The Swarm Descends

by Jacob Grey

  But the Midnight Stone was already in Cynthia Davenport’s grasp. Back then, the ferals had been fighting the superstitions of humans. They couldn’t have known that one day their deadliest enemy would be among their own number.

  Had she already put her plan into action? Was she at this moment creating new lines of ferals?

  Caw willed his crows to slow and the ones carrying the girls drew close.

  “Selina’s right,” he said. “Let’s set down in the courtyard.”

  He didn’t wait for Lydia to argue. The crows circled around the blind side of the building as sheet lighting flashed in the bruised bellies of the clouds. Their flight followed a gently descending path until Caw’s feet bumped against the ground. The tower rose above them, the windows gleaming black; a dark, thrusting silhouette.

  “Stay close,” Caw told the crows, as they set down Lydia and Selina too. “I’ll need you again soon.”

  The birds fell across a garden of ornamental trees, blackening the branches. Only Screech, Shimmer and Glum remained with him.

  Caw led his friends towards the front of the building and crouched behind Cynthia Davenport’s limo. The ground was littered with shards of glass from the broken window he had leapt through earlier.

  “What’s the plan?” asked Selina. “I guess the elevator is out of the question?”

  Caw noticed something moving in the forecourt – two small foxes, nosing around in some bushes. Mr Silk had been wrong when he said they wouldn’t come – Mrs Strickham had loyal creatures, even here.

  Caw stared up – from this angle, he couldn’t see the apartment at all. There was definitely a faint glow at the top of the building though. But it was seventy floors up and her flies would surely be on the lookout. The others were looking at him, expectant. They’re relying on me. I brought them here, but for what? He couldn’t let them go up there too. This wasn’t their fight – both had been dragged in through no fault of their own, just because of who their parents were.

  “I’ll go up there alone,” he said. He moved away.

  “No!” said Lydia, grabbing his arm. “Don’t even think about it!”

  “We’re coming with you,” said Selina.

  “You can’t,” he pleaded. “This is a fight for ferals.”

  “No it isn’t,” said Lydia. “Can’t you see that? If the Mother of Flies wins, she won’t stop at wiping out the other ferals. She’ll take over the whole city. Everyone will suffer.”

  Caw tried to pull his arm out of the way, but Lydia gripped it harder.

  “You’ve got to let us help,” said Selina.

  Caw didn’t want to fight them, but he hardened his heart. “OK,” he said. “You’re right.”

  Lydia let go of him and they both lifted their arms expectantly.

  You can’t let them come, said Glum, as if reading his thoughts. They’ll get themselves killed.

  “Get ready,” Caw said, as crows flocked across their bodies. He hated lying, but Lydia and Selina had their whole lives ahead of them. Black Corvus had made a promise that he intended to keep himself.

  He told his crows to lift him, and him alone. And as he rose into the air, those on the girls detached themselves.

  “Caw, no!” said Lydia. “Don’t you dare leave me here!”

  “You need us!” said Selina. They both glared up at him.

  “If I don’t come back, you have to run away,” he said. “Blackstone won’t be safe.”

  “Shut up, Caw!” shouted Lydia. “We’re supposed to be friends!”

  “We are!” he called back.

  Their shouts faded as the crows lifted him away.

  You did the right thing, said Glum as they rose higher and higher.

  Yep, said Shimmer. So what’s the plan?

  Caw fished around for something to say.

  Let me guess, said Screech. Dive headlong into almost certain death?

  “That’s about it,” said Caw. His arteries pumped with adrenaline, making his skin tingle.

  Pah! said Shimmer. Plans are overrated.

  “I won’t hold it against you if you want to stay behind,” said Caw. “After everything you’ve done …”

  I’m pretty sure you would, said Glum. Without us, you’d be left to gravity.

  Caw couldn’t help but smile, despite everything. He knew the crows weren’t going anywhere. They never had and they never would.

  The windows of the building reeled past and his blurred reflection streamed across them as they climbed. Whatever awaited him, however afraid he was, he would face it without turning away, just as his mother had faced the Spinning Man. He’d make her proud. Crumb too. And even if he died, at least he’d done all in his power to stop the Mother of Flies. The crow line would have held firm, and if their spirits lingered in the Land of the Dead, they would nod and say he had done his duty.

  Caw’s heart surged at the thought of his ancestors and the crows lifted him faster through the air. He flew as close to the building’s side as possible, trying to stay out of sight. As he reached the broken apartment window, he saw the lights inside were off. He let the crows carry him inside, over the bullet-riddled furniture and broken glass. Panic rose in his chest. He hadn’t thought that the Mother of Flies might actually go somewhere else to carry out her plan.

  But as he emerged into the night again, he realised he could hear voices from above. They climbed higher. Now he saw the source of the light – from the roof, angled spotlights were illuminating columns of golden rain. Between them, a helicopter stood perched on an elevated platform. Caw told the crows to carry him behind it and they obeyed. As soon as his feet touched down, he waved a hand and they dropped back out of sight over the roof’s edge. He crouched, peering around the edge of the helicopter.

  A fire door was open, and Cynthia Davenport stood beside it, wearing a black coat and leather gloves, smiling triumphantly as the line of convicts emerged. The first was Lugmann. He clutched a lead, the other end attached by a collar to the black panther Caw had seen caged inside. The creature prowled lazily, muzzled but compliant, into the rain.

  Next came a tall, gangling dark-skinned man with a beard. He held a glass jar, stuffed with a large, coiled centipede. Caw felt a flash of anger at seeing Emily’s creature imprisoned so soon after her death.

  More convicts followed. A grey-haired stocky man of middle age led a monkey on a leash. The creature was howling and tugging back, but the convict yanked him on.

  “Quicker!” said the Mother of Flies impatiently. “Form a circle.”

  One by one, the former prisoners came out, each with an animal of their own. Birds on tethers, insects in containers, primates and dogs wheeled in their crates and cages from the hidden room in the apartment below. At one point a thug with several piercings in his eyebrows, nose and lips came out backwards. He was carrying one side of a stretcher. Sprawled across it, unconscious, was the brown bear. Caw realised that it had probably come from the zoo. Did that mean the Mother of Flies had the other creatures, too, somewhere – deadly species likes tigers and crocodiles and wolverines? If they were let loose on the streets of Blackstone … it was too horrible to think about.

  The other side of the bear’s stretcher was carried by a man with a snake wrapped around his forearm. They took positions in a loose circle on the roof beside the helicopter. The animals snarled and snapped as the rain bucketed down.

  Last of all came Mr and Mrs Strickham, hands and ankles tied together with cord, making them stumble awkwardly. A scrawny convict in a baggy prison shirt followed them with a gun.

  Cynthia Davenport strode into the centre of the circle of prisoners and animals. They were all talking to each other and laughing.

  “On your knees,” growled the wiry man, pointing the gun at Velma Strickham.

  When she didn’t obey, he kicked Mr Strickham in the back of the legs. Lydia’s father crumpled with a cry, dragging down his wife with him.

  “Leave him alone!” shouted Lydia’s mother.


  The convict laughed. “Or what? When all this is over and you and your line are dead, maybe I’ll be the new fox feral. How about that?”

  Caw shuddered. That was Lydia the man was threatening, not just Mrs Strickham. It suddenly became clear to him. No feral was safe. All the prisoners from the zoo ambush … sooner or later the Mother of Flies would kill them all, extinguishing their lines so that she could resurrect them under her own control. Pip and Crumb … All who could stand in her way.

  “You first!” said the Mother of Flies, pointing a gloved finger at the man with the beard. “Come to me.”

  The man came forward uncertainly. He looked scared, Caw thought.

  The Mother of Flies took the Midnight Stone from her pocket. Caw’s skin prickled at the sight of it.

  “Hold out your hand,” she ordered.

  “Will it hurt?” the man asked.

  Her lip turned up in disgust. “I’m about to give you and your wretched descendants a destiny greater than anything you could ever have hoped for. Now give me your hand!”

  The man flinched as if she’d slapped him, and did as he was told. Mrs Strickham placed the stone in his palm. Caw saw that the assembled convicts had gone quiet.

  “Now, take your gift,” she said. “Touch the creature.”

  He crouched, placed the jar on the roof, then reached inside. At the moment his fingers touched the squirming centipede, his body jerked as if shocked with an electric current and the stone flashed white. Caw felt something pass through his own body too, soft as a summer breeze.

  The convict fell backwards, breaking contact. But the air still fizzed with unseen energy, an echo of the ancient power contained within the stone. The animals in the cages all cowered into silence. Then the convict shook his head to clear it; he looked at the jar and frowned. The centipede moved slowly, climbed out down the side, and disappeared into the cuff of his sleeve. It emerged at his collar, creeping around his neck.

  He stood up, grinning widely.

  The circle broke into cheers and whoops as he rejoined them. Velma Strickham bowed her head in defeat. Her husband looked sickened.

  Caw looked on hopelessly.

  “Next!” said Cynthia Davenport.

  A teenage girl with greasy locks came forward with a golden eagle on her gloved hand. She could barely lift the huge bird.

  As she took her place beside the stone, a dog started barking furiously in Caw’s direction. He ducked out of sight behind the helicopter. What could he do? Send a barrage of crows to try and get the stone? No – they wouldn’t get close. Another gasp from the assembled convicts told him the eagle and the girl had bonded. Caw still had the Crow’s Beak. But if any of them had guns …

  He sat motionless, paralysed with fear, as more and more convicts were united with creatures, one after another.

  “Next!” shouted the Mother of Flies. “You!”

  Caw peered over the landing pad again, just in time to see Lugmann with the muzzled panther. He held out his fingers tentatively and the panther swiped at him with a paw. The convict backed away with a grunt.

  “Get on with it!” said Cynthia Davenport. “Make it yours, you coward.”

  Lugmann reached out to touch the panther’s shoulder and the light flashed again.

  Something tickled Caw’s hand and he looked down to see a single fly crawling along his wrist.

  “I think we have an uninvited guest,” said the Mother of Flies.

  There was no point staying hidden any more. Caw stepped out into the open.

  As she turned to face him, so did all the convicts, and the Strickhams.

  “Caw!” Lydia’s mother yelled. “Go! Fly away! It’s over!”

  The convicts all wore bemused expressions and glanced at Cynthia Davenport uncertainly.

  She looked utterly untroubled. “Crows are stubborn creatures, aren’t they?” she said.

  The convicts all laughed, but Caw stood his ground. He felt the crows waiting and called more. He sensed their gathering strength. When the moment came, he would unleash their fury.

  “That stone belongs to my family,” Caw said, struggling to keep his voice level. “I’ve come to get it back.”

  The Mother of Flies smiled. “No, you haven’t, crow talker,” she said. “You’ve come to witness my triumph.”

  he convicts began to break from their circle, approaching Caw. The panther beside Lugmann had lost its muzzle and its white fangs glistened.

  “Caw!” pleaded Mrs Strickham. “Look after Lydia! That’s all that matters now.”

  The Mother of Flies shook her head. “Don’t worry, Caw,” she said. “Once you’re dead, I’ll find someone suitable to fill your shoes.”

  Caw stepped back as the convicts advanced in a line, their animals hopping, scuttling, prowling and flapping at their sides.

  “Hey, what about me!” said the pierced man beside the bear. “I haven’t got my powers yet!”

  “You can wait,” said the Mother of Flies, slipping the Midnight Stone into her pocket. “How does it feel, Caw?” she asked. “You crows always thought you were the greatest of all ferals. I wonder what the mighty Black Corvus would have made of you.”

  Caw remembered his ancestor’s face, and the way the others had looked to him for guidance.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But he’d have hated you and everything you stand for. He wanted to protect the ferals, not use their powers for his own gain.”

  “Is that right?” asked the Mother of Flies. “He never protected my ancestors. No one did. That’s why I had to make my own allies. New ferals, who understand that the fly line is to be honoured, not scorned.”

  “You’re just a criminal like any other,” shouted Mr Strickham.

  The Mother of Flies turned on him angrily. “Can any criminal do this?”

  She flung a hand at him and flies swarmed across the rooftop in a black ball, enveloping his head in a mask of bristling bodies. Caw heard muffled screams as Mr Strickham felt forward, writhing on the ground.

  “Stop!” said Mrs Strickham. Cynthia Davenport lifted her hand and the flies buzzed away, as Lydia’s father gasped for air. “Just teaching your husband some manners,” she said. “There’ll be time to deal with all my enemies, soon enough. Why rush?”

  The convicts were slowly forming a semicircle around Caw. They looked hungry for blood.

  “So,” said the Mother of Flies. “What are you waiting for? Use your powers!”

  The bearded man plucked the centipede from his neck and dropped it to the ground. The creature unfurled to a length of nearly two feet and scurried towards Caw.

  Caw barely had to think before Glum darted down from the sky. He scooped the centipede up in his talons and carried it away, squirming.

  The girl launched her eagle. Its wings spread majestically, six feet wide at least, feathers speckled white on their underside. With a piercing screech it swooped at Caw, its talons bent to tear at his face. He ducked in panic, throwing an arm over his head, and felt the claws sink easily through his jacket sleeve and into his flesh. The pain made him cry out, but he wriggled free.

  The next moment his face was full of flapping, shrieking eagle, the beak stabbing like a dagger. Caw managed to hurl his jacket over its head, and the bird let go, rising away blindly on powerful wings, trying to shake off the cover and rapidly tearing it apart. Caw threw out a bleeding arm and crows smacked into the partly covered bird of prey. The noise was horrible as the birds attacked en masse. Feathers rained down, both black and brown. The scrapping birds hit the rooftop and more crows piled on. The giant bird began to move more weakly as the crows attacked relentlessly.

  Caw tore his gaze away as he heard a low growl. His blood froze as he saw the snarling panther leap forwards. Crows flew bravely into its path, but were knocked aside with ease. Shimmer managed to get her talons into its back. The cat didn’t even slow and she tumbled off. Caw saw another crow snatched in its jaws. The panther tossed it aside with a vicious jerk of its head.
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  Caw backed off quickly, palms sweating, and only stopped when he reached the roof’s edge. Fear paralysed him on the spot as the panther closed in. This was it – there was nowhere to go.

  The panther pounced and Caw leapt up at the same time. He used his fear, channelling it through his body, willing his body to change into its crow form. The pain of the transformation, sudden and powerful, snatched his breath away. He rose on crow wings above the diving cat, leaving nothing in its path. Caw looked behind to see a whirl of flailing limbs and gnashing teeth, then the panther’s eyes widening with terror as it plummeted, spinning, towards the unforgiving ground far below.

  A hand swatted Caw’s wing, turning him over, then yanked him from the sky. He hit the wet rooftop and at once his hold on his crow form began to loosen and his limbs became human once more. Lugmann was holding his arm, anger twisting his face. “I’ll make you pay for that!” he said, spitting.

  Blows rained down from all sides as the other convicts surrounded him. Caw curled into a ball, unable to tell where all the different stabs of pain were coming from. He saw boots and swinging legs, but couldn’t do a thing to stop them. He tried to call the crows, but his mind wouldn’t focus. All around, from their cages, the other animals filled the air with their cries. Caw tasted blood in his mouth from a split lip. A fist connected with his ear and his head spun.

  “Get off him!” yelled a distant voice. “Now!”

  A few more punches connected, but the bodies around Caw began to separate. Weakly, he rolled over, and finally managed to call his crows. Help me …

  None came.

  As the convicts moved back, Caw saw why. Across the rooftop and in the sky, clumps of flies swarmed over every one of his birds. He caught glimpses of beaks and wings as they struggled to break free.

  Cynthia Davenport was covered too, from her boots right up to the base of her chin. Caw couldn’t see even a millimetre of her clothing. Flies coated her hair. Only her face remained untouched by the insects. She lifted her arms and as she did so her body lifted from the ground. They were carrying her. She drifted like a black spectre across the rooftop towards him.