The Fallen

by Charlie Higson

  ‘Maybe we should go and find Blue,’ said Kamahl quietly, sounding miserable, his voice small.

  ‘And tell him what?’ said Brandon, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

  ‘Tell him what happened.’

  ‘That we sat here and let them get killed?’

  ‘There was nothing we could do.’

  ‘Yeah, we stick to that story.’

  ‘Shall we go then?’ Kamahl sounded a little brighter, perking up with the thought of getting away.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Brandon. ‘We’re supposed to be guarding this entrance. So we’ve got a way to get out of here.’

  ‘Hah!’ Kamahl finally looked round at the horde of grown-ups. ‘Does that look like a way out to you?’

  ‘Why isn’t he back?’ Brandon swung the club uselessly at thin air. ‘All they had to do was get the stuff and come back. An hour maybe. Two hours tops. How long have they been gone? I mean, what if it’s just us? What if we’re the only ones left?’

  ‘Shut up. Shut up, Brandon. Don’t say that. Let’s just go and find him.’

  Brandon looked towards the back of the reception area, in the direction that the others had gone. ‘In the dark?’ he said. ‘Down under the building? Not sure of the way? You want to do that or do you want to wait?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Kamahl’s brief spark of optimism had died out. ‘I don’t know, Brandon. I wish we’d never come. I wish we’d stayed in Morrisons. We knew where we were.’

  ‘Yeah, we knew where we were. Up the bloody creek.’

  ‘And this?’ said Kamahl. ‘What’s this? Disneyland? What’s that out there? The Disney parade? Snow White and the seven hundred zombies …?’

  Brandon laughed at that, hysterical, couldn’t stop himself. He laughed until he was crying. Looked at Kamahl, who was crying too. They sat down together on the bench and Kamahl put his arm round him and they held on to each other, waiting for the grown-ups to smash their way in, as the light slowly faded from their world.

  65

  I can’t write much. It is getting too dark. I can hardly see the paper in this journal. Sorry if my writing is not very clear and neat. I don’t know where they are. I don’t know why they’re not back. I don’t know why they have just left us here. Please come back. We really need you now. Please come back.

  66

  Maxie was standing by the main entrance at the Natural History Museum looking out as Boggle and another local kid called Cameron got ready to close the great heavy doors for the night. With Robbie still out of action, and Jackson off on the expedition, Boggle was temporarily in charge of security.

  ‘You’ll need to move so we can shut these,’ he said.

  ‘Wait a minute longer,’ said Maxie, scanning the darkness.

  ‘They should be closed already,’ said Cameron.

  ‘I know,’ said Maxie. ‘I’ll take responsibility.’ Boggle and Cameron waited there, anxious and unsure, keen to be secure. Brooke appeared, stood next to Maxie. She had a fresh bandage on her forehead, but still looked like death. She was worst around the eyes, puffy and bruised. Maxie wondered what she might have looked like before.

  ‘Still no sign?’ said Brooke.

  ‘No,’ said Maxie. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘It must have taken them longer than they thought,’ said Brooke, staring out through the doors. ‘They’re probably holed up somewhere for the night; it’s too dangerous to travel in the dark. You worried about them?’

  ‘Blue can look after himself,’ said Maxie. ‘Only we don’t know what’s out there where they’ve gone.’

  Brooke put a hand on Maxie’s arm. ‘They’ll be back. Don’t stress, yeah. We need to close up, though. We’ll make sure the night watch don’t go to sleep, just in case Blue rocks up in the middle of the night. But my guess is they’ll be back when it’s light. Is a bare long haul to Heathrow Airport.’

  Maxie gave Brooke a quick hug. Hoped she was right. She couldn’t stand the thought of losing Blue so soon after finding him. Just her luck, she thought, to have the only two boys she’d ever really liked die on her within days of each other. She tried to be strong, but there was a limit to how much she could take. She’d seen people crack before. People who had coped great for months, lost friends, killed grown-ups, survived … and then it was usually something little that did it. One of her old girlfriends, a girl called Lila, had found a cat with a kitten. She’d taken them in and fed them, made them a cosy sleeping place. But the mother had got some kind of cat flu. She died and the kitten couldn’t look after herself. Lila tried everything but couldn’t get her to eat and slowly the kitten starved to death.

  Lila had been heartbroken, couldn’t stop crying and saying how unfair the world was, how mucked up it all was, how there wasn’t any God.

  One day she threw herself off the roof. Didn’t die straight away, but had terrible internal injuries. In the end she drowned in her own blood.

  Maxie didn’t want it to end like that.

  ‘We can close the doors,’ she said, ‘but I’m going to wait up. Stay down here. I can sleep in a chair if I need to.’

  ‘You sure, girl?’

  ‘Yeah. You go, Brooke. I’ll be fine.’

  From way up on the roof, pressing his face to the dirty windows, Paul could just make out the silhouette of two figures in the open doorway far below. A dry voice croaked in his ear.

  ‘One?’ it said. ‘You’ve only got one in your pathetic collection?’

  Paul’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t been able to face eating any more of Samira and now he was hungry again. And when he was hungry Boney-M came back to him and his thoughts clouded over.

  ‘It won’t be done until you kill all of them,’ said the bird thing. ‘The night-time is your time and it’ll be dark enough soon to go hunting.’

  It had started to rain; a light drizzle fell on Paul’s back. He watched as the doors were closed, and he couldn’t see the two figures any more. They were down there, though, and all he had to do was slip into the building and keep his knife handy.

  Boney-M poked him in the ribs and Paul swore at him, turned to swat him away … and all he saw was a jutting piece of stonework.

  He turned his face up to the sky and let the rain fall on his face, opening his mouth wide to try to get some precious water inside him. His blood fizzed and simmered in his veins, carrying the itch around his body. The maddening itch that made it hard to think straight. He put his hand to the wound in his neck and scratched it. It was hot and sore, but felt slightly better than it had done. Maybe he was healing at last.

  He remembered when it had happened. That had been a bad day. When he’d got too close to one of the captive sickos on the lorry in the yard, the ones that Einstein kept for his experiments. The sicko they called Simon Foul. That had been their joke – James, the guy who used to help him look after them, had named them after the original X-Factor judges. Simon Foul, Louis Corpse and Cheryl Ghoul. Simon had been a biter. Not too bad at first, but over the weeks he’d got worse and worse.

  Paul was usually OK around them. They were used to him and he was used to them. They never tried to attack him, but he’d relaxed too much, forgotten just how dangerous they were, got careless, and one afternoon … He remembered very clearly the tearing pain as Simon dug his teeth into his neck. The feeling of warmth as the blood poured down his neck. Paul had managed to pull away before any real damage was done. He’d kicked Simon and swore and spat at him and after that he’d kept him muzzled like a vicious dog, but it was too late. His skin had been broken. Simon’s germs had been injected into his blood. He didn’t tell anyone, he’d been too embarrassed, ashamed. Didn’t want anyone to know how stupid he’d been.

  Besides, what could anyone do? They played at being doctors, and scientists, when they were just kids, clueless. About as much use as doctors in the Middle Ages with their leeches and poultices and bleedings.

  He’d stolen some antibiotics and some painkillers from the labs.
Far as he could tell they hadn’t made much difference. The wound had still got infected. Still hurt like hell.

  But maybe, just maybe, it was getting better at last. He took his hand away from the wound and looked at it: his fingers were smeared with pus. He held them out in the rain till it washed the filth away. Maybe it wasn’t the drugs that helped. Maybe it was meat. Maybe eating Samira had been what had changed things. But she was rotting now, starting to stink the place out.

  He needed fresh meat.

  He smiled, felt a shiver of excitement.

  Yes, he thought, Boney-M was right. Soon it would be dark enough to hunt.

  67

  Blue was struggling to stay awake. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take of this. Was it ever going to end? He’d lost track of how long they’d been here. It seemed that once TV Boy got started it was hard to stop him and he was making the most of having a whole new audience for his performance. As far as Blue could tell, scientists working for Promithios Biomedical had brought samples of Inmathger DNA back here to the UK for analysis and had somehow become infected. What with, he wasn’t really sure, and now Blue had lost track of who exactly TV Boy was supposed to be. It was the guy with the nasal, nerdy voice. Buddy someone.

  ‘Ah, but, Professor, isn’t it indubitably true that the logging story is a cover-up? It wasn’t loggers who found the Inmathger, it was scientists, who were studying what they believed to be a giant crater caused by a meteorite strike many thousands, indeed millions of years ago, in the exact spot where the Inmathger live. Indubitably so.’

  A quick change and TV Boy was someone else again.

  ‘I must say you have a lot of fanciful notions, Mister Dumpster, and finally, here’s a joke for you.’

  The Twisted Kids cheered. Blue perked up. Maybe this was the end at last.

  ‘How many flies does it take to screw in a light bulb? Two, but how the hell do they get in there? Ha, ha, it’s the way I tell them. What’s the last thing that goes through a fly’s mind when it hits your windscreen? Its arse! What do you get if you cross a motorway with a flock of sheep? A flock of dead sheep. What do you get if you cross a praying mantis with a flea? A bug that says grace before drinking your blood. What do you get if you cross a flea with a donkey? An itchy ass. And finally what do you get if you cross a flea with a human being …?’

  He waited a moment before all the other kids shouted out together.

  ‘A bloody mess!’

  TV Boy whipped his wig off.

  ‘That’s right, that’s what we are, folks! The Twisted Kids. A bloody mess. A mistake. Thank you and goodnight.’ So saying, he blew the candles out and the platform was immediately plunged into darkness. Blue saw that it was now night outside. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust as all around him the warehouse kids started making an eerie noise, whooping and chirping and clicking, humming and buzzing, mimicking the sounds of a jungle at night. It was spookily realistic and sounded completely inhuman.

  Blue’s own crew sat there in confused silence. Not sure how much of what they’d just seen they could believe, and totally freaked out by the insect and animal sounds.

  Suddenly Einstein switched on his torch and stood up, calling out over the din as his beam fell on the faces of the warehouse kids, mouths wide, chirping and hollering.

  ‘Wait!’ he shouted. ‘You have to tell us more. Are you saying the disease originated in the Amazon rainforest and was carried to England by people working for Promithios?’ There was no response. ‘Wait!’ he shouted again. ‘Listen! You have to tell us more!’

  Blue jumped as TV Boy popped up by his side and half whispered into his ear.

  ‘There isn’t any more. That’s the end of the show. That’s all we know. When it comes down to it we’re just like the rest of you. We’re only children.’

  68

  Downstairs Jackson and the others were listening to the strange noises coming from the platform.

  ‘Now what’s happening?’ said Achilleus. ‘Sounds like we’re missing a party.’

  ‘That’s the jungle lullaby,’ said Skinner. ‘Memories of the big green.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Achilleus. ‘Now say it again in English.’

  ‘It’s one of the things we’re good at,’ said Skinner. ‘Making animal noises.’ He joined in for a few seconds, grunting and croaking like a howler monkey, and then he laughed. ‘We can keep it up for hours.’

  ‘I saw an animal of some sort in the corridors,’ said Jackson. ‘What was it? At first I thought it was a snake. Couldn’t have been, though. It was too big.’

  ‘Thing with a long neck?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You’re right. That wasn’t a snake. That was Pencil Neck. He doesn’t live in here with us. He came out the worst.’

  ‘You mean he’s human?’ said Jackson.

  ‘Yeah. Mostly. He went feral months ago. Lives out there in the dark, hiding in holes, crawling about the place. God knows what he eats. He was always hard work. Never really fitted in. Can’t talk, you see. Though some of us – like the Queen and Betty Bubble, even TV Boy when he shuts up and listens – some of us can understand him. We tried to look after him, but …’ Skinner trailed off, made a helpless, hopeless gesture.

  ‘This is one seriously messed-up place,’ said Achilleus.

  ‘You said it.’

  Blue appeared on the platform and called down to Achilleus.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘What about?’ Achilleus shouted back.

  Blue came down the stairs.

  ‘About what we’re going to do,’ he said, speaking as he walked. ‘It’s got way dark. Don’t know how we’re going to find what we need right now, to be honest, and then we got to get back to the church.’

  ‘Can I show you something?’ said Skinner.

  Jackson watched Blue trying not to react to how Skinner looked. He did a good job.

  ‘This is Skinner,’ said Achilleus. ‘Our new mate. He’s like one of them dogs – a Sharpie.’

  ‘Shar Pei,’ said Jackson.

  ‘Whatever.’

  ‘You want to show us something?’ said Blue.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘There’s not going to be any singing, is there? Funny voices? Cheesy old jokes?’

  ‘No. Come with me.’

  69

  Maxie stood up and stretched. It was boring sitting in the chair by the museum doors in the dark. Nothing to do except think. It was only her and Cameron and he’d just fallen asleep. The rest of the night watch, four of them in all, were off on patrol, looking for any signs of sickos trying to get in. They were also keeping an eye out for any signs of Paul.

  Under the new system that Maxie had put in place they kept up a continual circuit of the blue and green zones, checking all the doors and windows. They were heavily armed and all carried torches. They also had whistles on string around their necks. As did Cameron. Any sign of trouble and they would start blowing.

  They’d sealed off this part of the museum by closing all the connecting doors to the orange and red zones. So there was no way through to the Darwin Centre where Paul – assuming it was him – had attacked Samira. If he was hiding out over that way they were safe. Some of the kids had protested about patrolling all night. They reckoned they’d all be safer locked up in the minerals gallery. But Maxie had insisted on keeping the patrols going, all day and all night. If they could catch Paul they could stop him.

  She was staying put here by the doors with Cameron, waiting for Blue to return. They’d agreed to take it in turns to sleep, but Cameron had nodded off almost immediately. Even though the patrol came around every few minutes, Maxie wished he hadn’t fallen asleep quite so quickly and left her staring at the tea light that she kept burning in a little glass jar at her feet.

  She stretched her back. The seat wasn’t too comfortable. She was beginning to wonder whether it wouldn’t be better just to go to bed and get a good night’s sleep. Leave Cameron to it. The long, dull hours of
night-time stretched out ahead of her and she seriously doubted that Blue was going to stroll up any time before daybreak. She was jealous of Cameron. He looked very peaceful, and stupid, in that way that sleeping people do, his mouth hanging open, dribbling slightly, head lolling over on his neck. Vulnerable too. He looked much younger asleep than he did awake. She guessed he was about thirteen, maybe just fourteen. They’d all had to grow up bare quick, but like this, defences down, she was reminded that they were just children.

  She heard a noise and glanced round quickly. It was only the patrol. Two boys and two girls, coming in from the right, where the museum shop was. They must have finished their circuit of the green zone.

  ‘He asleep already?’ said one of the girls. ‘Cameron’s so lazy. He’s always asleep.’

  ‘He’s a useless guard,’ said one of the boys. ‘He should stick to the day watch. You OK with him?’

  ‘No problem,’ said Maxie. ‘I think we’ve got everything covered down here.’

  ‘OK. See you on the next circuit.’

  She watched them walking off into the blue zone, their torch beams zigzagging on the floor, heard their chatter and a burst of laughter. It was a comforting sound. She supposed she ought to be more scared of Paul, but she had no real sense of him, couldn’t picture him, didn’t know how dangerous he might be. She understood sickos; she knew to be properly careful of them. She also knew their limitations. What they could and couldn’t do.

  A rogue kid was something different.

  She got up and went over to Cameron. He’d started to snore. She kicked his leg and he came spluttering awake, looking confused and bleary, wide-eyed, like he’d been caught doing something wrong.