by Jacob Grey
As they passed the table with the pig’s head, the flies all stopped moving. Caw shuddered. They were watching, he realised. Mr Silk led them to a single door set in an alcove. It looked completely out of place in the fancy apartment – solid metal, as if it belonged in a warehouse.
Mr Silk knocked, then waited a few moments, before touching a key card to a glowing red sensor at the side. It changed to green and the doors slid open. A blast of cool air rushed over them and Lydia gave a disgusted gasp.
Caw recoiled in horror from the nightmare scene in front of him. The room was full of meat. Suspended from the ceiling by metal hooks were several skinned carcasses, their marbled flesh giving off an iron tang. Caw pulled himself together as he realised they weren’t human, but animals. They looked like pigs, sheep, and one that was surely a cow, split in two to reveal a huge ribcage laced with a layer of fat. All of them were headless.
“In,” said Mr Silk.
Lydia jammed her foot against the doorway, but Pinkerton shoved her inside.
Though the floor was tiled black, the walls and ceiling were gleaming stainless steel with no windows and only a few small vents at ceiling height. As they passed the first few hanging corpses, Caw saw Cynthia Davenport sitting in the middle of the room on a simple metal stool, her black suit at odds with the butcher-shop surroundings.
“I’m sorry if you find this place distasteful,” she said, her breath misting in the cold air, “but my children do have quite an appetite.”
Mr Silk gave Caw a shove in the back, forcing him further into the room between the hanging carcasses of meat. Lydia shrank away to stop herself bashing into a sheep’s corpse.
“You’re disgusting!” she said.
The Mother of Flies smiled. “Welcome to the food chain,” she replied.
Mrs Strickham moved in front of her daughter. “Don’t talk to her,” she snapped.
“You think I’m not good enough, fox feral?” said Cynthia Davenport, standing up. “Not worthy even to speak to your daughter?” She walked right up to Lydia’s mother and raised a hand with long black-painted nails. “You always were an arrogant line. I bet you never thought the lowly fly feral would get the better of you, did you?” Velma Strickham didn’t even flinch as Davenport trailed a long painted nail across her cheek. “Try anything silly and I promise there’s room for a few foxes in here.” Her eyes went to the ceiling hooks.
“What do you want?” said Mr Strickham.
The Mother of Flies ignored the question, her attention focused on the fox feral. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You killed the spider feral. The first time, anyway.”
“When you were cowering in hiding,” said Mrs Strickham. “While real ferals fought for this city.”
Cynthia Davenport gave a high-pitched shriek of laughter. “The Dark Summer, you mean? A petty squabble in which I had nothing to gain or lose. No, I pick my battles, fox talker. He came to me, you know – the spider feral. Begged me to join him. He knew what I was capable of; he saw what the fly line had become. That was when he told me about the Midnight Stone. He said we could rule together, the spider and the fly – just imagine that!” She turned away, her back to them. “I declined his offer. While you were at each other’s throats, I lay in wait. I planned how I could one day take the stone for myself. How I could take revenge on all ferals for the way they have treated us. Me, and my mother, and her mother before her.”
“I don’t even know who you are,” said Selina’s voice. Caw looked behind and saw she was in the doorway. She’d ditched her coat and was wearing a black T-shirt with frayed sleeves. Her eyes were red but full of anger.
Cynthia Davenport’s sneer dropped a fraction. “You shouldn’t be in here,” she said.
“Well, forgive me, but I couldn’t really concentrate on the DVD collection,” said Selina. “Not with a rotting head in my eyeline.”
“Sarcasm never suited you,” said the Mother of Flies.
Selina looked around the room, with her lip curled. “I suppose this is where you come all the time, when you leave the house. When you’re ‘working late’. I’m supposed to be your daughter! I trusted you, and you used me.”
“One day my gift will be yours,” said the Mother of Flies. “Whether I like it or not.”
Selina’s face twisted. “You think I want to be like you?” she said. “You think I want any of this?” she added, waving a hand around the room. “You’re doing all this because you’re –” she paused, as if searching for the word – “you’re evil.”
The Mother of Flies narrowed her eyes, her face hardening. “If you had seen how low your ancestors fell, you’d be thanking me now. You never knew your grandmother. You never saw how all the self-righteous ferals shunned her, shuddered at the very sight of her. And when she was laid to rest in a pauper’s grave, none came to her funeral. Not one. Even the centipede feral was buried with dignity! But for the fly talker … nothing but fear and hatred.” She turned on Caw suddenly, gripping his face in her hand, grinding her fingers into his jaw. “Now, Jack, where is the Midnight Stone?”
Her nails cut into his cheeks.
“Get off him!” said Lydia. Mr Silk grabbed her before she could move.
The Mother of Flies stared into Caw’s eyes as he writhed in her grip. He felt her gazing through them, her hunger burrowing in his mind.
“He knows,” she said. “He knows.”
With her free hand she seized his shoulder and pushed her thumb into the dislocated socket. Caw screamed and fell to his knees. “Tell me!” she shouted.
Caw felt dribble spooling from his mouth and he gasped in sheer agony. Any second now he would pass out. He couldn’t have spoken even if he wanted to.
Cynthia Davenport released him and Caw collapsed on to his side, still reeling in pain. He saw the Mother of Flies give a small nod to Mr Silk and immediately the moth feral hoisted a screaming Lydia into the air, hooking her collar over one of the meat hooks. Mr and Mrs Strickham lunged to stop him, but Pinkerton already had a gun drawn and pointing at their heads.
Lydia squirmed like a fish out of water, her feet dangling in the air, her hands still trapped by the cuffs behind her back.
“Where is it, Caw?” said the Mother of Flies.
Caw didn’t know what to do. Mrs Strickham glared at the barrel of Pinkerton’s gun.
“Don’t tell her!” shouted Lydia.
Cynthia Davenport whipped around, her face alive with anger. She threw out an arm and to Caw’s horror it simply dissolved into a stream of flies, leaving her sleeve empty and drooping. The insects fell across Lydia’s face and she screamed, whipping her head from side to side. The flies crawled, buzzing madly, into her open mouth. Lydia’s screams turning to grunts and chokes, and her body jerked on the hook.
“Stop it, please!” cried Mr Strickham.
“All right! I’ll tell you!” said Caw.
At once the flies streamed out of Lydia’s mouth, swooping back to their mistress and disappearing into the front of her jacket. Her sleeve filled again and a pale hand appeared from the cuff. She sat down, folding one leg over the other.
“That’s better, Caw,” she said. “Now, you have one opportunity to tell me the truth. If you lie, or attempt to deceive me in any way, the fox talker’s daughter’s last breath will be smothered in flies. Do you understand me?”
Caw shivered in the frigid air. “Yes,” he said.
“So, where is the Midnight Stone?”
Caw swallowed, his mind desperately searching for a way out – some way to protect what his mother had entrusted to him. Lydia’s face was mottled with fear. Mr Strickham was breathing heavily, his wife looking at the ground. No, there was no way out of here. No animals to call to their aid. The Mother of Flies had them right where she wanted them.
Caw fought against the despair that tried to tear him down. Why couldn’t Bootlace have kept the stone for just a few days more? Why couldn’t his mother have left him out of this? He wasn’t a warrior feral, like t
he ones who’d fought in the Dark Summer. He was just a boy. He hadn’t asked for any of this.
But he knew that wasn’t an excuse and it echoed hollow in his heart. He’d let them down. His mother, his father, all the ferals who’d given their lives to protect what was good.
“Just tell her,” said Mrs Strickham softly.
“Mum, no!” said Lydia.
“Well?” said the Mother of Flies, with a slow smile.
“It’s buried in Blackstone Park,” Caw said. “Under a bench near the bandstand.”
Cynthia Davenport’s eyes locked on to his for a few seconds.
“I’m telling the truth,” he said.
The Mother of Flies nodded. “Yes, you are,” she said, standing straighter. “Mr Silk, Pinkerton, come with me.”
She strode towards the door, her cronies following at her heels. Selina remained motionless as though frozen with horror at what she had seen.
“You’re despicable,” spat Mrs Strickham at the fly feral. “And you won’t win. Even if you find that stone and take away our powers, others will rise to fight you.”
The Mother of Flies stopped and frowned.
“You think that’s all I want? To take away your powers?” she said.
Caw felt a flicker of uncertainty. “That’s what the stone does, isn’t it?” he said.
Cynthia Davenport stared at him, as if she was genuinely confused. At last her eyes crinkled with a kind of cruel delight. “Oh, Caw. You poor child. It is so much more than that … You don’t even know, do you?”
Caw didn’t know what to say. He thought he knew, but what if he was wrong?
Cynthia Davenport’s lips curled into a savage smile. “The Midnight Stone is –” she seemed to be hunting for the right word – “it is the future.”
She left the room and the doors closed with a soft beep as the locking mechanism activated behind her.
elina slumped against the wall. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered. She was trembling with cold in just her T-shirt, her lips purple. “I didn’t know … about any of this.”
Caw didn’t care any more. What did it matter? They had lost and the Mother of Flies had won.
Mr Strickham rushed over and stood beneath Lydia.
“Put your feet on my shoulders,” he said. Lydia did so, and with a bit of wriggling her collar tore off the hook. She fell to the ground in a heap.
“I’m all right,” she said, struggling on to her knees with her hands still tied.
“Here, let me help with the cuffs,” said Selina approaching.
“Get away from me!” shouted Lydia.
Selina paused.
“You have a key?” said Mrs Strickham.
Selina reached up into her hair and pulled out a spindly clip which she bent out of shape. “The next best thing.”
Lydia looked like she wanted to punch Selina in the face.
“Let her help you,” Caw said. “We need to work together now.”
Mrs Strickham gave a brisk nod and Lydia turned her back so that Selina could get to the cuffs.
Selina took the cuffs softly and began to work with the end of the pin. It took a matter of seconds to get them off, but Lydia didn’t say anything as they dropped to the floor.
Next Selina came to Caw. Her teeth were chattering and her hands were shaking as well. Their eyes met briefly, then he turned to let her remove the cuffs from behind his back. Even though she was gentle, he winced as pain shot through his shoulder like an electric current. Then the pressure on his wrists vanished with a soft click. “Thank you,” he said.
Lydia’s father had gone to the door to inspect the sensor pad. Meanwhile Mrs Strickham moved behind Caw. “We need to fix that shoulder of yours,” she said. “Hold still.” Before he could say anything, she’d wrapped one hand under his armpit and around his chest. With the other she grabbed his forearm. Caw cried out as she jerked his arm upwards. He staggered against the wall.
“There,” said Mrs Strickham. “That should be better now.”
As Caw took deep breaths and held his tender shoulder, Mrs Strickham took the pin from Selina’s hand and went to work on her husband’s cuffs. Caw let his head rest against the cool wall as the waves of throbbing pain subsided.
“So what now?” said Lydia. “We need to get out of here.”
Mrs Strickham dropped the last set of cuffs on the floor and rubbed her hands together vigorously. “Agreed. It looks like we were wrong about the stone. Whatever it’s capable of, it’s worse than we thought.”
Selina reached into her pocket and pulled out a card. “I think I can help.”
“Is that what I think it is?” said Caw.
Selina nodded. “I took it off Mr Silk.”
“Convenient,” said Lydia.
Caw remembered how Selina had stolen his watch in their earlier encounter. “She’s good at things like that.”
Mr Strickham frowned at Selina. “Why should we trust you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t care if you do or not. I’m getting out of here.”
Lydia moved like a flash, snatching the card off her.
“Hey!” said Selina.
“You’ve done nothing but deceive us,” said Lydia. “We should leave you in here.”
For a moment, Caw thought Selina might fight back, so he stood between them.
“She didn’t have to help us,” he said to Lydia. “We can’t let her freeze to death.”
“The elevator,” said Mr Strickham. “The guy in the white hat used the card there as well.”
Lydia went to the door. “Let’s go,” she said.
Velma Strickham moved her gently aside. “Stay here until the coast is clear,” she said to her daughter.
“But, Mum …”
“Do as your mother says,” said Mr Strickham.
Caw drew the Crow’s Beak and shot a glance at Selina. “Are you coming?”
Selina nodded, approaching the door cautiously.
“Don’t worry,” said Mr Strickham. “I don’t bite.”
“But my foxes do,” said Mrs Strickham. “If you have second thoughts and try to betray us again, I won’t think twice.”
“Ready?” asked Lydia.
Caw nodded.
Lydia touched the card to the sensor and the door opened. The pig’s head still sat on the table, but there were no flies any more. Caw guessed they must have flown off with their mistress. He crept out. The door to the bar was closed, but he could hear the raucous voices of the convicts on the other side.
If they could just keep quiet, they might make it out of here.
Selina pointed to the lounge area and Mrs Strickham nodded. They passed the fireplace. And then a high-backed chair shifted fractionally, and Pinkerton swivelled to face them. She was nibbling on a huge lump of cheese, but when she saw them she clambered to her feet, backing away. “Y-y-you!” she said.
Caw jumped at her, lunging with the Crow’s Beak. She dropped her cheese, squealed and then she was on him, knocking him on to his back. Her teeth clamped over his wrist.
Caw opened his mouth in a silent roar as her hands clawed at his face …
Thump!
Pinkerton toppled sideways. Caw looked up to see Mr Strickham holding a table lamp and the rat feral out cold. As he clambered to his feet, Caw saw blood dripping from puncture wounds on his arm. He picked up the Crow’s Beak. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Mrs Strickham took hold of Pinkerton’s feet and dragged her out of sight behind a sofa.
Selina led the way back across the apartment towards the stairs. Caw wondered if the Mother of Flies would have reached the park yet. On her own she could have, but to search the area properly, she’d have needed to take people with her. That meant they might still have a chance.
As they got to the stairs leading up to the walkway, Caw saw properly into the kitchen area for the first time. It was all sleek steel with dark stone tiling. He was about to follow Selina when he caught a movement at the far end and blinked in con
fusion. Mr Silk seemed to materialise out of the kitchen wall, moths twitching all over his suit. Caw realised they’d somehow been camouflaging him there. Mr Silk drew a gun from his jacket.
“Stop there!” snarled the moth feral.
“Run!” cried Caw, grabbing Lydia’s hand.
A burst of gunfire exploded from the kitchen, smashing into the floor-to-ceiling windows on the other side of the apartment, sending spider-web cracks across the huge glass panes.
Selina leapt up the stairs, and Caw followed. But Lydia squirmed free from his grip. “Wait!” she said. Caw turned and saw Lydia’s parents flailing as a swirling swarm of moths drove them back.
“Get off them!” screamed Lydia.
“Go!” said her father, trying to beat the moths back. “You won’t get another chance!”
Lydia tried to run to them, but Caw pulled her back the other way.
“Listen to them,” he said.
“No!” she shouted, struggling to break free. Selina grabbed her arm, trying to help, and Lydia wheeled around to hit her across the face. Selina caught her wrist in a strong grip and spoke through gritted teeth. “I know you don’t like me, but I’m trying to save your life.”
Mr Silk reached the bottom of the stairs and levelled the barrel of his gun. “Get back here!” he said.
Lydia struggled, but Selina was too strong.
“Listen to her,” Caw said.
He saw his friend’s arm loosen and Selina let go. Lydia took a last look back down the stairs then let him lead her on to the walkway, towards the lift.
She swiped the card against the sensor.
Nothing happened.
She swiped again.
Caw grabbed the card and tried, with the same result.
“There must be emergency stairs,” said Selina. She pointed towards a door a few metres along the walkway. “What about in there?”
Caw could hear a trample of footsteps coming from somewhere else in the apartment. Shouts followed.
“Where are they?”