The Fallen

by Charlie Higson

  25

  Jibber-jabber couldn’t believe what Maeve had just done either. He’d not only been holding in the words that usually poured out of him, he also badly needed the toilet. He’d forgotten about it while Maeve had been digging around in Robbie’s leg. He’d been too transfixed by the operation, but now he was reminded, as a pain gripped his guts and he felt a dangerous rumbling and bubbling inside. If he didn’t do something about it soon there was going to be an accident. The only thing was, he was nervous of going down to the toilets. He never went by himself if he could help it. He was subtle about it. He didn’t want to be thought of as a wimp, even though – he had to admit – he was one. Usually he’d wait until a group of kids were going down and tag along with them. There was always a rush before lockdown, but he’d left it too late tonight.

  It was getting dark outside and they’d be turning in soon, locking the doors of the minerals gallery. He had to go now and be quick about it. And who was he going to go with? The bigger boys had left before he could ask one of them. Maeve was busy looking after Robbie. Samira had gone off to the labs.

  So that left Ella.

  Jibber-jabber wasn’t sure how much use Ella would be in a fight. She was smaller than him, and younger, and would probably be even more scared than he was. She was better than nothing, though. He asked her quietly if she’d go with him and she looked doubtful for a moment.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to come in and watch or anything, just stand guard outside the door.’

  ‘But what would I do if a grown-up attacked?’ she asked, and Jibber-jabber stopped himself from saying that that was exactly what he’d just been thinking.

  ‘They won’t attack, will they?’ he said, trying to sound casual. ‘There aren’t any in the museum.’

  ‘So what do you need me for?’

  ‘I just need someone to, you know, like, keep me company. Come on, Ella, I’d do it for you.’

  ‘All right then.’

  They told Maeve where they were going and left the sick-bay.

  ‘You won’t take ages, will you?’ Ella asked as they walked along the primates gallery that ran above the main hall down one side. ‘Some boys spend hours on the loo.’

  ‘Of course I’ll be quick,’ Jibber-jabber protested. ‘I don’t want to hang around down there any longer than I have to, do I? It’s dark and it’s smelly and you always think something’s going to be hiding in the shadows.’

  ‘You said there weren’t any grown-ups around.’

  ‘There isn’t anyone around,’ said Jibber-jabber. He’d been hoping they might bump into someone else on the way. It didn’t look like that was going to happen, though.

  As they passed the stuffed monkeys in their glass cases, Jibber-jabber almost felt they were laughing at him.

  ‘So what are you scared of then?’ asked Ella.

  ‘Well, just because you know there aren’t any sickos around, it doesn’t stop you from thinking about them, does it? I think of all sorts of scary things, dinosaur skeletons coming to life, although they’re not really skeletons, they’re fossils, made of rock, so they never were alive, but that doesn’t stop me thinking about them … Rats. I often think about rats, eating me while I’m asleep, I’ve seen six rats since we’ve been here, and apparently there were loads of them down in the lower level, then there’s …’

  ‘JJ!’ Ella interrupted him. ‘You’re not helping one bit. Will you shut up about scary things?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry.’

  They came to the stairs at the end of the hall and went down past the seated statue of Charles Darwin. In front of them now was the fossilized diplodocus, stretching half the length of the big open space. Darkness clung to the walls. There were only a couple of small candles burning. They were precious and the museum kids didn’t like to light them unless they absolutely had to. When it came to lockdown they’d be snuffed out. There was still some brightness showing at the tall, church-like windows at the front of the museum; it was slowly fading, though, the blue deepening.

  ‘We’d better hurry,’ said Jibber-jabber.

  ‘Like you have to tell me that.’

  Two thirteen-year-olds came out of the blue zone. They were chatting to each other and they laughed at something, the sound of it filling the hall. The thirteen-year-olds were the worst for teasing, so, while Jibber-jabber was comforted by their presence, he didn’t want to risk asking them to escort him like a toddler.

  He hurried over to the toilets at the back of the hall near the base of the stairs. Ella trotted beside him. She stopped when they came to the door of the gents.

  ‘I’m not coming in there with you,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll be in a cubicle.’

  ‘Yeah, but you’ll make noise and smells. I can’t even go if I think someone can hear me.’

  ‘All right,’ said Jibber-jabber. ‘But you won’t run away, will you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can I prop this outside door open so that I can, like, call out to you?’

  ‘I won’t go anywhere,’ Ella snapped. ‘I’m staying here until you come out. I don’t want you shouting out to me as you do a poo.’

  ‘I’ll just prop it a little way.’ There was a wooden wedge nearby and Jibber-jabber kicked it under the outer door so that it was held open just wide enough for him to slip inside.

  ‘Will you come in with me to check it’s all right?’ he asked when he was done.

  ‘If you want.’

  The two of them went in and Jibber-jabber quickly shone his torch around.

  ‘There’s nothing,’ said Ella, who seemed keen to get out as quickly as possible. Jibber-jabber walked over to the shelf by the sinks where there was always a tea light in a holder and some matches. You could light it when you were in there, but had to blow it out before you left.

  By the time he’d got the candle going Ella had gone. He shouted out.

  ‘Can you hear me, Ella?’

  He heard her voice coming back from outside, sounding small and distant.

  ‘Hurry up!’

  He picked up a bucket of flushing water and went to the cubicle in the middle. He closed the door, undid his trousers and sat down. You weren’t supposed to waste batteries and he knew he should turn his torch off. But he kept it in his hands, shining it at the gap under the door.

  It was very quiet in here with all the noises of the museum shut out. He realized that his knees were shaking, and he was too frightened to do what he had come in to do.

  ‘Come on,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Come on …’

  Even before the disease, in the old days when the world had been normal, he’d been scared of going to the toilet alone. At home, if he woke up at night when everyone else was asleep and he needed a wee, he’d lie there for hours holding it in before it got too bad and he’d have to leap out of bed and run to the loo. The toilets at school were the worst, though. His school, Rowhurst, had been built a long time ago, and the toilets in his House were like something out of a museum. A museum of toilets. He giggled. Wondered if there was such a thing. Probably in America. In America they had museums of everything.

  That was better. Have a laugh. Entertain himself.

  It didn’t last long. He couldn’t stop thinking about those Rowhurst toilets. They’d been noisy, with big pipes everywhere, clanking and hissing. It was like being inside some enormous engine or something. He’d hated going by himself. Always made sure there was someone else in there with him. He had even gone through a stage when he was frightened that something would come up out of the bowl. A rat, or a squid’s tentacle, maybe a giant spider, or someone’s hand …

  And they’d grab you and drag you under.

  As he thought of it, he suddenly felt a slap of panic. He hadn’t shone the torch into the bowl when he’d come in, had he? There could be anything in there.

  He half got up and awkwardly aimed the torch down past his naked backside, but in his fumbling, the torch caught in his shirt and drop
ped into the bowl.

  It hit the water with a splash and the light went out.

  He swore. Stuck his hand in the murky water – thank God he hadn’t done anything yet! – and lifted out the dripping torch. What was he going to tell Justin when he returned it like this? Or Ella? That he’d been frightened of toilet monsters? He dried it on some of the scraps of newspaper that hung from a hook and sat down again, miserable, in the darkness.

  He really couldn’t go now. His bowels had seized up, turned to cement.

  He swore again. This was taking too long.

  There was a long creaking sound. What was that?

  ‘Hello … Hello …?’

  26

  Samira had only just made it to the labs in time. Gordy, Einstein’s best friend and the second-best science student in the museum, had been about to lock up. Samira had explained what she needed and offered to lock up for him. Gordy had reluctantly given her the keys. He was obviously enjoying being in charge of the labs while Einstein was away, but he didn’t want to hang around any longer than he had to. Especially now that it was growing dark. Everyone was still pretty freaked out after the sicko invasion the other night. Samira had hoped he’d be more of a man and stay with her, but the thought never seemed to cross his mind. All he wanted was to get back to the main museum building where the others were.

  Samira had taken the keys and hurried into the labs as he trotted off. So now here she was searching through the drugs cabinets for needle, thread and antibiotics. The only problem was that the needle and thread weren’t where they were supposed to be and there were too many different antibiotics to choose from.

  To make matters worse, she really needed a pee. She was absolutely bursting. It had been a very busy afternoon and she hadn’t had time to use the outside loos in the gardens. She was tempted to use one of the toilets in the lab. She could find some water to flush it away with tomorrow. Samira had always obeyed the rules, however. It was just the way she was. And no one was supposed to use these loos. Besides, what if someone saw her wee in the bowl before she’d had a chance to get rid of it? That would be just too embarrassing.

  She swore out loud, safe in the knowledge that nobody else could hear her. Where the hell were the sewing things? Maybe she should just forget about the bloody needle and thread, grab a plaster and a selection of antibiotics and explain the situation to Maeve. She was no happier about the falling darkness than Gordy. There was more light in here than in the other buildings because there was so much glass in the walls and roof, but she was still having to use a torch to see what she was doing. Maeve would understand if she gave up the search. Samira could make it back to the toilets in the main hall in five minutes if she ran.

  She imagined she was already there … Bliss.

  She picked up three different bottles of antibiotics and stuffed them in her pocket. They’d just have to sew up Robbie’s leg in the morning. She closed the cabinet and headed for the doors – one step nearer the loos. She was just locking up when she remembered that Alexander and Cass had rearranged everything the other day. They’d announced that they were moving stuff like needles and thread to a different area. Samira pushed her hair back off her face and let her breath out in a long sigh.

  She could lie about it. Say she’d forgotten.

  Who would know the difference?

  No.

  She knew she couldn’t do it. She’d been brought up to be a good girl and always tell the truth. And, besides, it wasn’t fair on Robbie. She turned and hurried back into the lab.

  The toilet would have to wait.

  Paul was moving in towards his prey. Slowly, slowly, carefully, carefully. Stay in the shadows. Try not to make any sound. When he was close enough he would show himself and that would be it.

  End of.

  He had to do this quickly and cleanly, and then get the body away as fast as he could. That would be the hardest part. The killing would be simple. The kid wouldn’t put up much of a fight.

  He licked his lips. They were cracked and bleeding. He tasted his own blood. Sharp. Metallic. Alive. It zinged in his mouth and a wave of dizziness came over him. He closed his eyes for a moment, calming down, slowing his breathing. When he opened them again he cursed inwardly. Boney-M was there, lolloping across the floor.

  Not now, he wanted to say, they’ll see you.

  Boney-M turned and fixed one glinting black eye on Paul. Like a shark’s eye. Cold and uncaring. It looked right through him.

  ‘Do it!’ the bird thing screamed. ‘Do it now!’

  27

  Jibber-jabber had heard a noise. A shuffling sound. Something scraping along a wall.

  He was shaking all over, the toilet seat rattling under him. He was too scared to move, to pull up his trousers, to call for help.

  He didn’t want to give himself away.

  Where was Ella?

  If only somebody would come. If only somebody else needed the loo. Then they’d come in. Rescue him. He’d never been a fighter. Had always relied on running away. He closed his eyes and felt tears squeeze out from under his eyelids.

  This was a horrible way to die. Sitting on a stupid toilet. Horrible. Horrible.

  Ella thought she heard something. Someone. Moving about in the dark places of the hall. She called out very quietly.

  ‘Who is that …?’ but there was no reply. She wanted to look, but had promised Jibber-jabber not to move. She wanted to hide. All his talk had made her scared. She’d been fine before. There had been too much happening to think about bad things. She wished Sam was here. They’d kept each other going through the bad times. Looked after each other. She sent a sort of silent prayer out to him, wherever he was. To watch over her.

  She froze.

  There was definitely someone there.

  But where could she hide?

  If she moved they’d hear her. If she called out again …

  Who was it?

  Why were they creeping about like that?

  Jibber-jabber sat there, eyes clamped shut, knees knocking together, feeling cold and dumb and terrified. He was on the verge of throwing up. The shuffling noise was coming ever closer. They’d sussed him out. They knew he was in there. If only he’d locked the cubicle door. His heart was thumping so hard he was sure they could hear it.

  But there was hope, wasn’t there? Someone might still come. A bigger kid. Even one of the small kids. Anyone. It didn’t matter.

  There was hope, there was …

  The toilet door suddenly banged as it was pushed open and Jibber-jabber screamed.

  Samira had managed to make herself not think about going to the toilet by concentrating on what she was doing. Searching for the box of sewing things …

  And there it was! Neatly stored away in the new cabinet. A plastic tub labelled ‘needles and sewing stuff’. Alexander and Cass were mad keen on labelling things, organizing them. Why they couldn’t leave everything together in one place, she didn’t know. They didn’t know that much about medicine, weren’t particularly great at being doctors, and still had a lot to learn before they would even come close to her, or Maeve. Maeve was amazing.

  So maybe they organized stuff as a way of showing they had some kind of control. To try and convince everyone that they knew what they were doing.

  They didn’t fool her. They were administrators. Management. They’d never be as good as her.

  She picked up the box and elbowed the cabinet door shut.

  Turned to go.

  She made a sort of hiccoughing noise as she jumped in shock.

  There was someone there.

  She relaxed. It was a boy. He moved out of the shadows and she saw that it was Paul Channing.

  He looked sick, red-eyed, his skin dry and peeling.

  ‘Paul,’ she said. ‘What are you doing? I nearly wet myself. Don’t ever do that again!’ And then a thought struck her. ‘Where have you been anyway? We looked everywhere for you. We thought the sickos had got you.’

  He mov
ed closer still, and his hand came up as if he was going to stroke her face. Samira frowned, and at the last moment Paul jerked his arm up quickly and punched her in the throat.

  The stab was hard and deep. And then, with a sideways swipe, Paul’s knife tore through Samira’s windpipe and carotid artery. She choked and gurgled. Fell backwards, paralyzed by the shock. Her heart spasmed and froze and she crashed into a glass display case and then flopped to the floor.

  As her heart stopped beating there was surprisingly little blood.

  Paul leant over her, sniffed, checked she was dead.

  He hadn’t expected it to be quite this easy.

  He’d come in through the door that led from the roof terrace next to the laboratory café. He’d been intending to make his way to the exhibition hall, but had spotted Samira and changed his plan. It would be easy to drag her back out on to the roof and across to his den from here.

  Boney-M waddled and flopped over, poked at the unmoving body with his long, hard, pointy beak.

  ‘I didn’t know you had it in you. Thought you had pisswater running in your veins.’

  Paul kicked the bird aside.

  ‘Go away,’ he snarled. ‘This is my kill.’

  Boney-M called him a string of dirty names and Paul booted him into the corner. Laughed as the bird fell apart in a jumble of bones and leathery bits of skin and oily feathers.

  He’d show the bird who was boss. He’d show everyone.

  He leant down and picked Samira up.

  28

  ‘Ella? What the hell are you doing?’ Jibber-jabber was standing with his trousers round his ankles, shaking violently, anger and relief and embarrassment struggling to get the upper hand.

  Ella burst into tears. ‘I heard something,’ she said. ‘I wanted to hide. I didn’t know where you were. I came in here. I didn’t want to shout out in case it heard me.’

  ‘What? In case what heard you?’

  ‘The thing, the thing out there, it was following me. It’s after me.’

  Jibber-jabber pulled up his trousers.