Spiders

by Tom Hoyle

  Swish. Rush.

  ‘You must . . .’

  Frenzied flapping.

  ‘Become empty . . .’

  A madness of bats.

  ‘Of yourself.’

  You must become empty of yourself.

  Most of the children were screaming now. But no one could hear them in the castle above and no one could hear them in the Scottish mountains beyond.

  CHAPTER 25

  THE END IS NEAR (DAYS FOLLOWING TUESDAY 16TH DECEMBER 2014)

  In the cavern below Castle Dreich, Adam soon understood the pattern of the days – three meals, probably drugged – and thought he was managing to keep track of how many had passed, but was more terrified about the number of days he had remaining.

  He understood how the desire to escape could slip. The boredom was already intense; with nothing to focus on except vague hopes and fears, Adam frequently had to drag his mind back from aimless wandering.

  Sometimes a prisoner in one of the other containers would scream or shout, and Adam hated the outbursts. Now he saw something terrible: the girl next to Helen was knocking her head against the glass wall of her container. He could see a bloody stain, and then a more distinct line of red.

  ‘Please stop doing that to yourself,’ Adam shouted. ‘We need to work together.’

  But the others had been there for much longer and had lost all hope.

  The response was quick: almost immediately the sweet smell poured from the grate.

  It was impossible to do anything when the visions came, except to retreat into the corners of your mind. This time the smell was stronger and lasted for longer. Bat after bat lay itself on Adam’s head, their wings completely covering him. He could feel their thin bones and paper-like skin. They pulled tighter and tighter, pressing into his head – pressing inside his head.

  His world faded away.

  When Adam awoke, he was lying face down by the grate. It was frustrating to have a possible escape route so near. Frustrating and hopeless. Four screws were about an arm’s length down, far beyond where his fingers could poke, at the point before the drop opened up into a much larger pipe. They were called wing-nut screws, he seemed to remember from his dad, because they had little raised wings. Even a ruler could be used to push them round, bit by bit. But he had nothing at all that could reach that far, apart from clothing, and that wouldn’t work. If only he had something long and metal or wood. If only . . .

  Adam pushed his nose against the cloak on his upper arm and could make out a fusty smell. He picked up a tissue he had been given earlier and wiped it under his arms.

  Rolling it into a tube, he pushed it through the grate, watching it fall into the running water at the bottom, about four feet below, and be washed from there into a sewer pipe. If I could get there, I could crawl through that slimy tube , he thought. Someone had crawled through it before: the grate had certainly been bolted from underneath.

  The water below was a dark and hazy blur. It ran all day and all night. But he had no idea where it went to, or where he was. One question always led to others. Did his family realize he had been kidnapped? Was he listed as a runaway? Had Megan managed to explain what was going on?

  One thing is certain , Adam thought. Whatever they do to us, I’m not going to just sit here waiting for death.

  Late one morning, Adam banged on the side of his glass prison. ‘Can anyone hear me?’ he called. ‘Anyone?’

  He looked towards Helen, putting his palms flat on the glass.

  She stared back at him with blank eyes.

  ‘I like football,’ Adam said. He mimed kicking a ball. ‘And cricket.’ He pretended that his arm was a bat. He then lied about liking reading – well, he did like stuff that wasn’t boring – and everyone understood the way to show a book.

  Helen waved her fingers out to the left and right, her face full of concentration. She was a pianist, and possibly a good one.

  Adam mimed his (rather poor) guitar playing, and gave a thumbs-down signal. Helen played again on her imaginary instrument and then rather coyly gave a thumbs-up.

  Adam then turned round and saw a boy looking so tired his whole face seemed to sag. ‘I’m Max,’ he mouthed. ‘Good at science – and chess.’

  A younger boy, about twelve, was slowly waving, despite red, tearful eyes. Adam couldn’t make out his name, but there was no mistaking his actions. He was interested in swimming, and certainly looked like an athlete. The swimmer unenthusiastically gave a double thumbs-up, presumably to show that he was once keen, but it was obvious he didn’t really care any more. He pointed at himself and held up his index finger. One. Number one. The best.

  Helen started pointing wildly at a distant point of the chamber. She looked terrified.

  Six people were entering. The fifty-something woman and her young assistant were there, as well as four others, including Bolleskine.

  The adults stood with the formality of strict teachers, apart from Bolleskine. He seemed relaxed, as if nothing mattered much. ‘There will be no more communication,’ he said, the hatch open so that Adam could hear, though the words were still a little dull and distant. ‘Here we must become one entity, not fight to be individuals. We must empty ourselves and become one organism.’ He looked at Adam. ‘You are a leader, of course. But it is only after our journey that you will have your authority and become the head of our body.’

  One of the men, balding and middle-aged, nondescript-looking, was carrying a small pot, about one-fifth of the size of a Coke can. Bolleskine turned to him. ‘Now, before lunch, I think they need more medicine.’ He turned back to Adam. ‘It shows us what an evil world we live in. And why we need to leave it behind. Once we are gone, and free, it will discipline those who mocked us.’

  ‘What?!’ Adam shouted. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Bolleskine paused. ‘The capitals of England and Scotland will see what an evil, demon-infested world we live in.’ He seemed to think that Adam would be impressed. ‘Adam, we have enough of our medicine to punish our capital cities. Those who have spoken against us, driven us here through wicked laws, lived disobedient lives – they will be chastised.’

  Chastised means drugged , Adam realized. But how could you drug a whole city?

  Bolleskine nodded towards the man with the container, who knelt down and pulled up a manhole cover. He tipped the dusty contents of the tub into the pipes that linked the glass prisons.

  For a second Adam caught the girl’s eye. He had a thought – and tried to get her to understand – but then all logic was swept from him as the sweet smell started again, but much stronger, like fly spray.

  Adam pulled off his cloak and tried to stop the air coming in through the grate, but it was too late. This time the bats were closer, inside the container: next to him, crawling over him.

  And there was something else behind the beating wings of the bats: the voice of a man, a measured and calm voice, teasing him again and again. You must become empty of yourself , it said.

  CHAPTER 26

  INTO THE CAVERN (FRIDAY 19TH AND SATURDAY 20TH DECEMBER 2014)

  EDINBURGH

  Every few seconds, somewhere in Edinburgh, someone turns on a tap and fresh water pours out, into glasses, into kettles or on to hands; other water flows into showers, washing machines and dishwashers. More than 350 million pints of water are used by the city every day.

  Much of that water starts in the Megget Reservoir, far to the south of the city. Fresh water gurgles and bubbles as it is pumped north.

  But no one drinks the water until it has passed through the Glencorse Water Treatment Works in the Pentland Hills. It is a modern, sophisticated operation, hidden under oak trees and covered in grass.

  From there, water is carried into the city and channelled to buildings through a complicated network of pipes.

  Near to the Glencorse Water Treatment Works there is a farm, and on that farm there is an old barn, and in that barn there was a rusty tractor and containers filled with the yell
ow crumbly drug. Hidden nearby was a pile of empty paint pots.

  Standing in front of the containers was Abbie’s father, Mark.

  He knew that dropping the drug into the water supply would do to Edinburgh what the same material had done at Castle Dreich. He wanted to punish people for their disobedience and opposition.

  LONDON

  In the centre of London, near to the British Museum, deep underground, there is an old storage room. It is in a station right at the heart of one of the world’s largest and busiest underground railway systems. Four million people use the London Underground every day.

  The site had been selected because it was exactly in the middle of the tube network. Bolleskine knew that a gas released from there would spread throughout the entire system.

  Alistair had recently returned to London from Castle Dreich. He added two more paint-pot-sized containers to his collection. He also pulled from out of his rucksack another part of the device he would use to convert the crumbly yellow drug into gas.

  He knew that sending the gas into the London Underground tunnels would set demons loose across London. He wanted to punish people for their disobedience and opposition.

  CASTLE DREICH

  Darkness had just fallen on Friday 19th December when the guests started to arrive.

  ‘Welcome to Castle Dreich,’ said Bolleskine, as more visitors came in through the large wooden front door. ‘I’m so excited that we’re all together at last.’

  The castle was full of people and noise. The convention had gathered together members of the cult from across the country. There were committed members from cities and towns across Britain, but the most dedicated lived in Castle Dreich itself.

  Nearly one hundred people were now in the castle. Cars and minibuses, marshalled by smiling attendants, were parked in organized lines outside. Dormitories had been set up around the castle and every room was full. Abbie had to share with a girl who had come from Newcastle.

  An elderly couple looked up at the grand entrance hall to the castle. ‘Isn’t it exciting to be here?’ said the husband. ‘Not nearly as exciting as it is to meet Mr Bolleskine,’ said his wife, her eyes glowing with the prospect of meeting their hero in person.

  First thing in the morning, even before breakfast, everyone assembled together in the Great Hall, and Bolleskine addressed them from the raised platform at the front. ‘Welcome to Castle Dreich! Welcome to you all. This is the biggest convention we have ever held – almost all our family is here.’ He raised his arms to remind everyone of the size of the crowd. ‘We are here for an exciting reason: the end is near.’

  Almost everyone nodded and muttered in approval.

  ‘The time for our collection is imminent,’ announced Bolleskine. ‘We will be taken from this place and will start a new life on our Golden Planet. If you have worries – you can stop worrying. If you have hopes – you can be prepared. Things are going to happen – and they are going to happen to YOU!’

  There was applause and excited smiling.

  ‘This many people cannot be wrong,’ he continued, looking around the gathering. ‘And I can tell you now,’ he went on, in a voice so quiet they had to strain to hear, ‘those of us who have been living in this castle have seen the evil that is in this world. We have seen the demons. It is those demons who stop us reaching our full potential.’

  People nodded. They believed him.

  Suddenly Bolleskine was louder, his hands jabbing the air. ‘But some of us, I can tell you now, have also seen the Valdhinians. I spoke with them this morning. This is our time! And you are the people!’

  This was what his audience had come to hear. They believed that the Valdhinians existed; they hoped to see them too.

  Bolleskine shouted, ‘I know that great things will happen very soon. Everything will be revealed to us. The end is very near!’

  There was spontaneous applause and some cheering.

  Abbie looked at the people around her, feeling conspicuous and lonely in her disbelief. She wondered if any others had doubts at all. But she couldn’t take unnecessary risks now that she had the confidence of Bolleskine, Vee and the others.

  Vee spoke gently in Abbie’s ear. ‘Abbie, my dear, let us go to the kitchen and prepare breakfast for those in the cavern.’ Vee wanted theirs to be a mother–daughter relationship.

  But Abbie didn’t want a replacement mother. She remembered her dead mum and was filled with emotional determination. ‘Of course,’ she whispered.

  Abbie’s mind remained elsewhere. She thought back to what she had seen in the cavern: the arrival of the boy at the centre, the one they called Adam. She remembered the look on his face before the drug affected him. Adam had looked at her – very definitely at her. He had looked at the manhole that the drug had been put down. Then he had looked across the cavern floor to the grate in the middle of his glass container. Finally his eyes traced across the floor in the same direction that the water flowed.

  Abbie – down the manhole cover – to the grate – and out with the water.

  There was something about Adam’s sense of purpose that made Abbie think they could work together. And if anything was going to mess up the plans of this crazy group, it would be the escape of the boy at the middle of the X.

  After preparing the breakfast, Abbie returned briefly to her room. She wanted to change into the loosest clothes that she had and put on trainers.

  Sitting on the temporary mattress across the room was an older girl. She was very pale with glasses, and shy. ‘I’m sure you have a lot to do in the service of Bolleskine and the good people here,’ she mumbled.

  A wave of sadness came over Abbie – something not produced by the drug. She looked at the older girl: peculiar and lonely, probably, but not evil.

  From careful eavesdropping and from her time with Vee, Abbie now knew the broad outline of everything that was intended. The poisoning of Edinburgh by her father, of London by Alistair, and the mass suicide of everyone at Castle Dreich. The capital cities that had opposed the group would be punished.

  ‘I’ll make sure everything turns out OK for you,’ said Abbie.

  ‘Thank you, you’re so sweet,’ said the other girl, adjusting her glasses nervously.

  Abbie found it much easier to move around the castle now that there were so many other people around. She could hear talking behind doors and there were sometimes people in the corridors.

  ‘Going somewhere, Abbie, my dear?’ It was Vee.

  ‘Yes,’ said Abbie, delivering her prepared lie. ‘Melissa, the girl in my room, wanted one of the handouts that we were given yesterday. I said I’d pick one up.’ Abbie smiled. ‘I’ll be straight back.’

  ‘OK. I’m so pleased that everything is working out now.’ But Vee waited for Abbie’s return – and just over five minutes later realized something was wrong. She contacted Bolleskine.

  Abbie went straight towards the caverns. Every delay, every person who saw her, was a chance for her plan to go wrong. It was a long way, taking about five minutes, involving going through three doors with code pads, through cellars and along a tunnel. The old entrance from the surface, Vee said, had been closed a year or two ago – dynamited shut.

  Abbie keyed in the code on the first door at the bottom of the main stairway on the ground floor: 2436. She had seen it inputted many times. This was several floors below Bolleskine’s rooms, but in the same part of the castle.

  One man passed her. ‘Hello? Abbie?’ he said, definitely questioning, though Abbie was often in this part of the castle taking food to those in the containers.

  ‘Hi, I’m just going to see Bolleskine. He’s a sort of dad to me while mine’s away.’ Before the conversation could proceed any further, she breezed on, turning right, as if going up towards Bolleskine’s rooms.

  A minute later she doubled back, down towards the cellars.

  9602.

  This time her nerves seemed to delay the green light, and Abbie held her breath until the door clicked open.
>
  There were three separate cellars which had been turned into clean and organized storage rooms. On her way through, Abbie reached into a box marked ‘torches’ and pulled out a Petzl head torch – then, after two paces, turned around and picked up another. A hunch. After quickly testing both, she pushed them into her pocket and looked ahead to a long underground tunnel, wide enough for three to walk abreast. Modern lighting had been installed above large ventilation pipes and other wires. At the far end, about sixty yards away, was one more door with a keypad.

  She waited outside the door and pulled from her pocket a small knife she had taken from the kitchen. There were a number of wires running along the tunnel, but it was the smallest black one that she was interested in. She sliced through it with her knife. The lights didn’t even flicker. She hoped she had the right one.

  There was no turning back now.

  She had never quite been able to see this code. It certainly had a 5 and a 3 in the middle, and she thought it started with an 8. But the last digit? It wasn’t one on the right hand side of the keypad. Maybe a 4?

  She quickened her pace a bit.

  8 . . .

  5 . . .

  3 . . .

  Her finger paused over the 4. Then, a guess, pressed . . .

  7.

  Buzz; click. The door opened.

  What lay beyond was the biggest challenge of all. There was a sort of control room. Video screens showing pictures of the thirteen containers flickered on desks. Sometimes there were four people here, usually at least three. Abbie was relieved to see that today there were only two: Noah, and a man called Frank. He was a technical whizz and responsible for much of the electronics, ventilation and video surveillance.

  ‘Hello, Abbie,’ said Noah as he stood up. His eyes widened and he felt a bit nervous. He thought that Abbie was achingly pretty and wanted to marry her when they reached the new planet. Bolleskine had said that everyone would have a family.

  ‘Hi, Noah. Hello, Frank.’ Abbie turned to the older man. ‘I’ve been sent down by Bolleskine – you know what it’s like with all the family here.’ She was careful to use the right words. ‘All the brothers and sisters.’