by Amy Cross
"I'm not waiting for you," Olivia calls after me.
I turn to see her walking away down the tunnel, disappearing into the darkness. I want to follow her, to get out of here, but I have to go and find Martin. I hurry toward the station, but as I get closer I see something large on the tracks. I eventually realize that it's a body, and as I get to it I see that it's Martin.
I glance up at the platform. There's no-one about. Kneeling, I put a hand out to check Martin's pulse, but he's cold and dead. His eyes are wide open, and there's a bullet hole in the center of his face, with dried blood smeared all the way down one side.
"I'm sorry," I say, tears welling up. I only knew him for a few hours, but we were having a good date and it was fun finding someone who likes the same kind of things that I like. Now look at him. Shot and left to rot down here. Why? What did he do? What's so important about this place that it's worth killing a man for? A good man?
I look up as I hear voices in the distance. Getting to my feet, I take one last look at Martin and then I reach down and close his eyes before turning and running off down the tunnel. Soon I'm back in the darkness, trying not to trip over the tracks, and eventually I see there's a figure standing waiting for me. I pull up short, but then I realize it's Olivia. Completely out of breath, I lean against the wall. I'm too old for this kind of stuff.
"I'll help you get back to the surface," Olivia says. "And I'm sorry about your friend."
"We have to tell the police about what happened," I say.
Olivia laughs. "You do that, you'll be dead inside of an hour."
"No!" I say. "That's not true! They wouldn't ignore a murder!"
"Who did you think killed him?" Olivia says. "Police, army, government... All the same."
I open my mouth to say something, but I realize there's no way I can respond. After all, she's the expert on these things. Apparently.
"Some of my friends died today too," Olivia says. "It's best not to dwell on it. Come on. We don't have much time."
We walk on, and I notice for the first time that Olivia seems to be limping a little. She seems to know her way around down here, though, and she doesn't even have a map. If I was still alone, I'd be wandering around for hours and I'd probably end up straying into a modern tunnel, where I'd get fried by the electric rail. So at least this way there's a chance of finding a way out of here.
"So what were you doing in the tunnels?" Olivia asks after a while. It feels like we've been walking for hours, and I have no idea where we are. I don't even know what time it is.
"I was on a date," I say quietly, unable to stop thinking about Martin. Damn it, why didn't we just go to a restaurant? Sure, it's corny, but at least it's survivable. Why did we have to be 'different' and come down here? It seemed so adventurous and daring at the time, but now I just feel like a silly old fart who got herself into something dangerous.
"A date?" Olivia asks, an air of incredulity in her voice.
"We both like odd history," I say. "Neither of us likes fancy restaurants, I happened to mention that I've always wanted to see an abandoned tube station, and Martin said he knew a way down here, so..." I pause for a moment. "Why'd they shoot him? What did we do wrong?"
"Nothing," Olivia says. "You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, that's all. You were unlucky."
"Martin was unlucky," I say. "I was just -"
"You were both unlucky," Olivia says, butting in.
We walk on a little further. "Back there," I say, "I thought I saw something. In the booth in the ticket hall. There was something in there, and before the soldiers came it was almost like it was chasing us."
"Security system," says Olivia. "Greystone leaves things like that to scare people away."
"What was it?" I ask.
Olivia shakes her head. "You don't wanna know."
"I do!" I say.
"You don't," she replies firmly.
"What about you"? I ask. "Why are you down here?"
"I thought it would be the easiest way to escape," she replies. "I was right."
"You call this easy?" I ask.
Olivia stops by a small door. She pulls out a small pin, inserts it in the padlock, and manages to get the door open. Stepping through, we find ourselves in some woodland. The sun is just starting to come up.
"Not easy," Olivia says. "But easier than getting shot."
I sit on the grass and suddenly I feel as if I can't breathe. Olivia sits next to me and I feel her place her arm around my shoulder.
"Calm down," she says. "It's okay. We're safe right now."
I manage to get my breathing under control. "Martin's not okay, is he?" I'm trying really hard not to cry, not to let the floodgates open. I feel as if, once I start crying, I'll never be able to stop. Not ever. I watched Martin getting killed today, I saw him shot down in cold blood. He was such a nice man, and he didn't deserve to meet such a horrible end. I can't understand how the world can be so cruel. Then again, I should have saved him. I should have done something.
Jess
As Duncan and I run along the busy Soho streets, we quickly become separated and soon I find myself alone in the crowd, spinning around, looking for him. All around me, people are walking and talking and laughing, going about their day, completely oblivious to anything else. They certainly don't seem to be aware of any danger. Damn it, I don't even know what I'm supposed to be running from, except that it seems to be everywhere. In every street, on every corner, there are cameras, and Duncan says - or said, before he suddenly disappeared in the crowd - that there was no sure-fire way of escaping.
"We'll have to fight at some point," he said. "But right now, just keep running." And then he ran and I lost him in the crowd.
I push ahead, scanning the crowd ahead and behind in case I spot Duncan. But he's nowhere. Did he just leave me here? Maybe I'm bait, and he abandoned me so that he'd have a better chance of getting away. Would Duncan really do that? I guess it's possible. After all, what am I to him? He said it himself once: He hates humans.
As I run around the corner and across the street, I suddenly hear a screeching sound. I look left, and suddenly I see a large white van speeding straight toward me. There's a fraction of a second in which I try to work out what to do, but it's too late: the van slams into me and I bounce off the front, flying through the air and hitting a wall headfirst with a sickening crack before dropping to the pavement. As I land, I feel all the air forced out of my lungs, and then I feel a massive shock jolt through my entire body. And then I just stay exactly where I am, not moving, not able to move, as people rush over to see if I'm okay.
And you know what?
Somehow, God knows how, but somehow... I'm fine. I slowly get to my feet. Although I feel like I'm in shock, and although I felt the full force of the impact against the wall, I don't seem to have a broken bone in my body, or a cut or a bruise anywhere.
"Are you alright?" asks a man who has come over. He looks shocked, as if he can't quite believe that I'm not dead. Frankly, I can't believe it either.
"Yeah," I say, still checking myself. No broken bones. No injuries at all. But how?
"What the fuck are you doing?" shouts another voice. I turn to see the driver of the van stomping over. "You could've been fucking killed! How... Are you..." He just stares at me. Clearly, he expected to find me crumpled on the ground.
"I'm fine," I say. "Thanks. Sorry about everything."
I turn to rush away, but the guy from the van grabs my arm and pulls me back toward him. "You need to get to a hospital," he says, obvious concern written across his face.
"I saw her hit the wall," says the other man. "She hit it with her head."
"I'm really fine," I say.
A car horn sounds nearby. The white van is blocking the street, but the driver is clearly in no mood to get going just yet. "Let me drive you to A&E," he says. "You've gotta have concussion."
"Really," I say, pulling my arm away. "No!"
I turn and start walking aw
ay, unable to believe that somehow I've managed to survive. My head is still ringing from when I hit the wall, and I definitely heard my skull crack. But there doesn't seem to be any kind of injury at all, and it seems like the only lasting consequences of the whole thing is a bout of major embarrassment. That's not right. No-one should be able to survive what just happened to me. It's crazy, it's inhuman, it's -
"There you are!" exclaims Duncan, coming around the corner and almost smashing into me. The street is busy and shoppers bustle past us. "Come on, I've got an idea!" He grabs my arm and tries to pull me along, but I refuse.
"What did you do to me?" I ask him.
"Can we get moving?" he says impatiently.
"I just got hit by a van," I say. "And look at me! I'm fine! And I got stabbed, and here I am! So what did you do to me? What the fucking hell's wrong with me?"
Duncan stares at me, a serious look filling his face. "Let's not talk about this now," he says.
"I'm not going anywhere with you until you tell me," I say. "What did you do to me?"
"You know what I did to you," he says solemnly.
A shopper almost knocks me over as he hurries past. "I don't know what you're talking about," I say to Duncan.
"Yes you do," he replies. "You don't want to admit it, but you do." He fixes me with a dark stare. "You can feel it. It's in your blood now, just like it's always been in mine. You didn't ask for it, but it's part of you anyway. I had to do it, to save your life."
I stare at him, and suddenly I feel so alone despite the crowd of shoppers all around me. It's like they're... different somehow, like I'm no longer part of humanity. But it can't be true... Duncan couldn't have... I look down at my hands. They look normal. They look like my hands! And I feel the same as ever, I swear, except... maybe I feel slightly more... I can't describe it, but it almost feels like... Imagine your mind is a large room, filled with stuff, and you suddenly realize that there's a curtain at one end, and there's someone standing behind the curtain. It's like... It's like there's another me in my own mind.
"I'm sorry," Duncan says. "I should have told you sooner. But it was the only way to save your life."
"No," I say. "Just... no." I turn and walk away, walking fast through the crowd of shoppers. But it's no use. I'm suddenly aware that I'm different from all of them, I'm not one of them. I'm... something else. Something different. Something that most of them probably believe is just a myth.
"It's not all bad," says Duncan, catching up to me. "Believe me, it has certain advantages."
"Leave me alone," I say, refusing to look at him, picking up my pace.
"We need to get out of sight," he says.
"Fuck you."
"Would you rather be dead?" he asks, keeping up with me.
"I'd rather not be mixed up in this at all," I say. "I'd rather I'd never..." My voice trails off.
"What?" he asks. "You'd rather you'd never met me? Well... Thanks, but your life would be pretty boring, wouldn't it?"
I take a right, down a small, bare side-street, and then I stop walking and turn to face Duncan. "I'd still be human!" I shout at him. "I wouldn't be... like this!"
He smiles, but then the smile vanishes and he looks genuinely concerned. "It's really not so awful," he says. "It just takes away some of your weaknesses, and if I hadn't done it... You'd be dead. Right now, you'd be dead, you'd be gone. Isn't that worth something? You're not dead."
I look around, trying not to see Duncan's eyes. "I wish I was," I say.
"I'm glad you're not," he replies quickly.
"It's like..." I take a deep breath. I can't believe he would do this, I can't believe he'd just turn me into one of his species like this. There must have been another way. "It's like you're inside me now," I say eventually. "It's like part of you is inside every part of me."
"It's not like that," he says.
"It is!" I shout. "It's like you've invaded my body, and there's nothing I can do about it!"
"You're being melodramatic!"
"It's like you've raped me."
He sighs. "It's nothing like that."
"Trust me," I say, fixing him with a dark stare. "It really is."
He falls silent for a moment.
"Can you undo it?" I ask.
He doesn't answer.
"Can you undo it?" I ask again, raising my voice.
"Of course I can't," he says. "I had half a minute to make a decision, and this is what I chose to do. Maybe it was a mistake, but I couldn't let you die. I couldn't l... I mean, I couldn't allow that to happen. And I made that decision and now look at you. Here you are." There's a pause. "You know, some people would be grateful, some people would pay for a chance like this. Some people..." His voice trails off; I don't think he's particularly persuaded by his own argument.
There's silence between us for a moment. "So what happens now?" I ask. "Do I turn into a fucking wolf every time there's a full moon?"
"It's not like that," he says. "But there's a lot that you need to know. You'll have certain needs, and there'll be times when..." He takes a step closer to me, and he reaches out to put a hand on my shoulder. "You're still you. You're still Jess. It's just that certain things will affect you differently."
I nod, trying to take it all in. "I don't want to turn into a wolf," I say.
"You don't have to," he says softly. "It's all under your control. But you need to learn how to manage it, or it can go wrong."
"How wrong?" I ask.
"Very wrong," he replies. "Come on, we have to get out of here. They're still looking for us. Or you, at least. They want to wipe out every last person who knows about Greystone. And they're very efficient." He looks up at the sky for a moment. "Their operation's probably almost complete. By now, you're probably the last one left on their list."
Margaret
Suddenly, I realize I've been asleep.
The sun is shining and the day has begun. I sit up, feeling groggy, and for a moment I wonder if last night was just a dream. But then I notice that Olivia is asleep next to me, and with a heavy heart I realize that it's all true. I look across the woodland and see the skyscrapers of London just beyond the trees. It looks like we're in Hyde Park, though I'm not entirely sure where. Funny. All those times in Hyde Park and I never really got to take in the view.
When I try to move, I find my bones are aching. No surprise there: I'm 56 years old and the most exercise I get usually is climbing the steps to my flat. It was stupid to think Martin would ever have wanted to go to bed with me. I'd better just accept that my days of getting luck are over. It's just that Martin seemed so kind and so generous, I truly felt he'd be able to see past my aged old body and recognize the spirit within.
Martin.
I kind of thought he might fall in l -
No, that's ridiculous! God, I can be a stupid old woman sometimes. Martin could never love me, I'm just... I'm just... I'm...
For the first half minute or so, I forgot what happened to him. And now it comes back to me, a wave of sadness. It's so stupid, being upset over the death of someone I barely knew. But the truth is, I barely know anyone, and in the space of just a few hours Martin was fast-tracked on the road to becoming my best friend, and possibly more. Then he was snatched away, and I still don't know why. Those soldiers were so callous, and they dispatched him so quickly. Why? What did he do to deserve such a horrible death?
I decide to let Olivia sleep for a little while longer, partly because she seems to need the rest and partly because I feel like being by myself, so I haul myself painfully to my feet and stagger across the grass. I'm not sure where I'm going, really, but I feel I need to get my bones moving. I reach a tree and have to steady myself against the trunk; okay, I think I've had my last adventure. My body just isn't up to it anymore. After last night, I just want to go back to my flat. Forever.
This is stupid. When did I become so tame and boring? When did I stop caring about the world? I need to work out what's happening. I turn and wander back over
to Olivia.
"Wake up," I say. "Wake up, we need to move."
She doesn't stir.
"Wake up," I say again. I give her a gentle nudge with my shoe. I should really kneel down and wake her gently, but I don't think my bones will handle too much more punishment right now.
Still, Olivia doesn't stir.
She's still.
Completely still.
A sudden shiver comes over me and I finally get down on my knees and roll her onto her back. To my relief, I find that she's still breathing, but only just. I shake her by the shoulder. "Olivia," I say. "Come on, wake up." But as I say the words, I see that Olivia's injuries - which I glimpsed last night - are much worse than I realized Her shirt is soaked in blood, and when I lift it up I find that there's a big wounds in her stomach, with what looks like a piece of metal sticking out. She has various other cuts and bruises as well, and she looks pale. There's blood in the grass, suggesting that she's been slowly bleeding out all night.
"Hi," she says suddenly, opening her eyes. She blinks against the morning sun. "What happened?"
"We fell asleep," I say.
She just stares up at the sky. She's clearly weak, which isn't surprising given the amount of blood she's clearly lost.
"Are you okay?" I ask, and I immediately realize what a stupid question that is. Of course she's not okay. She's very clearly, very obviously not okay. In fact, looking at her right now, it's a miracle she's alive at all.
She takes a couple of short, labored breaths. "Do you... Do you know where Shoreditch Market is?" she asks eventually.
I nod. "Sure," I say.
"And the old Whiteman's Building that's nearby. Do you know that?"
"I think so," I say. That's not entirely true, but I'm pretty sure I can find it.
She lets out a long breath. "Wait until dark," she says quietly, without any energy. "And then take me there. I need to... I need to see someone about..."
"About what?" I ask. She's clearly struggling, and I'm not sure she'll make it until it gets dark again.
"I need to see a man about a dog," Olivia says, and then she passes out, leaving me sitting there on the grass wondering how I'm supposed to keep her alive until nightfall.