highfield for the oldies, but why’s that frame been left out there?’ Will wondered And as he examined the back of the building in more detail, he could see that there were several more of these walking frames on the terrace and the lawn, but they had been knocked over. And some of the large panes of glass in the conservatory had been shattered.

  ‘I wonder where they went? The old people?’ he muttered to himself, because Elliott was up ahead and out of earshot as they kept moving, repeating the process of climbing over the fences and crossing through garden after garden.

  They’d just landed in yet another when Will stopped all of a sudden. ‘Wow!’ he exhaled, adjusting the lens over his eye as the moon broke through the clouds to wash the scene with an ethereal light. ‘W–o–w,’ he said again, at the topiary animals dotted around the garden; a cockerel and an eagle faced each other, but it was impossible to see what the other creatures were supposed to be because the bushes hadn’t been trimmed for a while. As Will and Elliott walked between them, they were conscious of the dark windows of the house; it felt like they were being watched.

  Will began to take an interest in the house. ‘The garden’s pretty cool, but get a load of that,’ he exhaled. The roof rose to an acute point, with ornate eaves carved in a dark wood. And the windows were all very narrow and stylised.

  ‘It’s just a house,’ Elliott replied.

  ‘Yeah, but it’s like something from a story. Dad would have given anything to live somewhere like this,’ Will said. ‘A fine example of Gothic architecture,’ he added, sounding a lot like Dr Burrows.

  As with all the other houses, it appeared to be unoccupied, but it was impossible to tell for certain. Elliott turned towards the building and looked at it carefully before striding towards it. Will hurried to catch up, taking hold of her arm.

  ‘Um, I don’t mean that we should go inside,’ he said, ‘if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  Elliott indicated the house with a sweep of her hand. ‘Why not? We heard what David said, but don’t you think we should find out what’s been happening for ourselves? After all we’ve got a long way to go yet, and we need to know what we’re likely to come up against.’

  ‘Have we? Do we?’ Will tried to say as Elliott suddenly put on a turn of speed towards the house. With a grunt of exasperation, he sprinted after her.

  They found the front door wide open. For a moment Elliott seemed to hesitate as she stared up at the first floor, and Will thought she’d had a change of heart. But then she clicked the safety off her rifle and made her way inside.

  They entered together, their weapons at the ready. There was no entrance hall as such, but a large room that seemed to extend across most of the ground floor. Will saw a magnificent grand piano with many shelves of books behind it, then his gaze came to rest on the far wall.

  ‘Looky here,’ he said. Glass-fronted cabinets stretched the length of the wall. For the moment, Will forgot where he was, unable to resist a closer examination of the archaeological artefacts they housed. Fragments of glazed pots, tools and jewellery were all on display. ‘Roman,’ he said, peering at the first cabinet, before heading to the second. ‘Greek, I think … yeah … and these vases might be Etruscan. Amazing,’ he muttered over and over.

  ‘Yes, amazing,’ Elliott said, although with little enthusiasm. It was clear that someone passionate about history had lived here, but this was hardly the time to dwell on it.

  Particularly so because while Will walked from cabinet to cabinet, eagerly taking in the different items, Elliott had found something disquieting. She hadn’t noticed before but several articles of furniture had been knocked over further inside the room, and her finely honed sense of danger went into overdrive when she spotted a dark trail on the polished wooden flooring. Examining it more closely she found that the trail was streaks of dirt and possibly blood, which traced a route from the front door to the staircase.

  ‘I’m going up to check upstairs,’ she informed Will, pointing to the floor above.

  ‘Be with you in a minute,’ he said.

  She climbed the stairs, on the way up finding a discarded shoe and a set of false teeth. At the top of the stairs there was a wide landing that led to an equally wide corridor. Moonlight flooded in through large picture windows at each end, allowing her to see where the dark trail went.

  She stuck her head into each room as she moved down the corridor, finding they were empty and the beds all made. But then, halfway along the corridor, the dark trail continued up a small flight of carved wooden stairs to the next floor, which she assumed to be the attic. Pointing her rifle ahead of her, she began up the stairs.

  However, as she reached the top, her foot caught against something and she toppled forwards. As she tried to stop herself falling, her finger twitched against the trigger, and her rifle fired.

  The shot resounded deafeningly around the large room.

  ‘Shit!’ she exclaimed, quickly picking herself up.

  It was cold. The skylights in the steeply slanted roof either side of her were mainly broken, so the attic was exposed to the elements.

  Which explained why she hadn’t smelt the many dead bodies in various states of mutilation.

  She’d been brought down by one of the cadavers stretched out at the top of the stairs, but they were everywhere.

  Some were half eaten, and some very much full of life as Styx grubs burrowed away inside them.

  ‘Sh—’ she said again, swallowing the word as she realised what she’d blundered into.

  This was obviously where the Armagi had brought the occupants of the houses for breeding. Some of these poor unfortunates had been impregnated, while others were there for food. And many of the victims had been elderly – she could see that from the wispy grey hair and aged features. That explained why the old people’s home had been empty.

  A terrible wailing sound came from just feet away. She wheeled towards the area of roof closest to her.

  One of the younger Armagi – a lizard-type creature some four feet from nose to tail – was clinging to it. Its head swivelled towards her.

  The head of a human child.

  Its nostrils flared as its forked tongue flicked towards her.

  It wailed again, then another lizard took up the cry, then another. The sound of her rifle had frightened them. She could see it in their shining eyes.

  They were everywhere, probably as many as twenty of them, but there was no way she was about to stop and count. And they were all clinging to the roof timbers, watching her through their slit pupils, their mouths wet with blood.

  In addition to the lizards, she glimpsed large objects tucked into the corners of the roof space They resembled the cocoons of moths or butterflies, but on a giant scale.

  She heard Will calling her name, but she held absolutely still.

  The lizard nearest to her was sniffing her, but it had stopped wailing. However, some of the others continued in a random pattern, much like chickens when they’ve been disturbed. And these young Armagi were still very clearly alarmed by her appearance.

  The closest lizard sniffed her once more. Elliott braced herself, wondering if it was about to use its rows of needle teeth on her.

  Then the most remarkable thing happened. It appeared to simply lose interest, scurrying up to the apex of the roof with a tac-tac noise as its clawed feet dug into the surface.

  Elliott remained stock still, not even allowing herself to breathe.

  Will’s panicked voice came again from the floor below. Elliott heard a door slam – this seemed to agitate th
e lizards all over again, making them scuttle in every direction. Then another door slammed on the floor below. Will was looking for her. Of course he was – he’d heard the rifle shot.

  And at any moment he’d come up the stairs and into the attic.

  Elliott had to do something.

  She took a step backwards, then another, lifting her foot over the gored cadaver. Then she was on the wooden staircase. She spun around and threw herself down it, only to cannon straight into Will at the bottom.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ he cried. ‘Where have you … what happened?’

  ‘Just shut up,’ she said, pushing him backwards. She kept going until he was up against the corridor wall, where his shoulder knocked a painting to the ground.

  As it hit the wooden floor with a crash, Elliott pressed herself hard up against him, so that he was sandwiched between her body and the wall.

  ‘This isn’t really the time or the pl—’ he said, with a nervous chuckle.

  ‘Idiot,’ she snapped, hearing the commotion from the floor above. She was petrified that they might swarm down the wooden stairs. But more than this, she knew – with almost complete certainty – that the calls of the frightened lizards were summoning the adult Armagi. She knew this because the wails of the lizards had been piercing to her, something she found impossible to ignore, as if those young creatures had been her own children, her own babies, crying out for help.

  ‘I think I can save you,’ she said to Will. She was crying now, her breaths short.

  ‘You can what?’ he demanded.

  ‘The Armagi are coming. They’ll get you,’ she shot back.

  ‘Me? Well, let’s get out of here,’ he shouted.

  ‘You won’t be able to run from them,’ she gasped.

  ‘What about you? Why not you, too?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll be okay.’ She felt around Will’s waist. ‘Where’s your knife? Give it to me! Quick!’

  Will reached to the scabbard on his belt and pulled it out.