Storm

by Virginia Bergin

  Beardy is already keying in a code on a security pad and opening up the glass doors to the lab.

  “RUBY?!” Darius yells.

  “JUST A SEC!” I yell back.

  I run into the lab after Beardy, who is rummaging through a mess of papers.

  “Do you mean me?”

  “What?”

  “Us—who’s going where? Do you mean me?”

  “Of course I mean you,” says Beardy, his brow deeply furrowed like he cannot quite believe I could ask such a stupid question.

  “But I don’t want to go to any of those places.”

  “Really?!” says Beardy. “Not even America? We’ll be world famous stars, I tell you.” He whispers to me: “I think they’re sending a private jet.”

  For 0.1 micrometers of a milli-nanosecond I am lost in an image of me and Beardy lounging on that private jet, then climbing down one of those wheel-up stairways onto the tarmac…someplace nice and sunny. People cheering, taking photos, that kind of thing.

  “RUBY!” I hear the Spratt scream.

  “Hey, my friend’s in there,” I tell him, pointing back at the cells—but Beardy isn’t interested.

  “Um, now…” he says, picking through papers. Papers that are marked up with notes, blazing with lurid highlighter colors. The guy’s a nerd. Total nerd.

  “Can you just let my friend out?” I ask him politely. Any second now, I’m going to run out of my very—VERY—limited reserves of politeness.

  “Grab that bag,” he says.

  Now, see, when Hollywood comes back and this whole story gets made into a movie and I get begged to star in it, I want this whole scene rewritten. (Actually, there is quite a lot that I would like rewritten, but it’s this scene that troubles me most. It has GOT to go.) What I want in its place is…

  So say the whole building is under siege—lots of explosions, gunfire, that kind of thing. Not far away; close up. Probably the Americans bust in at the last second and say, “Ruby Morris?”

  “Yeah,” I snarl. “Who’s asking?”

  And out of a cloud of smoke, this figure steps forward.

  “Me,” he says. (It’s the President of the United States of America, obviously.)

  I square my chin proudly. “You’re a little late, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, sorry about that,” he says.

  A colossal explosion happens. I am the only one who does not cower in terror.

  “Sometimes…sorry isn’t good enough,” I say coolly. “But I accept your apology.”

  I don’t even wait for him to respond. “Keys,” I bark at Beardy. He chucks them to me and I commando leap through a wall of flame to get to Darius’s cell. I unlock it and—uh, this part is going to take some working out, because something has to happen so me and Dar don’t just run hand in hand through smoke and flame to freedom. I want to be carried out. I just want to know what that feels like… I know! I get overcome by smoke at the last moment (but it looks worse than it is; I’m going to recover), so Dar (weeping—that’d be good) has to carry me through smoke and flames.

  “She was only ever trying to help,” he gets to sob at the president as we emerge from the building.

  And I get to cough a bit weakly.

  All around, people gasp. “That’s Ruby Morris! Thank you, Ruby… Thank you!” they cry and I—

  Oh, what’s the point?! What happens instead is I grab the bag Beardy wants—it’s one of those giant “eco-friendly” supermarket shopping bags (they’re very useful)—and hold it open so he can dump the papers in.

  This is what is technically known as superficial compliance, i.e., going along with whatever the parenty/teachery/scientisty-type person wants in order to ease the often complex process of getting what you want. It is a highly risky technique, because you might just end up doing whatever it is they want and still get told no about whatever it is you want. In this case, that’s exactly what happens.

  “Come on, then!” says Beardy.

  “You need to let my friend out,” I tell him.

  “No, it’s OK,” says Beardy, “I just need one of you. Backup supply in case I lose the phage samples. Always losing things…”

  I dump the bag. “I’m not going anywhere without Darius.”

  “Is he your boyfriend?” Beardy asks, squinting curiously at me.

  “I…I…”

  For a moment, I am gripped by a school flashback, imagining I am being asked this question in front of the entire cafeteria. I am being asked whether Darius Spratt, subnerd of subnerds, is my boyfriend. And I answer.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh,” mutters Beardy in a mildly interested sort of way as he revisits a pile of papers.

  YEE-HAA. “LET HIM GO!” I screech.

  Startled, Beardy stops what he is doing…and I follow him back to the cells to release the yelling Spratt.

  You will notice, again, that this story is not quite over.

  Darius and I kiss passionately in the way that only two FREAKS who love each other can do.

  Until we are interrupted.

  There is a terrible kerfuffle going on outside. So terrible we are forced to break off from the kissing to investigate. As we round the corner, we see how it is: it’s the revolution! A bunch of ordinary-looking people—you know, people who just look like people’s moms and dads—are trying to bust into the scientists’ pet shop.

  “Hey,” I yell at Beardy, who’s back in the lab reading some paper or other. “You gonna let them in?!”

  “What?” he says, looking up.

  “We’re being rescued!”

  “Oh, yes,” he says, like he has also only just noticed the revolution has arrived. “Just a moment…” And he goes back to what he was reading.

  But we are not being rescued.

  And there will be no need for Beardy to open the door, because when I look back at it, Ms. TVSOYMMSTTVCOMB is keying in the entrance code. She is shoved out of the way (hurray!) as the good, ordinary folk bust in to poke their way through the pet shop (I only hope they’re thinking about rehoming the poor fluffy ones, and not stewing them up for dinner)…but among them I spot not-so-good, not-so-ordinary folk: Xar, Court members…no Grace.

  “Dar, this is bad,” I blurt and run for the lab.

  I don’t see what happens behind me. I just thought Darius would be right there. It’s only when Beardy slams the lab door shut that I see Darius Spratt is on the other side of it.

  “These people. They tried to kill me—twice,” I jabber, watching the Court approach the lab…they’re armed. Dar just standing there. Why’s Dar just standing there?!

  Xar tests the door—the fact that it is now locked does not comfort me.

  “That guy, he’s in charge of them! He’s a psycho! He just wants to kill everybody!”

  “Ooh,” says Beardy.

  “Everybody! He thinks the planet would be better off without people!”

  “Well…” says Beardy. “Got a point in a way, hasn’t he? I mean, environmentally speaking we—”

  “He’ll kill me!”

  Someone hands Xar a gun.

  “He’ll kill you!” I try; Beardy’s weird calmness is sending me into desperation yee-haa overdrive. “He’ll destroy the rockety thing!”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “THE PHAGE!”

  “Well, that wouldn’t do at all,” says Beardy. “But don’t worry. That glass is bombproof and—”

  A bullet comes shattering through the glass wall. Beardy falls.

  He is shot, blood erupting from his shoulder as he crawls for the brewery door.

  “DO SOMETHING!” I scream at him as another bullet smashes through the glass—and the Court comes smashing their way in after it, using anything they can get their hands on to bust their way through.

  “We-must-release-the
-phage,” Beardy gasps, clawing his way up to standing and frantically keying in a code. “We-must-purge-the-tank.”

  He slumps in through the brewery door, and I slam it behind us.

  “Purge!” moans Beardy, sinking to his knees.

  I look at the steel drums; I see a set of buttons on each. On top of a red button, separated from the rest, covered by a plastic flip-top cover, I see:

  PURGE

  I hardly even know what that word means. I look at Beardy, shaking my head, suddenly unsure about trusting him.

  “It-will-go-down-the-drain-and-into-the-sewer-and-into-the-treatment-works-and-into-the-river-and—”

  Before I can point out that I do know that stuff, actually (because we did it in geography), he collapses completely. He’s bleeding. A lot. Trying to stem the flow of his own blood as he groans, “Where-are-the--Yanks? Where-are-the--Russians? The--Chinese?”

  I sure wish someone would come. We are going to die in a hail of bullets in a glass-walled lab filled with giant tanks of nose juice because I look up from the horror of the bleeding, swearing professor to see the Court has assembled in the lab.

  King Xar cocks his head at me, like a dog would, trying to understand a most curious thing.

  He fires his gun at the phage brewery.

  “Ha!” gasps Beardy, so totally pleased that the bullet hardly even dents the glass. It ricochets—and the Court ducks. This place is bombproof and bulletproof and soundproof. From in here we can hear next to nothing… It’s just unfortunate that we can see absolutely everything. That would include Ms. TVSOYMMSTTVCOMB, who strolls on into the room behind the Court.

  “Oh no!” I shriek at the sight of her, my eyes widening.

  To be honest with you, I have no idea what she was going to do…and I never will know—because Xar sees the look on my face, misunderstands it, and makes his move; in an instant, he has hold of her, gun against her head. He marches her up to the glass.

  “Purge!” Beardy pants, gasping horribly with pain.

  Xar stares at me. Ms. TVSOYMMSTTVCOMB stares at me. This must be pretty bad for her. In fact, I would say that I am now her Ms. TVSOYMMSTTVCOMB. I would say that the very sight of me must be making her sick to the very core of her being, and that she must be wishing quite hard that she had been a bit nicer to me. Or not. Her mouth is moving…but it doesn’t exactly look like she’s pleading for her life. knows what on Earth she must be saying to Xar, probably offering him halfsies on a few countries or something. I don’t think Xar’s that interested. It’s the whole planet he wants. As he stares too, the tiniest flicker of a smile creeps onto his face. It is for me.

  “He’ll kill her,” I say out loud.

  “So?” Beardy gasps, and groans in agony. “Purge!”

  Like, really, seems to me that the prof could have spared everyone this hideousness if he’d just quietly purged the phage himself when no one was looking, but I guess he’s been up to his own international wheeling and dealing. But this is not the time to go into such matters.

  I am paralyzed. Can’t move. Can’t handle this situation. Can’t even look at it…so I look away. I see Dar.

  A zap, a lightning bolt, of emotion goes through me, but I grab it and I stop it and I look back at Xar, and I realize I was not quick enough.

  Xar grins…and turns his head. Dar just standing there. Why’s he just standing there?

  His glasses. He’s lost his glasses.

  SO HERE IT IS, HOLLYWOOD. HERE IT IS. THIS IS THE END.

  Xar lets go of Ms. TVSOYMMSTTVCOMB. And maybe she was more panicked than she looked because she crumples on the spot. For a second, it looks like all Xar is doing is leaving the lab—but only for a second. He grabs Darius.

  And puts the gun to Darius’s head, and as he walks the Spratt toward me, Darius’s expression changes. He sees me.

  And I see him.

  Darius Spratt. We have been on a long journey. We are both tired. So tired.

  Dar’s free hand creeps up in front of his body. It makes the shape of a dog’s head…that slowly points its nose to the sky and howls.

  “I love you,” I whisper.

  I know he cannot hear, but I know he sees.

  This is what I have to do.

  My heart—my small, sad, human heart—it shed one final tear.

  Journey’s end. I pressed the button.

  So that’s it. That’s how I saved the planet. I pressed the button that launched the rockety thing that saved the earth.

  It might seem like a lot of other people were involved, but basically anyone can see that it was all down to me.

  The End

  Dar is watching me write this part. He’s laughing his head off (IT’S QUITE ANNOYING) and he says there is NO WAY he’s going to let me get away with that ending.

  He also likes to claim that NO WAY was he giving me any kind of signal that it was OK for me to go ahead and do what I did, that it was a simple “I love you” howling dog hand shape and not an “I love you, and yes it’s absolutely fine for you to sacrifice me for the good of humanity bye-bye” howling dog hand shape.

  But we both know that’s not true.

  Anyway, Xar held the gun against Darius’s head for what felt like an eternity longer, during which time I became vaguely aware that Beardy was making really horrible and slightly strange, pained, choking noises that seemed appropriately death-ish, considering what was going on.

  I stopped looking at Darius and looked at Xar instead. I have no conscious memory of this, but Dar says I smiled. I’ve got him to show me how I smiled, and I can confirm that it was THE GRIN OF INDIFFERENCE.

  What I remember is that Xar slowly cocked his head at me again and smiled. I don’t know how to describe that smile. “Creepy” just doesn’t cut it.

  As Xar lowered the gun, he said something. I couldn’t hear, of course, but I knew what it was before Darius even told me.

  “See you around, Ladybird.”

  And we all watched him walk out of that lab—which he could do, because it was chaos out there, just chaos.

  The End

  Oh, shut your face, Darius—all right, all right…

  OK, so something happened.

  Turned out that although Beardy was very horribly injured, the really horrible and slightly strange, pained, choking noises were about something else entirely. As soon as Xar had gone, he let go of his wound, raised up a pointy finger, and—

  “Not that tank,” he screamed, writhing in agony, “that one!”

  Oh.

  I hit PURGE again.

  What can you do?

  Whatever was in that first tank (even Beardy had no clue), no one I know of has grown three heads or anything. I’m sure it’s all fine.

  The End

  THE PART AFTER THE END

  So here we are.

  We?

  Me, Dar, and the Princess who is called Priti.

  We are in Spain, but where the specific “here” is I am not prepared to say, just in case everything goes horribly wrong all over again. Also, the Lancaster people have basically begged me not to tell anyone.

  I went with the professor in the ambulance. I wanted to just go, to leave. But me and Dar went with him.

  The prof was not especially grateful about any of it…but before Beardy really did get to fly off on a private jet to a country I am not supposed to name, he told me what he thought:

  “Mucus exchange,” he called it, his “theory,” which means, basically, that the snot out of my nose was enough to save people. If I kissed them. A lot.

  A prettier name for it might be “The Kiss of Life.”

  I told him I had seen a boy I’d kissed die in front of me…and he was really disappointed…but then he perked up, to YIPPEE! levels—that made nurses rush in to check he was OK—when I admitted I hadn’t actually seen Caspa
r McCloud die.

  So…scientifically, it is possible that Caspar McCloud is still alive.

  Also…Andrew Difford.

  Like, really, hear me now:

  If I see either of you again, you are SO gonna wish the rain had gotten you.

  The Princess who is called Priti remains a mystery.

  I kissed Darling the Chihuahua, and Darling the Chihuahua lickily kissed Priti…but Priti, who does now speak a little on a regular basis, says she has always been this way, from the very first night that—

  She walked out of a car wreck in the pouring rain.

  Her whole family died.

  A mom, a dad…a brother.

  A brother she adored.

  Thirteen years old.

  It is a mystery how she survived, one possibly involving yet another fairy/leper/hope-of-the-hopeless well, but I have yet to ask her about this.

  I know what it feels like to be asked questions about a past it hurts to remember.

  When Priti does speak, she swears a lot. I tell her off for it, even though everyone swears all the time.

  There is no need for it, I tell her.

  Obviously, there is.

  But.

  We’ve been hanging out on the beach a lot, the three of us. If it wasn’t for the postapocalyptic goings-on, you could say that I’m finally on vacation in the sort of place I always wanted to go on vacation to.

  This doesn’t make me particularly happy.

  The Lancaster people are very nice to us, but somehow, we tend to keep ourselves a bit separate. We are still different, you see—or we think we are.

  Prof Beardy was a bit hazy on exactly how long that tankful of nose juice would take to annihilate the micro-murderer space beast, though he did seem fairly confident that it “would, probably, happen eventually”—especially, if you ask me, since me, Dar, and Priti must have helped it along. I probably dosed up the whole of the Irish Sea by swimming about in that estuary.

  I am now working on the Mediterranean, which is a lot more pleasant.

  Glaring Barry, who, along with Psycho Catherine, joined the Confusion* at the army base, offers on a daily basis to literally test the water. He says he doesn’t mind having a finger or two chopped off.