Spiders

by Tom Hoyle

  Faintly on the breeze, he heard his name once more.

  Soon he was in woodland again, twisting and leaping, running wildly and less successfully, panic urging him on. For a time he wasn’t sure which direction he was going, but at least there was no way anyone could have followed such an erratic path.

  Ahead was the sound of gushing water.

  ‘Adam?’ It was Oliver, closer than he thought.

  ‘Adam?’ An adult’s voice, somewhere behind him.

  Both voices came again, closer still.

  Adam darted forward towards the water – as three people closed in through the wood.

  Adam came to a halt. The River Spey, wide and freezing-cold, was dancing over rocks in front of him. It looked too broad to cross easily. But he could now see Oliver and two other men, spread out, cutting off any escape back through the wood.

  ‘ADAM! We don’t want to hurt you – as you will see . . .’ said Oliver.

  Adam looked at the river. He had no idea how cold it was, and knew little about hypothermia beyond the name, but he could see the tops of lorries passing on the far side. If he could just get to that road, someone would rescue him.

  The three were now no more than a few paces away. They all had needles. If it had only been Oliver, Adam would have thumped him and risked an injection, but three of them, and two of them adults . . . So, as Oliver started to say something, Adam turned and ran into the water, then dived forward, narrowly missing scraping his face along the bottom.

  He had never experienced such a sudden rush of cold before. It immediately wrapped itself around him, stinging him, smothering him, drawing out his breath and replacing it with ice. He felt desperately thin – that his insides were shrinking away to nothing. He managed about six strokes of front crawl, sometimes also able to push off against the bottom, before he began to shiver. He also realized that he was being dragged downriver by the current, a force that was far stronger than his weakening efforts.

  Adam was too cold to think properly, but deep inside himself he knew that he had made the wrong decision. A rush of panic – the fear that he was going to die – joined the intense cold.

  Burning within him, fighting back, was the fierce desire to survive.

  Just at that point, Adam felt something stony knock against his knee, and he put his hand into mud on the far side of the river.

  It took all his strength for him to stand – his clothes were dripping wet, sticking to him like an iron wrap. He shivered vigorously as he fought to take his top off. Get the cold clothes off , he thought, otherwise you’ll die .

  The three had followed him downstream back on the far bank. They were talking to one another and looking across at Adam.

  ‘Y-you w-w-won’t catch me, b-b-bastards,’ shouted Adam as best he could. ‘Ha!’

  His T-shirt wouldn’t quite go over his head, but then it was free. He tried to wipe the water off his chest, doubled over with shivering, his face contorted as he fought against the cold spears that twisted inside him. Now he had to get to the road.

  On the other side, one of the men looked up. Adam followed his line of sight. He had seen something in the air. Adam picked out the same object: a helicopter.

  Adam waved his hands feebly. ‘Help! Help!’ He stood as much like a star as he could, trying to force his legs and arms wide. ‘I’m here!’ he croaked.

  The helicopter had seen him and was moving at speed. Stay where you are , Adam thought, trying to focus on the other three while his head jogged up and down with cold.

  Then Adam used his damp feet to try to spell out HELP in the snow, but he had only managed part of the H when he realized no more letters were needed: the helicopter was coming lower, making a direct line for him.

  Oliver and the other two stood their ground.

  Suddenly Adam’s hope dulled. Why were the others not running away? Adam was unable to see any markings on the helicopter apart from the registration number – nothing saying Police .

  Flecks of snow were thrown in the air as it circled and then began to descend behind Adam. He was forced to the ground by the terrible gale thrown out from the rotors, hugging himself in an attempt to keep warm. Then, through slits of eyes, he saw that the men inside didn’t have uniforms, and that the helicopter looked old.

  He tried to stumble away, and lashed out as someone came towards him. Then there was another: one man on each arm. Something warm was being put over him.

  ‘You bastards,’ he muttered as he passed out.

  CHAPTER 24

  PRISON (TUESDAY 16TH DECEMBER 2014)

  Adam looked around at his prison. It was like being trapped inside a huge jam jar. Adam thought of ships in bottles, but this was squarer, like an old-fashioned telephone box but bigger, made completely of thick panes of glass fastened together by strong metal strips. There were metal fixings that screwed the whole container tightly to the floor – presumably it had been lowered over him and then attached. He looked up through the transparent top. The cavern ceiling, high above, was jagged and looked a bit damp. But he wasn’t cold – the containers were warmed by a slight breeze through a grate, a bit like a drain, beneath his feet.

  Adam found he had been dressed in green and purple robes with plain shorts and a grey T-shirt underneath. On the robe by his heart there was a yellow circular badge with jagged lines coming out of it, but no belt, no buttons, nothing he could use to help him escape.

  Adam was too stunned even to despair. What is this place? Why am I here? He held his hands against his head in frustration.

  The cave was big and he could see he wasn’t alone. There were twelve other containers, arranged in an X, each about five yards apart, with him as the centre point. Each container had someone inside. Two boys and two girls looked at him from the four closest boxes. They were all about his age.

  ‘I’m Adam!’ he shouted. ‘Why are we here?’ And again: ‘Why are we here?’ But the sound was trapped by the glass and sounded hollow.

  They stared at him, giving no hint of communication. They looked scared.

  Stay calm , he thought. Use your brain.

  He tapped on the glass but knew that the others couldn’t hear him. ‘Hello?’ His voice echoed dully. One boy gave a flicker of acknowledgement, so Adam tried again, forming his greeting carefully, making lip-reading easy. ‘Hello?’

  The boy looked down.

  Adam thought about his prison again. Maybe they were in an old mine – they sometimes had huge chambers like this one – though it could be natural. Again he slapped his hands against the inside of the container.

  The only noise came up through the grate, about eighteen inches square, beneath his feet. He could hear a trickle of water and, perhaps, the faintest of shouts from one of the other prisoners. The noise must be travelling through underground pipes. After shouting for help but getting no reply, he tried repeatedly and desperately to pull the grate up, but the fixings were too deep and too strong. It probably served one important purpose – the removal of human waste. But there was no privacy.

  Adam examined the metal hatch, the only part of his prison that was not glass. On the outside there was a metal tray that could be slid in. Adam had seen something similar in a petrol station late at night: money was put in and then pushed through to the cashier. But this opening was no bigger than his hand, so even if Adam could force it open, he wouldn’t be able to squeeze through.

  He was thumping at it with the side of his fist in frustration when he saw two people approaching. One was a blonde good-looking girl, probably about sixteen; the other a woman in her fifties, thin, but muscular in a way that was unusual. The girl was obediently walking behind the woman, holding a tray with thirteen cartons of food, thirteen plastic bottles of water and thirteen plastic spoons.

  ‘Hello, Adam,’ the older woman said as she put one of the cartons on to the tray that was outside the hatch. Then she moved a switch and slid the tray into Adam’s capsule. The meal looked a bit like airline food: meat in gravy, ve
getables and potatoes.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Adam shouted angrily through the hatch. ‘You can’t keep me here like this.’ He swore.

  ‘Everything will become clear,’ said the woman.

  Snorting with frustration, Adam took the food. Immediately the hatch slammed shut.

  Adam looked at the girl carrying the tray. She was impassive, concentrating on the woman. Then, for an instant, she looked at Adam – and he saw her right eyelid close. Adam looked back to his food. But he had seen it. I have seen it, he convinced himself as he watched the girl walk away, up a handful of steps and through a door. The girl had winked. And there was something in the very slight flicker of her eyebrows that suggested to Adam they were on the same side.

  Adam pressed his hand and face to the edge of his container and caught the attention of the girl in the next one. He waved slowly and expansively: ‘Hello,’ he mouthed.

  The girl stared back, unmoving. He could see her mouth twitch a little. Perhaps that was a ‘Hello’.

  Adam pointed at his wrist, where his watch used to be. ‘How long?’ Then pointed to the floor. ‘Here.’

  The girl subtly pointed up and across, looking worried. Adam followed the direction of her finger and saw a CCTV camera fixed high on the cavern wall. He squinted into the gloom and could make out others.

  No one here looked as if they had been beaten up, though they were obviously scared. In fact, since he had eaten, Adam had begun to feel the same sense of doom and hopelessness he had experienced on the way up to Scotland.

  He peered at the camera. ‘You can stick this up your arse,’ he screamed, showing his middle finger, cheering himself slightly.

  The other prisoners stared at Adam but they looked away whenever he caught their eyes.

  Adam turned back to the girl, patiently waiting until she would look at him. ‘How long have you been here?’ he mouthed. Then more simply: ‘How – long – here?’

  The girl shrugged. She timidly held up both hands, fingers splayed. Then did the same again. And again. Then her hands covered her face as it crumpled.

  Days or weeks? Adam didn’t know. And it must be hard to keep track of time in the artificial light. He wondered how long he had been unconscious.

  The girl in the container sat down and slumped against the glass, head lolling.

  When she looked up again, Adam urged her to respond. He pushed his hands together: please . He pointed to his mouth: talk . He pointed to his chest: to me .

  She shook her head a little.

  Adam stepped back into the middle of his container and frowned. He put his hands out in front of him, miming being trapped inside a box. He frowned very obviously, then made great play of exploring the limits of the invisible barriers. Then the wide smile of understanding – an answer! He pretended to find an invisible handle and open an invisible door. Adam took one step forward and walked into the real barrier. It was as if he was trying to entertain a very small kid.

  The girl smiled a little. Then she looked sad again.

  Adam pointed to himself and mouthed: ‘Ad’; then again: ‘Am.’

  Once more: ‘Adam.’

  She responded. ‘Ell – En.’ Then she stood up: ‘Ell – En.’

  Adam repeated it: ‘Ellen?’

  She shook her head and made exaggerated breaths, as if she was pretending to be a dragon breathing fire.

  Ah. He understood. ‘ H elen.’

  She smiled and mouthed very deliberately: ‘Hi, Adam.’ He responded with very deliberate aitches: ‘Hi, Helen.’

  Adam saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. Four people in robes. Adam thought of pictures of monks he had seen in books. These men didn’t wear crucifixes, but there was something circular on a gold chain around each of their necks.

  Suddenly Adam felt despair and wilted to the floor. No one outside the containers had hidden their faces, which made him fear he was never going to be set free. That was how it worked in films. How long would they even be kept alive?

  The robed men came closer, straight to Adam’s container.

  ‘What do you want with me?’ Adam demanded, standing right up close to the glass, determined not to be intimidated. ‘Who the hell are you?’ The other prisoners turned their backs and huddled as far away as possible. The nearest man threw back his hood and Adam looked straight into his unwavering dark eyes. He opened the hatch that the food had been sent through.

  ‘Hello, Adam.’ The voice coming through the hatch was slow, soft and relaxed on the surface, but there was also something coarse, like waves rolling over shingle. ‘I’ve spoken to all the others and now I must speak to you. You are the most important of all of us. More important than them. More important than me.’

  Adam closed his eyes and breathed out, like a parent exasperated with an annoying kid.

  ‘My name is Bolleskine, and I’m not your opponent, but here to help you take your rightful place.’

  ‘So you’re going to get me out of here?’

  Bolleskine nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’ He smiled as if this was obvious. ‘The whole reason for your being here is so that I can free you.’

  Adam frowned. Huh? ‘That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘I’m going to take you on a journey with me. With me and many others. You are here because you are chosen .’

  Adam glanced at the other capsules. No one was looking his way.

  ‘Yes,’ Bolleskine continued. ‘They are chosen too. Hand-picked. The very best of the generation that has not yet lost its innocence. But none of them is like you, Adam.’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘Those who took you last year, when you were nearly killed, were wrong about many things, but they were not wrong about you . You are chosen. Coron and I led this group before he rebelled, like the traitor that he was. But he correctly identified you as the chosen one.’

  Adam had tried to forget Coron – who had captured him the previous year, whom Adam had killed – and put that whole awful episode behind him. Coron had been evil, and also completely mad. This man was different. He was less easy to define, subtler, with an air of being other-worldly. Adam looked again into his dark eyes. For a moment he tried to capture a thought. Yes – I have it , Adam realized. Coron might have suspected deep down that he was mad, but this man thinks he is completely sane. Adam snapped back to his situation. Get as much information as possible .

  ‘Where are you going to take us?’

  ‘To the Golden Planet, where we will be free of the demons of this world. A place where there are no . . .’ He paused, and Adam could see himself reflected in his eyes. ‘Where there are no bats .’

  The word made Adam wince. The comment didn’t make sense – Adam hated bats and sometimes had nightmares about them, but hadn’t seen any here. He peered around the cave. Maybe there were some hiding up there, clinging to the rocks. He shivered.

  ‘You see, Adam,’ Bolleskine continued, ‘we have discovered a way to see the demons that are around us.’

  Adam looked contemptuously at the man. ‘And when do we leave for this planet of yours?’

  ‘Soon, now that you are with us. In a few days everyone will be gathering here.’ Bolleskine smiled. ‘Thank you for joining us.’

  ‘Let me go,’ said Adam. ‘If I’m so important, I command you to let me go.’

  ‘Adam, Adam,’ said Bolleskine, smiling indulgently, ‘at the moment you are confused, you haven’t yet seen everything. But when we arrive at our new home you will be our leader. For you are half-Valdhinian. You are born of the people who live there.’

  Adam said, ‘What? No,’ then, ‘Nutter.’ He shook his head, knowing that it was impossible to argue against blind belief. He just asked one more question, the same question that Abbie had asked a few days before: ‘How will we get there?’

  Bolleskine grabbed handfuls of his cloak as if to tear it away. ‘We will free ourselves of these bodies.’

  Adam understood immediately. Some – the believers – would commit suici
de, and others – like him – would be killed.

  Adam was looking at the grate and the water that flowed underneath. It smelt stale, but now there was a new, sweeter odour and something peppery. Adam went down on his hands and knees and sniffed. There was a strange spinning sensation and –

  RING-RING.

  It was like the sound of an old fire engine.

  Then more noise:

  SIT DOWN – SIT DOWN.

  The noise was coming from right inside his container.

  Then Adam saw shadows moving outside. They were like black rags, with threads dangling down at the edges.

  The smell grew sweeter and stronger. The pepper caught in his throat.

  I’m being drugged , thought Adam, his thoughts shutting down. This isn’t real.

  He closed his eyes. This isn’t real. He covered his face. I’m hallucinating.

  Then all was silent apart from a tapping on the glass.

  ‘Adam, Adam.’

  Knock, knock.

  ‘Help me, Adam, help me.’

  ‘No,’ Adam shouted, ‘you’re not real.’

  So who was he talking to? Adam peered between his fingers.

  It was an old woman, turned away from him. ‘You must help me. I am so old. So old, but I can’t die. So tired.’

  What she was saying reminded him of a poem he had been studying at school. Adam shouted at the pale cardigan and grey hair, ‘Go away!’

  Please don’t turn round.

  ‘Go away!’

  Please don’t turn round.

  When the smell was even stronger, she did turn around.

  His worst fear. It always produced their worst fear.

  Two thin black wings, interlaced with veins, covered her face. Adam closed his eyes. Not real. Not real. But she was now in the blackness of his shut eyes.

  The wings opened. Bats. Hundreds of bats flapped around Adam’s container.

  He buried his head in his hands.

  Not real.

  Their wings flapped faster and faster, first making a rhythm, then the beating and whooshing made a sound like a voice:

  ‘You must . . .’