‘I don’t know,’ he said after a moment. ‘It’s something bad. It’s like a man, but a bad man. I can’t see his face, only . . . I don’t know, it’s like he’s living inside a tornado or something. I keep seeing him, Rilke. He scares me.’
‘Forget about it, little brother,’ she said. But she had seen him too, in the quiet moments between sleep and waking, a creature even more powerful than her brother. The man in the storm. ‘It’s one of us,’ she said. ‘It’s here for the same reason we are. Don’t worry about it, he’s on our side.’
Schiller seemed to chew on her words, but not for long. Never for long. You broke the doll, Schill, it was your fault it smashed, but it’s okay because I’ll be with you when you tell Mother, I’m always here for you, I love you. You’re a good boy, tell her you broke it.
‘You’re a good boy, Schill,’ she said as she smoothed her hand down his shirt. ‘We’ll get through this together. You know I’m always here for you.’
He nodded, and the park fell silent. Even the sea seemed subdued, the small waves barely making a sound as they lapped against the shore. It’s scared of us, she thought. It wants us to leave.
‘I’m really tired, Rilke,’ Schiller said. ‘Can we stop?’
‘Soon,’ she replied. ‘When we find a safe place.’
This would be so much easier if she had turned too, but the angel inside her showed no sign of hatching. The only reason she even knew it was there was because of the headaches she had suffered – thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump – and then the Fury. It was there, though, and sooner or later she would be born again with the same powers as her brother.
And when that happened . . .
Rilke grinned, the thought blasting away the last scraps of exhaustion. She got to her feet, pulling Schiller up beside her. The world had never seemed so big, and they had so much work to do.
‘One more town, little brother, can you do that?’
He sighed, then nodded.
‘Good boy.’
She waited for Marcus and Jade to hoist up the new kid, letting him hang between them. They were shivering, but they knew better than to argue with her. Rilke held her brother’s arm, taking some of his weight, and together they set off across the ruined land, kicking up the dust of the dead behind them.
Cal
East Walsham, Norfolk, 7.49 a.m.
The Freelander juddered, looked for a moment like it might keep going, then conked out with a quiet wheeze.
‘Damn it,’ said Cal, turning the key. The engine gave out a series of pathetic coughs, but no matter how hard he wished for it he couldn’t get the petrol gauge to lift. ‘Empty.’
‘Nice one,’ grunted Brick, his face screwed up in a way that instantly made Cal’s blood boil. ‘You didn’t bring any extra with you?’
‘Yeah, Brick, I popped into a garage on my way out of London, fought off the ferals and filled up a couple of spare tanks. Got myself a pack of Haribo and a cup of coffee too. What do you think?’
Brick slammed his palm against the dashboard and opened his door. Cal took a deep breath then clambered out after him. The air was so much cleaner here, didn’t taste like a crematorium. The journey had pretty much blown all of the powdered flesh from the car, leaving only pockets in the corners of the windows and the alloy wheels. Cal breathed deep as he took in the surroundings, nothing but fields, trees and hedges in every direction. The only evidence of where they’d come from was a grey fuzz against the sky. At least it was warm, though, the dawning sun like a jacket thrown over Cal’s shoulders.
‘Where are we?’ Brick said, hawking up a spitball and launching it into the verge.
‘Not sure,’ Cal replied. ‘Been heading west pretty much, it’s hard to tell.’ The satnav had been working, but he hadn’t known what address to put in so he’d just used it as a guide, following the spiderweb of roads that led out from Norwich. He’d kept to the smallest ones, and so far they’d only passed three other vehicles – two cars which barrelled past fast enough to rock the Freelander, and a tractor in front which they’d kept well behind until it turned off into a farm. They’d passed through a few villages, but they had largely been deserted. ‘Last sign I saw said something like Tuttenham.’
‘So where is that?’ Brick snapped back.
‘You’re the local, you tell me.’
For a moment they eyeballed each other, quietly fuming.
‘Okay,’ Cal said, sighing. ‘Okay, so I guess we continue on foot, yeah?’
Brick shrugged, looking a quarter of his eighteen years. He scuffed the ground with a dirty trainer, then combed his fingers through his hair.
‘Probably a town or a village or something around here,’ he mumbled. ‘Maybe a farm, could nick some red diesel.’
Cal shrugged. ‘Worth a try. You want Adam or Daisy?’
Brick didn’t answer, just started traipsing up the road, his powder-covered body looking like some strange, gangly ghost in the soft morning light. Cal opened up the back door to see Adam there, as wide-eyed as always. The little boy was shivering.
‘You want to get out of the car?’ Cal asked him. ‘Get some sun? It’s freezing in here.’ Adam glanced nervously at the girl in the boot. ‘It’s okay, Daisy’s coming too. Maybe the warmth will help thaw her out. Come on.’
Adam shuffled off his seat on to the road. Cal smiled at him, then walked to the back of the Freelander. The windows here were frosted over like it was Christmas, and when he tried to open the boot door he found it was iced shut. He kicked at it a couple of times, shaking loose flakes of crystal, and finally managed to work it free. Daisy lay cocooned inside a web of silk, her face as white and as fragile as bone china. She looked dead, but he knew she was just asleep. What was the word? Metamorphosing. Cal thought of Schiller, consumed by fire, and wondered if Daisy would be better off dead. If they all would be.
‘Here we go,’ he said, easing his hands under Daisy’s rigid body and lifting her from the boot. She seemed lighter, despite the crusting of ice, and the way she sparkled was almost terrifying. Cal’s skin burned from the cold, his hands already numb, but he held her close and tight. ‘Hang on in there, Dais, we’re going to find help.’
Adam was waiting by the front of the car, and he offered a glimmer of a smile when he saw Daisy.
‘See, she’s going to be fine,’ Cal said. ‘We all are.’
He cast a look back at the empty Freelander, then set off along the lane. Brick had vanished, but after fifty metres or so his head popped up from the large, grassy bank that lined the tarmac.
‘Better get off the road,’ he said. ‘Fury or no Fury, Norfolk drivers are all twats.’
Cal waited for Adam to scramble up the verge, then staggered over, almost falling down the other side. He stumbled into a field of bright yellow plants, only just managing to keep his feet, and twisting his ankle in the process. He bit back a curse, limping to Brick’s side.
‘Thanks for the help,’ he said, but the other boy was already walking away. Cal set off after him, taking a couple of deep, shivering breaths to calm himself down. Adam trotted by his side, occasionally breaking into a run to keep up. The only sound, other than the crunch of their feet on the dry earth, was the chattering of the birds. They’d sing right to the end, Cal thought, even as the world came apart around them.
‘What’re we going to do if people have still got the Fury?’ Brick asked after a minute or two.
‘I don’t know,’ Cal said.
‘You think they’ll still come after us?’
‘I don’t know.’
Brick kicked at a stone, sending it tumbling into the shadows between the crops. They walked in silence, crossing a dry ditch and pushing through a hedge at the end of the field. The next stretch of land was bare, which made the going easier. They’d only walked a few paces before Cal felt Adam tugging on his tracksuit trousers. The boy was pointing, and sure enough when Cal followed his finger he saw a squat stone tower thrusting up from the hedgerows.
‘Well spotted,’ he said, smiling. Adam beamed back, brighter than the sun. ‘See that, mate?’
Brick glanced up, shielding his eyes even though the sun was behind them. It was hard to tell how far away the church was, maybe a mile or two.
‘Still don’t know why you want a church,’ Brick answered. ‘Fat lot of good it’s going to do us.’
‘Well, you haven’t exactly been full of suggestions,’ Cal shot back, feeling as if he were about to come down with a bout of the Fury himself. Brick had a way of doing that to people, rubbing them up the wrong way. ‘Just thought . . . I don’t know, but if these things inside us really are angels—’
‘They’re not angels, Cal.’
‘Well, if they are, then maybe a vicar or something can help us, can tell us what to do. Maybe there’s something in the Bible. I don’t know.’ Just saying it made him realise how futile this was. Whatever was happening, it had nothing to do with Christianity. ‘I don’t know,’ he repeated. ‘But I can’t think of anything else. Can you?’
Brick just snorted.
‘Yeah, well screw you,’ Cal said. ‘If you want to go off and do your own thing I’m not stopping you.’
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘We’ll try the church. But it won’t do any good.’
Cal hoisted Daisy up to his chest, his teeth chattering. It took them ten minutes to reach the end of the field, and another five to work out a way past a barbed-wire fence. Beyond was a dirt track that ran beside a pasture full of cows, the animals staring at them with those sad, black eyes. At least they weren’t trying to charge them down, though. Being trampled to death by a field of furious cattle would not be a good way to go.
‘You ever shot a cowpat?’ Brick asked. The question was so surreal that Cal had to pause a moment to make sure he’d heard him right.
‘Shot a cowpat?’
‘Yeah, with a shotgun.’
‘No, Brick, I’m from London. We don’t have shotguns or cowpats. Why?’
Brick made a noise that could have been a laugh.
‘Like watching a turd volcano,’ he said, and Cal could hear the smile in his voice. ‘My mate Davey had a twelve-gauge. Took me out one day up on his farm and we shot up a whole field of cowpats. Seriously, they go ten metres up; you’ve never seen anything like it.’
Cal shook his head, lost for words. He’d known Brick for less than a week, but he figured he could spend years with the boy and not be able to figure out his moods.
‘Shot one and it absolutely covered Davey in crap, was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.’
‘Sounds hilarious,’ Cal replied.
‘Wish I had one now,’ Brick said.
‘A cowpat? Take your pick, there are hundreds over there.’
‘A shotgun, you douche,’ he said. ‘Feel a lot safer walking into a church if I had a weapon.’
‘Yeah, because last time we had a gun it worked out great for everyone.’ Cal would never forget being held at gunpoint by the man out in Fursville, the way that Rilke had shot him in the head without hesitation, and the thing that had burst out of his body. That had been their first glimpse at the truth of what lived inside them. Rilke had shot Brick’s girlfriend too, Cal suddenly remembered, his cheeks burning. ‘Oh, sorry, man, I didn’t mean to say it like that.’
Brick didn’t answer, just kicked out at the track, scattering pebbles. He was making such a racket that Cal almost didn’t hear the sound of an engine up ahead, rising and fading. He slowed, cocking his head as another distant growl came and went.
‘Must be a road,’ Brick said. ‘What should we do?’
‘Get closer, see what happens, yeah?’ It wasn’t exactly the best plan in the world, but that was the trouble with the Fury, you only knew if it was there or not by getting up close and personal. And by that time chances were you had somebody’s teeth in you.
Brick didn’t reply, just stepped over the fence. He held out his hands and Cal passed Daisy to him. His arms were two blocks of cold stone, but somehow he managed to lift Adam over the fence before stepping over himself. The field was starting to rise above the track, and they walked up the hill in silence listening to the traffic ahead. Cal counted seven vehicles coming and going before they reached the end.
He hunkered down, peering through the fence to see a road below them. A pavement ran along both sides, and there were houses opposite – large detached properties with thatched roofs and wide driveways. To the left, the road led towards a small town. Cal could make out what might have been a bakery, and a Tesco’s store. Rising above it all was the church tower. There were people up there, six or seven of them, too far away to make out properly. Three disappeared into the supermarket, their laughter ghosting down the road.
‘What do you think?’ Cal asked.
‘The hell should I know?’ Brick replied, clutching Daisy to his chest and shivering. ‘We could go down there and get our faces ripped off.’
Cal straightened, and offered Brick a nervous smile.
‘I guess there’s only one way to find out.’
Brick
East Walsham, 8.23 a.m.
Brick watched Cal stumble across the field, Adam teetering after him, but he couldn’t bring himself to follow. Daisy was cradled in his arms, and the cold that blasted from her had turned his bones to ice, rooting him to the spot. He suddenly realised just how exhausted he was, his body and his mind running on fumes, ready to sputter out like the car. Getting to his feet seemed like the most impossible thing in the world. Cal must have read his mind, because he glanced back over his shoulder.
‘Come on, mate. I can’t do this on my own.’
Adam staggered back, stumbling on the uneven ground. The little boy reached out and grabbed Brick’s T-shirt, gently tugging on it. His eyes were pockets of sunlight, dazzlingly bright, and they seemed to lend a little warmth to Brick’s body. He took a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet, a head rush making him feel like he was pirouetting across the field. When it had settled, he took a step, then another, following Cal towards the tower.
‘Maybe we should do the whole distraction thing again?’ Cal said. ‘Like at the factory, yeah?’
Brick shrugged, even though he knew Cal wouldn’t see it. At the factory there had only been one guard to distract, and even that had gone wrong.
‘I could lead them off, try and make a path for you to get Daisy and Adam into the church,’ Cal went on. ‘Or you’re faster than me, you could do it.’
Fat chance, Brick thought, saying, ‘What if the church is full of people?’
‘On a Monday morning? It won’t be.’
‘What if it’s locked?’
Cal put both hands on his head, grabbing fistfuls of hair.
‘Okay,’ Brick said. ‘Fine, whatever, let’s try it.’
Ahead, the field sloped down towards the road, running alongside it all the way to the edge of the village. There was a scratch of hedge there, more hole than leaf. It would offer absolutely no protection if the ferals sensed them. Cal hunkered down, moving quickly down the hill. Another car idled along the road, maybe thirty metres away, followed by a Royal Mail truck. For a village, this place looked pretty mobbed.
‘You should go around the back,’ Cal said. ‘Through those gardens, try and cut through.’
He was pointing to where the field joined the houses at the back of the village, a few small gardens boxed in by fences.
‘What about you?’ he asked.
‘I’ll take the main street. If they’ve still got the Fury, I’ll draw them off.’ He wiped a hand across his mouth. His fingers were trembling. Right now Cal didn’t look as though he could stagger another twenty metres, let alone outrun an entire village of ferals. ‘Maybe I’ll get over there and no one’ll notice me, yeah?’
Brick shrugged again. He hoisted Daisy up, the girl so light and yet somehow now the heaviest thing in the world.
‘Stay with Brick, Adam, he’ll look after you until I get back.’
&nb
sp; The little boy’s mouth drooped, but still he didn’t speak. Cal looked at Brick and nodded, then he was on the move again, heading down the hill towards the road. Brick watched him for another few seconds, swore, then set off in the direction of the houses. With Daisy in his arms, and Adam clinging on to his T-shirt, the going was tough. Twice he tripped on the dry earth, and it seemed to take forever before he stopped beside the first fence. There were no screams, no squealing brakes, no explosions.
The fence was a little shorter than him, and he stood on his tiptoes and peered over it. Beyond was a shoebox of a garden leading up to a terraced house. The house had a passage down the side of it, and Brick took a few paces to his left so he could see to the end. There was a gate there, probably locked. He stumbled to the next garden, this one surrounded by a thick hedge. The one past that had barbed wire coiled around the top of its fence, but the fourth house along was falling to pieces, its derelict wooden conservatory missing several panes of glass. A quick glance down the passage revealed a straight path to the road beyond.
There was no gate, but the garden wasn’t exactly Alcatraz. The fence was coming loose, and he kicked out at it in a hail of splinters. He tried again, and with a damp creak the panel tumbled into the overgrown grass. The house was blind, curtains pulled tight across every window.
‘Come on,’ he said, traipsing through the garden and into the passageway. Their footsteps echoed off the walls, making it sound as though there was somebody right behind them, and twice he checked over his shoulder to be sure. Sunlight spilled through the arch at the far end and he stepped cautiously into its heat, squinting until the light-bleached road came into focus. It was a residential street, small houses standing shoulder to shoulder like soldiers. He held his breath, once again listening for noise. The air was hot and silent, as if the whole town was imitating him, holding its breath too, waiting for the right moment to spring to life.
He swallowed hard, his throat like sandpaper, then he stepped out of the passageway on to the pavement. It was deserted, but wouldn’t there be people inside the houses? Wouldn’t they have sensed him by now, come streaming from their doors and windows? He angled his gaze up to see the church tower, close enough now that he could make out the weathered gargoyles on its steeple.
The Storm Page 4