It's Only the End of the World

by J. A. Henderson

  “And I have no idea who Frankie is.” Victor sounded disapproving. “I could have done my job better if I’d had all the facts.”

  Mrs Magdalene stared at him.

  “Don’t you ever criticise me.”

  She got up and clumped round the desk. Her legs were as burned and twisted as her visage, encased in an exoskeleton of shining rods and pistons. They made a hissing noise when she walked.

  Victor watched her warily.

  “I want those children hunted down,” the vice president growled. “All of Manticorps’ resources will be at your disposal, and I’m putting you in charge of a new team. A very special team.”

  “With all due respect, ma’am, my old squad are up to that task.”

  “Forget about them. They’ve been… retired.”

  Victor knew ‘retired’ meant dead, but he showed no emotion. In his line of work, sentiments got you killed.

  “Whatever secrets those brats are carrying, they belong to Manticorps,” the vice president seethed. “They’re our property.” She removed her glove, revealing a skeletal hand made of burnished steel. It looked like some horrible metal spider attached to her wrist. “Yet… you let them escape.” She grabbed Victor by the throat and squeezed until his eyes bulged.

  The man fought for breath but didn’t struggle or look away. Instead, he slid his own hand inside his jacket.

  “See, that’s why you’re still in charge, Vic.” Mrs Magdalene looked down at the revolver pressed against her stomach. “You don’t panic easily.” She let go of his neck and grasped the gun. Spindly fingers tightened on the weapon and crumpled it like paper. “But, if you ever let me down again, I’ll do the same thing to your head.”

  Part 2

  The Scheme

  To achieve great things, two things are needed: a plan and not quite enough time.

  – Leonard Bernstein

  13

  Leaning on the balcony rail, Charlie watched gathering clouds scudding across the sky, almost scraping the hilltops. Every now and then the sun broke through, intensifying the colour of patchwork fields. Yet the beauty of the landscape was lost on him.

  He had a vague idea forming but no clue how to put it into practise and the notion of failure made him feel physically ill. “Don’t get all dark and gloomy,” he repeated over and over. “Remember your favourite holiday or something.”

  That just made things worse. Holidays had always been with his mum and dad, people he loved but now realised he barely knew and might never see again. Despite Daffodil’s reassurances, he felt utterly alone.

  What was Frankie playing at? Who could believe a teenager, no matter how smart, was capable of carrying out a prison break?

  The boy’s eyes widened.

  Who would believe that? Certainly no one at Sunnyside.

  His mind began to jump. He sat down and wrote:

  Physically ill. Who would suspect a teenager? Stick together.

  And suddenly he had the rest of his plan.

  *

  Charlie came back into the living room, carrying a sheaf of notes covered in scribbled handwriting.

  “You been on that balcony for two hours.” Daffodil was staring at the TV. “Writin your life story or somethin?”

  “My life story wouldn’t take one hour. And the only exciting bit would be the last couple of days.” He dumped his notes on the table. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that. Not that I wouldn’t go back to how things were.”

  “I had a go at a plan myself. But I got distracted by this television thingie.” Daffodil switched off the set. “Didn’t realise what a terrible state the world was in.”

  “Ah,” Charlie said. “You’ve been watching the news.”

  “Nah. Somethin called Britain’s Got Talent.”

  “You are genuinely strange.” He grabbed the sheaf and handed it over. “Read this.”

  “You’ve perked up a bit.”

  “I’ve been scared to use my new-found powers, but that’s definitely the wrong approach in this situation.” He twiddled his thumbs sheepishly. “Maybe I’ve tried a bit too hard to be normal, in fact. Might have made me a bit… boring.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me. You’re about as square as a dice in a box factory.”

  “Thanks. Thing is, whether my ability is a talent or a curse, I’ll have to use it for this job. Win or lose, you won’t hear any more complaints.”

  “Especially if we lose. Then everyone will be dead.”

  “Yeah. Always look on the bright side. Now read.”

  Daffodil went through the pages slowly. Charlie shuffled around impatiently until she was finished.

  “This is your big scheme, huh?” She put down the papers. “I got a few choice words to describe it.”

  “Ready and waiting.”

  “Insane.”

  “That’s one word.”

  “OK. It’s completely and utterly insane. Also, preposterous, far-fetched and ludicrous.” She shrugged. “Frankie has been expandin my repertoire of put-downs.”

  “Oh.” Charlie’s face fell. “I… thought you’d like the idea.”

  “Have you met me?” Daffodil tweaked his nose. “I love it!”

  “Stop that right now and let’s talk to Frankie.” The boy prised himself away and turned on the computer.

  “Time to find out how good he is.”

  *

  “Some of the items you want are difficult to get hold of.” The screen flashed up a large exclamation mark. “And by difficult, I mean damned near impossible.”

  “Can’t you order them on the web?” Charlie asked. “Have them secretly delivered?”

  “I’m pretty sure Amazon doesn’t sell bazookas.”

  “Ignore that one.” Daffodil chuckled. “I slipped it in for a laugh.”

  “Fortunately, I anticipated you might need specialised equipment, so Gerry and I already made preparations. You can bask in my awesomeness later.”

  “It’s great you’re always thinkin two steps ahead,” Daffodil said. “But you couldn’t possibly have some of the things Chaz is askin for.”

  “A bit of faith please.” Frankie’s lights twinkled merrily. “Meet me in the basement.”

  “We have a basement?”

  “It’s why I picked this house. There’s a trapdoor in the hall cupboard.”

  Minutes later, Charlie and Daffodil had descended a ladder and were standing in a vast concrete bunker running the length of the house. Wooden tables covered in vials and bottles were dotted around, along with implements and tools they didn’t recognise. Another computer screen was fastened to the wall, blue ovals flickering across its surface.

  “What is all this?” Charlie asked.

  “It’s the Manticorps Marginal Division research lab, or as near a recreation as Gerry and I could manage. In fact, it’s better. Most of the projects those amateurs were researching hadn’t even reached development stage. I got Gerry to make some modifications and now they actually work.” Frankie sounded smug. “He might look like the world’s oldest cockatoo nowadays, but your dad’s pretty capable when it comes to technology. Check this out.”

  The glowing dots formed an arrow on the screen, pointing to the far end of the room. On the floor was a huge white object with a silver handle on the door.

  “It’s a fridge,” the boy scoffed. “Big deal.”

  “It’s a three-dimensional printer. Heard of them, Chaz? Or do you still use crayons and a whiteboard?”

  “You use it to print actual objects instead of just words on paper.” Charlie remembered seeing a programme about it. “I still can’t get my head round that. But I do know they’re pretty basic.”

  “Not the one I designed. Want a demonstration?”

  “Sure,” Daffodil said. “I’ll have a double-fudge sundae with chocolate sprinkles. And a pony.”

  “Put it on your birthday list.”

  “I would if I knew when my goddamned birthday was.”

  “All in good time.
Right now I’m hacking into the Department of Motor Vehicles database.”

  Frankie paused dramatically. “And sending that information to the printer.”

  The machine began to whir.

  “It extracts elements from the air and combines them, layer upon layer, until it makes an exact replica of whatever you want. Cool, huh?”

  The box pinged and the door opened. Two yellow rectangles lay inside.

  “Fake number plates for the van in the garage, as you requested. I can also produce paint, so you can respray it and have transport that won’t be recognised. The vehicle already has tinted windows, so nobody will see there are only kids inside.”

  “Nice of Manticorps to give us a van filled with the latest technology and surveillance equipment,” Charlie said appreciatively. “That’ll come in handy.”

  “I can also hack Sunnyside’s databases to give you plans of the prison, the location of each inmate and details about the guards and other staff.”

  “Please do that. Can you give me a rough overview right now?”

  “Natch.” The screen gave a thumbs-up emoji. “The facility has two hundred warders and the White Spider is in an isolation block, reserved for the most dangerous criminals. The cells and corridors have doors with electronic locks that I can open and close, but once you leave the wing you’ll have to cross a large central compound to reach the main gate.”

  “In full view of any guards outside?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Plus the gate has double-reinforced steel doors. They aren’t electronic, so I can’t move them. And the wall is fifteen feet high with barbed wire on top.”

  “Can you shut down the alarms?”

  “Most of them, but there are hand-cranked sirens in the event of a power cut. They go off and squad cars full of armed response officers will be on the scene within ten minutes. Any inmate actually making it past them will be hunted by police helicopters and tracker dogs.”

  “Much as I hate to agree with Chaz,” Daffodil breathed, “this is impossible.”

  “No.” Charlie held up his hand. “It’s pretty much as I expected. What about the last thing I asked for?”

  “The chemical compound? Nothing like that has ever been invented. I’d have to work out a very intricate formula from scratch.”

  “Oh.” The boy couldn’t hide his disappointment. “How long will it take?”

  “Might be up to an hour.”

  “I didn’t like you at first, Frankie, but you’re growing on me.”

  “Same here. Fancy starting a book club?”

  “Don’t push it.”

  Daffodil glanced at Charlie as though she was waiting for him to say something about her, but he was busy investigating the room. She gave a sigh and joined in. “Hey, I found a second printer.” She opened the door of another white box. “Wow! You replicated bottles of Coke.”

  “That is a fridge.”

  “Oh.” She blushed. “Can I have one?”

  “Knock yourself out. Don’t drink the stuff myself. Distinct lack of lips.”

  “Back to business,” Charlie commanded. “Can you look like a human being, Frankie? On the screen, I mean.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with the way I am?”

  “I’d like to have an actual person to talk to.”

  “If you insist. You and the printer aren’t the only ones who can copy things. That was another pun, by the way.”

  The dots on the screen converged until a face appeared. It resembled Charlie, but had Daffodil’s hair and eyes.

  “How about this?” Frankie smiled maniacally. There was a huge gap between his two front teeth.

  “Hahahahahah!” Daffodil elbowed her horrified companion. “If we had kids, that’s what they’d look like!”

  “I’m not even going there.” Charlie peered through his fingers. “Please just go back to being shapes. And give us the low-down on the White Spider.”

  “The White Spider is a mercenary who fought for Manticorps in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

  A map of the Middle East flashed up on the screen.

  “Apparently, he murdered his entire squad out there, though it was never proved. He snuck back to into Britain but couldn’t adjust to civilian life. Got into a fight in some bar and killed three ex-servicemen with his bare hands. A thoroughly nasty piece of work.”

  “With a friend like that, who needs enemies?” Charlie gasped. “What if he bumps off someone else while he’s on the loose?”

  “He’ll be a fugitive in hiding. He’s not likely to stroll into Sainsbury’s and start shooting the place up ’cause they don’t have his favourite brand of cornflakes.”

  “Then he’d be a cereal killer,” Daffodil guffawed.

  “But you’re happy to set him on the people at Manticorps,” Charlie tutted. “If he hates them as much as you say, won’t there be carnage?”

  “I’ll appeal to his better nature.”

  “I can never tell if you’re joking.” The boy glared at Frankie’s screen. “I’m not sure you can either.”

  “Says the guy with a sense-of-humour bypass. Leave the damage limitation to me. I can’t give you—”

  “Any more details than that. Way ahead of you.” Charlie took a mask and spray gun from a rack on the wall. “Right now, I have a van to paint.”

  “And then?” Daffodil handed him a Coke.

  “We break into a warehouse on the outskirts of Edinburgh.” He took a swig. “There’s something in there that we need for my plan to work.”

  14

  The van, now painted jet black, drove silently through the back streets of Edinburgh. In the passenger seat, Daffodil had her eyes closed, a look of intense concentration on her face.

  Charlie knew she was absorbing information from Frankie. Books. Movies. Dates. Famous people. Political movements. He assumed she was trying to replace the knowledge that had been eradicated from her mind when the chip was implanted.

  “Ask him to give you the recipe for cheese scones,” he said. “I’m a fiend for cheese scones.”

  “I’m a partner in crime, Chaz. Not your bloody chef.”

  The vehicle pulled to a stop outside a complex of large corrugated buildings surrounded by a high wire fence. Charlie cut the engine and switched off the lights. In the darkness, the black vehicle was nearly invisible. He reached behind the driver’s seat and hauled a tin of liquid onto his lap.

  “You want Warehouse 7: Empire Cleaning Products.” Daffodil had a hand on her neck. “Frankie says to look for a bunch of blue plastic tanks labelled ‘Promundus’. Put a splash of his special formula into each. That oughta do it.” She lowered her voice. “What if the place is guarded?”

  “There’s nothing important enough in there to need a nightwatchman. Stay in the van and don’t touch anything.”

  Charlie got out of the vehicle and scaled the fence, container in one hand.

  Daffodil watched as he crept over to the window of Warehouse 7. It was beyond his reach, so the boy balanced several discarded wooden crates underneath and clambered up. There was a soft tinkle of breaking glass and he vanished inside.

  “‘Stay in the van and don’t touch anything.’” She mimicked her partner’s voice. “When are you gonna stop treating me like some kinda lackey?” She unwrapped corned beef sandwiches she had brought for the wait and took a bite. “Seemsh like you and Frankie don’t hardly need me any more.” She chewed angrily. “Well, I’m jusht ash valuable a part of thish team ash you two.”

  She leaned on the steering wheel and the horn beeped loudly.

  “No, no!” Daffodil dropped the sandwich in horror and it landed on the dirty floor. “Guess I really am useless. Can’t do nothin right.”

  She looked out of the window to see if anyone had been alerted by the noise. “What the…?”

  Three ominous shapes flitted along the side of the buildings, low to the ground, and stopped under the window that was Charlie’s way in and out.

  “Dobermans!” Daffodil winced. “We ar
e officially knee-deep in doggie doo.”

  The hounds lay down behind the pile of wooden crates and waited for Charlie to emerge again.

  “No wonder this place don’t need a nightwatchman.” Daffodil jumped out of the van. “Chaz ain’t gonna see those mutts till it’s too late.”

  She picked up her sandwiches, ran to the fence and quickly climbed to the top. The Dobermans spotted her and dashed towards the new intruder.

  Daffodil threw the bread slices as hard as she could. They landed several yards away and the dogs rushed over to devour them. The warehouse window creaked open and Charlie began to wriggle through the gap.

  “Guard dogs!” she hissed. “Stay where you are, buddy, or your butt’s gonna get munched!”

  He shot her a look of panic. “What’ll I do?”

  “Nothin as stupid as this, I hope.”

  Daffodil leapt from the top of the fence and landed in the enclosure with a grunt. Then she was on her feet and running towards Charlie. The dogs abandoned the sandwiches and raced after her. She scrambled up the pile of crates with the animals snapping at her heels.

  “You’re the muscle, Chaz,” she wheezed, as Charlie pulled her to safety. “Can you take ’em?”

  “Not three monsters that size,” he gulped. “Besides, I’m… eh… scared of dogs. It’s more of a phobia really.”

  “Oh, that’s fantastic. I’ve been sittin thinkin you’re tougher than a hobnail boot in a pickle jar and you suddenly have a weak spot.”

  “The van’s filled with surveillance equipment,” Charlie said hopefully. “Can Frankie transmit a high-frequency signal that will hurt those dog’s ears enough to drive them away?”

  “He says animals don’t hear radio waves.” Daffodil shook her head. “A really loud bang will scare them, but it’ll also attract attention.”

  “We can’t just sit here!” Charlie looked anxiously at the canines. “Every minute we hang around increases our chances of being discovered.”