Silver

by Chris Wooding

  “Strobes? Flickering light?” asked Mark. “We’ve been using flash bombs, camera flashes….”

  “The lightning messes them up, too,” said Paul. “But it only works for a few seconds.”

  “Yes, yes, they worked their way around it,” said Radley, waving a hand at the air. “They work their way around everything, that’s the point! Give them enough time, they’ll remedy any weakness, overcome any obstacle.”

  Adam snorted. “Well, aren’t you scientists a clever lot?”

  Erika had caught the tone in Radley’s voice. That glimmer was back in his eye. “You admire them, don’t you?” she said. “They’re killing people, they’re killing everyone … and you admire them.”

  The scientist rounded on her, about to deliver a dismissive reply. He’d had just about enough of the insolence of this bunch of fifteen-year-olds: She saw it on his face. But then he saw the hostile expressions of the people in the room, and shut his mouth. They might have been younger than him, but he was alone here. Not even Carson was on his side.

  “Well,” he said. “I see how it is. Shall I go on, or do you want to lynch me now?”

  “Why don’t you finish, and we’ll let you know?” Paul said.

  “It wasn’t my idea! I was just part of a team!”

  Paul waved away his protests. “Look, mate, we don’t have much time. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re surrounded by the things you let out. The generators probably have an hour or two of juice left, and after that we’re going to lose the electricity. Right now that’s the only thing stopping the Infected from smashing through the stairway doors and getting up here. So can the self-pity and tell us something useful.”

  Radley seemed flustered at being addressed in such a way. He huffed in irritation, crossed his arms, adjusted his glasses again, and finally settled back to his story.

  “The rabbits died in the end,” he said. “The nanos couldn’t keep them alive forever. So we introduced the evolved nanovirus into a colony of monkeys. What we saw was incredible. The nanovirus tried a new strategy this time. It began to change them, rebuilding them at a molecular level. They weren’t trying to hurt their hosts, they were improving them. Rewiring the body, turning the raw materials into some kind of metal that was beyond anything our best engineers could manufacture.

  “We identified four main stages of infection. In the first stage, the host is enraged, virtually mindless. It is uncoordinated and slow, because the nanos are settling into its system, learning the environment. It exists only to spread the virus to others.”

  “That’s what it was like, at the start,” said Mark quietly. “Then they got faster.”

  Radley gave him an impatient look. “By the second phase, the host is faster, and capable of planning and rudimentary thought. The nanos have better control of the body by then. More important, it’s capable of networking with its fellows. The hosts are all part of a network, but it only works if they’re in close proximity. That’s how they think, by sharing the information load. Take an infected host away from its companions and it becomes stupid again.”

  “The more there are, the smarter they get,” said Paul.

  “Up to a point,” said Radley. “After a while, the network reaches its limit. It’s like … well, it’s like when millions of people call each other on their mobiles at midnight on New Year’s Eve. Too many connections, everything gets jammed up. Messages don’t get through. The system can’t manage it. By that point, they’re about as smart as a seven- or eight-year-old child, but they can’t get any smarter.” He coughed. “At least until they get to stage three.”

  Carson grimaced. “Scientists,” he said. “You never say something in ten words when you can say it in fifty instead.”

  Radley gave him a scathing look over the rims of his glasses. “Stage three,” he said firmly, “is metamorphosis. Once the nanos have taken over their hosts, they begin to change them into specialized forms. They’re rather like ants in a colony: They do whatever needs to be done for the good of the group. But the nanos can’t make something out of nothing. They need raw materials. We saw some of the hosts sacrificing themselves, monkeys absorbing other monkeys, combining their raw materials so they could grow.”

  “I saw that,” said Paul. “Down in the tunnels.” He felt a creeping dread at the memory. “There was this … massive rat which had absorbed all the others….”

  The tunnels. Maybe they could have used the tunnels, if they could have worked out some way to deal with the creature that had infected Caitlyn. But there was no sense thinking about it now. To reach the tunnels they’d have to go downstairs, and that would be suicide.

  “During this phase, one of the hosts — in the monkeys it was the dominant male — becomes a being which we called the Alpha Carrier,” said Radley. “The Alpha Carrier absorbs the majority of the available hosts and becomes … well, sort of like the queen ant. It becomes a communal brain for the whole group, a hub for sorting information. The Alpha Carrier removes the limits on the network. Do you see? They hit a problem and they work their way around it. The Alpha Carrier lets them become smarter than we’d previously imagined they could be. We found out just how smart today.”

  “When they got out,” said Paul.

  Radley looked helpless. “I don’t know how they did it. I was working outside the secure zone when the alarm went off. By then they’d already cut our communications. They planned it somehow. The secure zone was sealed, but they were already —”

  He faltered for a moment, and for the first time Paul heard real doubt in his voice.

  “We had to purge the secure zone, destroy the Alpha Carrier,” he said. “There were still people in there. People who hadn’t been infected….”

  Nobody said a word. Radley adjusted his glasses and frowned, as if irritated by something.

  “Anyway, we learned one thing. Once they evolve an Alpha Carrier, they come to rely on it heavily. The whole network depends on it. Taking out that particular organism threw them right back, turned them stupid again, sent them wild. But it was too late by then. With the lockdown protocol in place, people couldn’t get out of the compound. We were trapped in there with the Infected. We were —”

  He stopped again, frowned, adjusted his glasses once more. Every time he threatened to get emotional, he did the same thing. A moment to regain control.

  Carson took up the story. “We were trapped in that place most of the day,” he said. “Hiding, holding out, fighting when we had to. There were six of us in our little group at five o’clock this afternoon. Only me and him made it to the landing pad. The mechanics had been working on my bird, maintenance and that. Thought they were finished, but it turns out they weren’t.”

  “Can it be fixed?” Paul asked.

  “Maybe,” said Carson. “I had a look at it while we were up on that roof. Couple of the spark plugs are misfiring. That’s what brought us down. Easy to sort out if I had the parts, but we ain’t gettin’ airborne till I do.”

  “So you just need new spark plugs?” asked Mark, perking up.

  “Reckon so,” said Carson.

  Mark looked about the room, his face suddenly alight. “Can’t we just pull some out of a car engine?”

  Carson dug in the pocket of his flight overalls and pulled out a spark plug. It was a few inches long, and looked like a long, thick bolt with a nut around its middle, one end tipped with white plastic. “Two of these ought to do it. More if you can get ’em.” He tossed it to Mark, who caught it in the air. “Gotta be the right gauge, though, or they won’t fit.”

  “There’s, like, two dozen cars in the staff garage. Surely one of them will have the right gauge?” Mark was excited now.

  Carson shrugged. “Possible. Ain’t likely, though. Helicopter engines and car engines ain’t all that similar.”

  “But it’s a chance!” Mark said, looking at Paul for backup.

  “It’s a chance,” Paul agreed. A slim chance, but a chance.

  Erika was wat
ching Radley, who was slumped against a desk, dejected. “You told us there wasn’t any hope,” she said. “What did you mean?”

  He raised his head. “I mean this virus is already out. There’s nowhere you can fly to. There’s no way they can stop it. You’ll buy yourselves a few days, a month, a year if you’re lucky. But it’ll find you in the end. All you’ve got to look forward to is chaos. Governments crumbling, cities consumed in the crisis.” He sighed and deflated. “Today is the first day of the end of the world.”

  Paul’s eyes went to Erika. She looked back at him. The news didn’t faze her; she’d guessed it from the start. This wouldn’t end with them as grateful rescuees wrapped in blankets, surrounded by paramedics and police. If they somehow managed to escape, it would only be the beginning. There’d be no more waking up in soft beds and heading downstairs for breakfast, no more hot showers, no more Facebook or sports, no more weather reports or chocolate bars, no more central heating, no more supermarkets or postal service or anything like that.

  The world was going to change. Not just their world, but the whole world. They couldn’t outrun that. All that was left was for each of them to decide how they were going to face it.

  She knew all that, and she’d accepted it. Paul saw a strength in her then that he hadn’t seen before.

  “Gather everyone,” he said. “Five minutes. Up on the roof.”

  “Right,” said Adam. He got up and left without another word.

  “What … er … what are you gonna do?” asked Mark nervously.

  Paul was still holding Erika’s eyes. “It’s the end of the world,” he said. “The least we can do is be honest with each other.”

  A smile touched the corner of her lips. Paul kept that memory with him when he left the room.

  Nineteen of us left? Is that all? That’s not even a classroom’s worth.

  The wind whipped around Paul. His coat rustled and flapped. The clouds overhead had gone, and the moon sat fat and bright, low to the horizon. Behind the assembled students, the school building rose like a black cliff, punctured by windows that glowed with a deceptively inviting light.

  But he was sure there was nothing alive within. Not now.

  The school was dead. The traditions and structures it represented were gone. If Radley was right, soon other schools would go the same way, along with banks, governments, armies, police. Economies would tumble, religions would fall and rise. He couldn’t imagine what the world to come would look like, but he knew one thing:

  He wanted to be there to see it.

  Many of the younger kids were sobbing and sniffling. Somehow they already knew about Mr. Sutton. Or maybe they guessed when they saw he wasn’t here. They weren’t grieving for him, though: He was well liked, but not that much. They were crying because they were frightened, because they’d looked up to adults their whole lives and now the adults they knew were gone. All that were left were two strangers: a scientist with cold, watery eyes and a pilot with a hard face. Neither showed any inclination to take charge.

  Those who weren’t crying had their eyes on Paul. He felt exposed beneath their gazes. He’d chosen the roof so the lookouts could still keep an eye on the Infected, but there was barely any sign of them around the campus now. Where had they gone? He didn’t know. He hoped it was a good sign, but he doubted it.

  The silence was becoming agonizing, so he spoke.

  “I suppose most of you know who I am,” he said. The wind took his words, and he could see kids at the back leaning forward as they strained to hear. He raised his voice. “I’m Paul Camber. Year Eleven.”

  It was a bad start. He sounded weak and uncertain. Blood heated his face.

  Do better.

  “I’ve been at Mortingham Academy since the start of this year,” he said. “I didn’t want to come here. Never imagined finding myself in a boarding school in the middle of nowhere.”

  There was puzzlement on the faces of his audience. He took a deep breath. Now or never.

  “You know, once I had a pretty good idea of how life was going to go. I had good friends, I was doing well at school, Mum and Dad had a bit of money between them. We didn’t want for much. I didn’t know what I was going to do when I left school but, hey, who really does, right?”

  He faltered. He had their attention now, even the ones who’d been crying, but it was mostly because they had no idea where he was going with this. Erika’s eyes had softened with pity and disappointment. He was dying up there, and she knew it. That hurt him, and drove him onward.

  “Then one day, everything changed. My folks … Man, I loved my folks, they were the best. I mean, they were still parents, right? They still drove me crazy, but …”

  He felt a lump gathering in his throat. Tears threatening. Not now, he thought, and willed them back. Not now. I need to speak.

  Jeez, this was harder than he thought.

  “Well, one day I got a call from South America. They’d gone on vacation there, the first vacation they’d had on their own since I was born. I said I’d rather stay at a friend’s. Three weeks in summer without Mum and Dad on your back, you know how it is. The guy on the other end, I don’t know how he had my mobile number … he wanted to talk to my aunt but I guess they couldn’t … y’know, they couldn’t reach her and … and I knew, right away, the moment I answered the phone. Before they even said anything, I knew.”

  He sucked in his breath through his teeth. His chest hurt. His eyes glistened.

  “They were in some twin-engine piece of crap and it went down over the rain forest. They never even found it. Plane just disappeared, no bodies, nothing. Swallowed up.” His voice broke then. He took a moment to bring himself under control. “I never saw them again. Never heard their voices, except on some stupid home videos. I mean, they were just wiped out of existence. And all that stuff about people living on in memory, how they’re still alive if they’re not forgotten, that doesn’t mean a damn thing because they’re not there!”

  He felt suddenly angry. Furious. He’d never spoken about this before, not to the counselors, not to anyone. It all came out of him like he was retching up something vile.

  “So they sent me to my aunt and uncle’s, right? But they had their own lives, they didn’t have kids, never wanted them. They didn’t need a screwed-up teenager on their hands. They tried their best, and I tried my best, but in the end none of us could deal with it. So they sent me here. Here, to Mortingham bloody Academy, where I could be out of everyone’s way. Where I wouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

  His audience was fixed on him, hanging on his story. With his anger came a surge of confidence. Suddenly, he knew what he was doing. The words came easily now. Honesty always did.

  “I know what it’s like to lose the ones you love! I know what it’s like when the world turns upside down! I’ve been there. But I’m still here! And all of you are still here! Yes, we’ve lost Mr. Sutton. Many of you have lost friends today. And I know you want to curl up and die, but you can’t! Because you’re not alone, because there are other kids who need you right now, just like you need them. We’re the ones who’ve made it through this far, and we’re the ones who have to carry on. Because if all of us stick close, if we hang on to each other, we can get out of here. And we’ll get out together!”

  His throat hurt and his chest heaved by the time he was done. Maybe he could have worded it better, but that didn’t matter. The feeling was important, not the words. He meant it. He blazed with the passion of his message. Because he knew what it was to face your grief alone, to turn away every helping hand, to armor yourself in a protective shell and never trust a soul. And he was done with all that now.

  “Now listen up!” he said. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. As long as the generators keep going, we ought to be able to keep the Infected out. That means they need refueling. And that means somebody’s going to have to go into the basement of the school building and fill them up. This is the most important part of the plan, so I’m putting the best ma
n on the job.” He looked up. “Adam?”

  Adam looked faintly startled.

  “Adam, no one can beat the crap out of the Infected like you can.” There was a ripple of laughter at that. “Will you handle this part of the mission?”

  The eyes of the crowd turned to him. For a moment, his eyes narrowed and turned suspicious, suspecting a joke. Then, when he saw that Paul meant it, his expression changed, went firm with determination and pride.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Alright. I will.”

  “Now, as for me, I’ll be heading for the staff garage, where I’m going to try to salvage some parts.” He pointed to where the helicopter sat in the moonlight, over on the sports center roof. “Mr. Carson over there thinks he can repair the chopper if we get him what he needs, and I’m gonna make sure he gets it.”

  This was news to most of them. Excited whispers ran through the crowd. He saw Freckles and Pudge exchange a thrilled glance at the prospect of getting the helicopter in the air again.

  “I’ll go with you,” said a small voice. Paul’s eyes found Mark at the edge of the crowd, holding up one thin arm. “Well, the pilot can’t, can he? Not with that ankle. And there’s no one else I’d trust to get the right gauge of spark plug.”

  “Nice one, Mark,” said Paul. “Glad to have you along.”

  Adam grinned and clapped Mark on the shoulder, hard enough to make him yelp.

  “I’ll go and all,” said another voice. Paul spotted him. Johnny, of the emo bangs. Paul didn’t know him well, but he’d proved himself to be a steady and reliable type.

  “Great,” said Paul. “You’re in.” He turned his attention back to the crowd. “Now, I need someone to run this place till we get back. To organize the lookouts, keep an eye on the defenses, make sure the Infected are kept out. Erika, would you take charge?”

  She held his gaze for a long while, her ice-blue eyes showing nothing. He didn’t know if she was mad at him, or grateful, or neither.