Stormwalker

by Mike Revell

  The machine on the wall beeped.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw the woman making notes.

  The footage cut to London. It showed people in battered ruins, building shelters in the shadow of Wembley Stadium. They carved out homes for themselves, fighting off the storm with weapons made from the stadium floodlights. My eyes were straining to keep up with the flashing images, but I couldn’t look away. I saw London grow until it couldn’t grow any more, the conditions deteriorating as space ran out, people sleeping in cramped, dirty rooms. Day and light lost all meaning. There was only the permanent dark, punctuated by the electric glow of the safe haven in London. Occasional pockets of daylight disrupted the storm, but it was impossible to tell how long they’d last. The survivors adapted, dividing into classes, with each fulfilling a specific role. Was London the City the woman was talking about?

  The newscaster appeared onscreen again.

  “The Duplication Act, created by the Council of Marshals two years ago, allows three crews to be created,” she said, as, behind her, people boarded three great airships. “The Icarus projects 1, 2 and 3 are launching as a last resort, a desperate bid to find hope. Each is led by a Marshal and two adults from each class, who will be in charge of the duplicates. Their mission is simple, but incredibly dangerous: discover new safe locations for us to live. The children on board, all of them illegal seconds and thirds, have a choice: live in exile, or try to save the human race.”

  Duplication Act? Seconds and thirds? My mind raced, trying to piece it all together . . .

  A memory flickered in the back of my mind, but I knew it wasn’t mine. There wasn’t enough room for everyone. So women were permitted only one son and one daughter. The Duplication Act made second sons and second daughters illegal. The people of the City needed volunteers for their mission, so they made a law to force duplicates into the Icarus program.

  The images on the TV flashed. I watched the Icarus airships fly out of the City, carrying huge crates below them. Icarus 1 headed south, toward the coast, Icarus 2 swung north, and Icarus 3 ventured east.

  And suddenly I knew. I didn’t know how, but I did. It was there in my mind, as if I’d lived in this world my whole life, as if Owen was no more than a dream of a dream.

  We were Icarus 3. We were duplicates. And we were here to save the City. To find a new safe haven from the Darkness. We were Stormwalkers.

  My heart quickened at the thought. I understood the classes more clearly now. LRP were enforcers, whose job it was to secure the perimeter and try to track down any other survivors. Hunters foraged in the ruins to salvage anything that could be useful. Farmers specialized in growing food that could withstand the stress of daily storms. Scholars safeguarded the country’s history and passed the knowledge on to future generations, and the Carers, well, they tried to keep everyone alive. The Stormwalkers didn’t do anything except go out into the storm. They did the dirty work that you couldn’t do in daylight, like gathering glowroot for research.

  But here in camp, there weren’t enough adults to fill all the usual roles, so we had to do a bit of everything. While LRP worked on trying to reestablish communication with the City and expanding the perimeter of the camp, we made the space we did have better by Farming and gathering important equipment, as well as keeping up with our usual Stormwalker duties.

  In the City, we were illegal. But here, we had a chance to be heroes.

  The video stopped, and the screen faded to black.

  “You remember,” said the woman. She approached me slowly, studying my face. “You do, don’t you?”

  I tried to speak, but the words got caught in my throat.

  Jack. That was my name. The fog thinned and in its place memories flooded through me. Dad, at home in the City, and someone else too. A brother—Ayden. They hid me every time the guards came round to inspect our house—

  No.

  That’s not right, I thought. My name is Owen. Plain old Owen Smith.

  “Don’t you?” the woman repeated firmly.

  It felt like I was two people. Two sets of thoughts, two lives, all wrapped up in one body. I saw it all, like I was watching it on TV. Saw them take me when I was eight, and train me ready for this mission. Saw us flying through the storm and crash-landing in the ruins of Cambridge.

  Suddenly the lemon and mint made me feel sick. It started in my stomach, twitching there, and rose up into my throat.

  The woman was still looking at me, waiting for an answer.

  I nodded.

  “Okay,” she said. She glanced at someone behind me, giving a silent command.

  Rough hands untied the ropes binding me. “Get up,” said a man’s voice.

  I hoisted myself out of the seat, arms shaking with the effort. My legs buckled as my weight shifted and I almost fell, but strong arms caught me.

  I retched.

  “Easy,” the man said.

  Leaning on him for support, I took a shaky step forward, then another. Before I could ask where we were going, a thought flashed, and I realized some part of me already knew.

  I retched again, and this time I threw up. I crouched over the dirt and broken stone, my throat burning as it all came out. I wanted to curl up right there on the ground, but the man was already urging me on.

  “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can be back out there,” he said.

  We picked our way over crumbled bricks and splintered wood on the dusty floor. I could hear the canvas above us rippling in the breeze. And another sound . . .

  Something distant. Something cold. Something that turned my stomach.

  There was a hiss as we left the Cleansing room, and suddenly powerful jets hit me from every direction. I spluttered and gasped as liquid streamed down my face, drenching the dirty rags that had replaced my school uniform.

  When the jets shut down, the man took my arm again, gripping too hard. I wasn’t going to fight against him. Not in this state.

  Through another door, and now we emerged into a circular room, my sodden shoes squelching with every step. There was a lone chair in the middle of the floor. Opposite, a makeshift desk had two women sitting behind it. The man told me to sit down, and strode over to join the others.

  “We’re just going to ask you a few questions,” he said. “Make sure your exposure to the Darkness hasn’t had any lingering effects. If all goes well, you’ll be back with the others in no time.”

  I shivered involuntarily, and it wasn’t just because I was cold.

  What would happen if it didn’t go well?

  “Full name?” said the woman on the right.

  I traced the outline of my face again, just like I had in front of the mirror at home. This wasn’t my body. Somehow, I was inside Jack. That must be why I could hear his thoughts, and see his memories as if they were my own.

  But how could that be? Was this all in my head? When I saw the dead world in English, I must have fallen asleep somehow, because Mrs. Cole acted like I’d never left the room. But this time I got hit by a bike, didn’t I? It was easy to fall asleep at school, but who falls asleep getting run over? Unless the bike knocked me unconscious. That could explain it . . .

  I fought my way through to the thoughts that belonged to Jack. As I did so, everything linked to me—my real life in the living version of Cambridge—faded into the background. I let it go.

  “Jack,” I said automatically. “Er, Jack Spencer.”

  “I’m going to give you a number, Jack, and I’d like you to remember it as best you can. Are you ready? Three hundred and eighty-six. Have you got that?”

  I nodded, wondering where this was going. I still felt so ill . . .

  The second woman leaned forward, and the desk creaked under the weight of her elbows.

  “Can you remember what you were doing before you got caught by the Darkness?”

  I thought back to the moment the storm rippled up on the horizon. What had we been doing? That boy, Dillon, had loads of objects in his hands,
and Iris was cradling the gasoline when she tried to escape. I needed to go back further—back before I found myself in this place, in this body.

  My hand shot to my stomach, ready to fight the sick feeling as I flicked through the rush of thoughts, but as I did, the man picked up a pen and noted something down. I quickly snatched my hand away. Whatever this test was, I needed to pass it so I could get away. So I could find out how to get home.

  “We were hunting for things,” I said slowly. “I was looking for glass, Iris found some gasoline, and Dillon had some food.”

  “And do you remember,” said the first woman, “what you saw, when the Darkness got too close? Did it speak to you? Did it show you anything in particular?”

  “Er . . .”

  I remembered. How could I forget?

  Mum’s face had been so real, as if she was right there, as if I could reach out and hug her.

  But I couldn’t say that, could I? I couldn’t tell them the truth, because they’d realize something strange was going on. They’d put me through all this again, or worse.

  If I just twisted it slightly . . .

  “My family,” I said, as an image of Jack’s dad and brother floated before me again. “They were . . . they were dying.”

  “I’m sorry,” said the man. “The Darkness can force us to relive our deepest fears, even ones we never knew we had. But your family is alive and safe. It’s only a matter of time before the City picks up our signal. We’ll be able to take evacuees soon enough.”

  There was silence for a while, as the three of them consulted notes. The woman from the video room came through and handed them something. They whispered among themselves, and I felt like some talent show contestant hoping the judges wouldn’t all give me a no.

  “What was your number?” the man said abruptly, looking up at me.

  “My number? Oh—three hundred and eighty-six,” I said, thankful that I didn’t have to fight for that one. Looking for answers had made me light-headed and weak.

  The man nodded, and checked off something on the page in front of him.

  “Good. Very good. Well, everything seems to be in order. You’re free to go, Jack. Take a few minutes’ rest, then get changed. Try to be back to the timetable within the hour. Oh, and Jack? Don’t let it get so close next time, eh? I know you Stormwalkers like to think you’re invincible, but that was dangerously close, considering you didn’t have your suit on.”

  “All right,” I said, trying to keep all the questions from showing on my face.

  They left the room together, and when I felt as if my legs could take my weight, I staggered after them, still dripping from whatever they had drenched me with in the hallway.

  Outside, I breathed in the cold air of the electric night, my mind racing as fast as the storm flickering and flaring above me. If the storm first hit the world in 2024, then what year was it now? How long did it take for the City to launch the Icarus program?

  Decades, came a thought from the back of my mind.

  I shivered, knowing it couldn’t have been mine. I took a deep breath, looking again at this world around me. I knew more about it and the Darkness, but I still wasn’t any closer to figuring out how I got here.

  And if I didn’t know how I got here, how could I ever get back?

  10

  I hugged my arms close to my body, trying to keep warm.

  Go and get changed, the man had said. Where on earth was I supposed to do that?

  I could try to access Jack’s memories again, but every time I did I felt like I was going to faint. My head was still reeling from everything I’d seen and heard. It seemed ridiculous to think that, not that long ago, I was getting ready for school.

  I looked at my ruined surroundings. Rubble littered the empty floors. Paths had been cleared for people to move between them, but inside some of the buildings there was nothing but cobwebs and rocks. And the lights . . . they were everywhere. Even in the most destroyed spaces. Floodlights and spotlights, humming electronically as they beamed up into the sky, creating a huge protective barrier of light over the whole camp.

  And above it, crackling and bubbling, was the storm.

  The Darkness.

  Gleaming light flickered inside it, making it look as though cruel faces leered down at the ruins. It was impossible to tell if it was day or night. Whenever the clouds slammed into the light barrier, they snarled and pulled back as if stung. Somehow, the storm couldn’t get through.

  I swallowed to ease the dryness of my throat. There was a stale taste in my mouth, as if I hadn’t brushed my teeth for days. I wandered down a narrow alley, and suddenly I could see the Senate House. And King’s College next to it. Well, the remains of them, anyway. These were the buildings I knew, the streets I grew up on. But they weren’t my streets. My streets weren’t dotted with craters and rubble.

  I spun round, taking it all in.

  And that was when I saw it.

  It was as tall as me, although it wasn’t human. It had tracks like a tank and a clear dome where its head should have been. It was some kind of . . . some kind of robot, moving debris out of the street with mechanical arms.

  I closed my eyes, willing myself to wake up. Maybe if I tried as hard as I could, I’d open my eyes and be back on the side of the road, covered in rubbish. The cyclist would help me up and say, “Sorry!” and I could go to school and it would just be a normal day.

  When I opened my eyes again, I was looking straight into someone else’s.

  “Whoa,” I said, heart thumping. “Where did you come from?”

  It was the girl from the storm. Iris. How could I have forgotten about her? Forgotten she almost died? But seeing her now, alive and well . . . my stomach floated in a way that felt alien—the kind of happiness that only struck when I was hanging out with Danny.

  I was so startled that it took me a while to realize that she had been through Cleansing too. Wet mud streaked her cheeks and her threadbare clothes were sodden. Did I look as bedraggled as her?

  “Thanks for helping me back there,” she said.

  “It’s . . . er . . . it’s okay,” I said, even though I hadn’t really done anything. I mean, I had woken up here so quickly, all I had time to do was panic.

  “We should get back to the hall. If we’re quick, we might be able to get to class in time.”

  She set off up the road. I hurried after her.

  “Class?” That sounded too much like school to me. Even though I had no idea what was happening, I knew one thing: I was still in control of myself. This may have been a dream, but at least I could do what I wanted. And I did not want to go to class.

  “Er, yes. Class? You know, the timetable we have to stick to every day of our lives,” Iris said sarcastically, as if that explained everything.

  The dirt on her face made the green of her eyes brighter than I remembered.

  I didn’t know what to say. Well, I did know what to say—I just didn’t want to sound like an idiot. I just wanted to get out of here, to go back to being me. And I needed someone to help me.

  “Iris, I’m not who you think I am.”

  Iris stopped and stared at me. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m not . . . look, I’m not Jack.”

  “Yeah, whatever, good one,” she said, turning to walk off again.

  “I mean it. I’m not him. I’m not from here at all.”

  “Jack, don’t be ridiculous. I’ve trained with you since I was eight years old. I’m not in the mood for jokes.”

  “I know you’re not. And I know you have. It’s hard to explain . . .”

  Iris glanced at the robot, then turned back to me and whispered furiously. “Stop messing around!”

  “I’m not messing around! I’m not like you. I’m not from around here. I mean, Jack is . . . I can hear his thoughts, I can see what he’s seen, but they’re not my memories. They’re his. And I need . . . I need to get out of here.”

  The robot trundled closer. Iris grab
bed me and pulled me out of the road.

  “Keep your voice down!” she hissed, narrowing her eyes at me. “If you keep going on like that, they’ll send you to the Chamber.”

  “What do you mean? Who’s they? And what’s the Chamber?”

  “You’re not funny. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but you can stop it now.”

  “I’m not trying to do anything,” I said, struggling to keep quiet as frustration bubbled up inside me. “All I know is I woke up here in this place, and I want to get back. I just . . .”

  I just what? How could Iris possibly help me? If this was a dream, I needed to wake myself up. An idea formed somewhere in the back of my mind. Maybe this wasn’t a dream. Maybe it was a nightmare. And in nightmares, it was always a shock that woke you up.

  I thought back to when the storm got close, the seething tendrils reaching out. The closer they got, the colder I grew. Those memories shot through me, clear and icy as the winter sea. If I got close to the Darkness again, maybe the fright would be enough.

  “Sorry. Just forget I said anything,” I said. I moved to walk away, but Iris grabbed my arm.

  “Jack . . .” she said. “You’re scaring me. If the Cleansing didn’t work . . . please tell me you remember. I don’t want them to take you away. I don’t want you to become . . . to become Dreamless.”

  Just then the robot stopped. There was a camera in its domed head, and it whirred as it turned to face us.

  “Hello . . . STORMWALKERS,” it said, pausing clunkily between the words. “You should be in . . . CLASSROOM 3B for . . . HISTORY OF THE PRE-DARK WORLD.”

  “I know, we’re going,” Iris said, dragging me away from it. The camera rotated to follow us, then the robot went back to cleaning up rubble.

  I pulled out of Iris’s grip and backed away.

  “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, as kindly as possible. “I’m not supposed to be here. Normally when you have a nightmare, you wake up when you realize it’s not real. But that’s not working, so I need to find a way to get back.”

  “Jack . . .” she started to say, but I was already walking quickly away, looking for a route to the market square. “Don’t think I won’t report you, just because . . . just because we’re friends. Jack, please! Don’t make me call the guards! JACK!”