by Ross Welford
I look at my phone. “Nine minutes.” And then I look over Other Me’s shoulder and my stomach freezes. Marching across the lawn toward us are four…no, five, six…loads of them…
Giant scorpions, heading straight for us, with the biggest—Buster—in the lead.
“Oh no,” I murmur. “They’re back.”
Other Me turns round and her face freezes in pure terror.
“Oh no, oh no, oh no! I’ve had nightmares about them for months.”
“What the heck are they?” Jessica gasps.
“Giant multisensory VR scorpions,” I say, and I can anticipate her next question. “Yes, they attack. They can see you, and they’re super smart. Can you distract them?”
“Can they hurt us?” says Other Me.
“I don’t know, but they can definitely hurt me. Remember outside the shop when Buster stung me? They’re smarter now, and they’ve cloned themselves.”
They’re getting closer. Other Me turns to Jessica. “Mum, if you ever, ever needed to trust me, it’s right now. Do what Georgie says. It’s time for me to be as brave as her.” She turns to face the scorpions. “Hey, you big bullies! Come and get me!”
And with that she starts walking toward them. I try to protest, to say, “Georgie, stop!” but the words freeze in my mouth. Because it’s working. The scorpions stop and turn slightly, their attention distracted by Other Me.
“What is she doing?” shrieks Jessica.
“We have eight minutes. Come with me now!” I grab Jessica by the wrist and drag her round the corner of the building to the entrance, hissing, “We’ve just got to go for it!”
As we round the corner, the bored-looking soldier, now on his own, looks up at Jessica and nods in recognition. She walks past him and hurries across the marble floor to the lab. Then to me, he says, “Identification. Hey! You can’t bring your dog in ’ere—it’s a medical facility!”
But I don’t wait. “Not my dog, sorry,” I say as Mr. Mash trots past the soldier and into the building, stopping to sniff the statue of Edward Jenner and trotting on down the long corridor toward the lab.
The soldier has blocked my way. “I need to see your ID,” he says. He’s being more aggressive, but he’s only a couple years older than Clem. That realization makes me bolder.
“Sorry, I left it in the lab,” I say.
“Don’t care. No one gets in ’ere without official identification.”
Over his shoulder I can see a person walking toward us, his bowlegged pace even more obvious than ever. “Jackson!” I shout. He grins and holds up his hand in greeting, unaware of the urgency of the situation.
“You’ve got to help me,” I say to him. “I…I’ve lost my ID.”
Jackson is level with us now and gives an apologetic smile. “Well, if it were down to me, Miss Santos, it wouldn’t be a problem. But you know how it is now.” He jerks his thumb at the young soldier. Then he looks at me quizzically.
“Is something wrong, Georgie?”
“Yes, Jackson!” I’m practically screaming. “Everything’s wrong, and I’m trying to put it right, but I’ve only got a few minutes.” I remember what Other Me said to Jessica before. Mum. “If you ever, ever believed me, believe me now, on the life of my mum, I swear, Jackson, you have to…”
I think it’s the mention of my mum that does it. Jackson holds up his hand as though he’s swearing an oath.
“I’ll vouch for her, Private. That’s Georgina Santos.”
The soldier curls his lip and sneers. “Listen, old man. I don’t care if she’s the queen of…Oh my God, what is that?”
We follow his gaze. Running toward us from around the corner is Other Me, pursued by countless scorpions of all sizes, still led by Buster.
“Out of the way!” Other Me screams. “Let me in!”
There’s no stopping her. She has only about a ten-yard lead on the scorpions, and there are more of them now. Lots more.
The soldier says nothing but moves aside from the doorway and cocks his gun, shouting into a radio attached to his collar.
“Guard Station Two Eighteen! Two Eighteen! Request immediate backup. Repeat: immediate backup. Situation critical!”
There’s a burst of deafening gunfire, aimed at the scorpions, as Other Me, fear etched on her face, draws level with us and gasps, “Shut the door! Quick!”
The soldier turns to us and yells, “Do as she says! I’ll deal with them!” and opens fire again. A couple of the scorpions crash to the ground, leaking black stuff. Still the rest of the shiny black horde advances and he yells into his radio again: “Giant scorpions, sir! Thousands of ’em!”
They are now so near I can smell them: a rank, acidic smell. They’re so closely packed that their hard shells are scraping against each other, and before the door slams shut I shout out to the soldier, “Come back in—they’ll kill you!” but he’s still firing: bang, bang, bang, bang-bang-bang.
There are loud, unearthly screams coming from the dying scorpions as they’re hit, but still others advance. There are just too many for one gun and, as the door slams shut, the last thing I see is the young soldier kicking out at Buster before disappearing under a wave of shiny black, swearing and groaning.
Alerted by the gunfire, Jessica is running toward us from down the corridor, shouting, “What’s going on?”
Mr. Mash stands in the middle of the marble floor, his feet slightly splayed, the hackles on his back standing up in anger. Other Me is leaning with her back against the double doors, panting hard. The scorpions are scratching at the doors.
“Georgie!” screams Jessica. “Get away from there!”
“They’re…they’re going to get in. Somehow. They’re strong and smart,” Other Me gasps. I remember what Dr. Pretorius told us about how quickly they could learn.
“My time’s running out,” I say. “I’ve got to get to the lab!”
“Jackson. Can you help?” says Other Me. Jackson is looking between the two of us, trying to work out why he’s seeing double.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “We’ll explain later.” Then I scream as a black scorpion leg smashes through the glass pane of the door. “They’re getting in! Come now!” I grab Other Me’s hand and run toward Jessica and the laboratory corridor.
I turn back to see Jackson clambering onto the Jenner statue, lugging a large fire extinguisher behind him. From outside comes rapid gunfire as more soldiers arrive. Another glass pane smashes loudly, and seconds later, a scorpion the size of a cat drops to the marble floor and starts scuttling toward the statue.
“Good luck!” I shout.
Our shoes squeak on the marble, and Mr. Mash is ahead of us, his claws going click-clack on the floor. He’s staying close to me, even though he can’t see me. To our left is the familiar long window showing the laboratory with its robots and conveyors and endless computer screens.
The scorpions are now streaming through the windows, dozens and dozens of them, their feet a hideous cacophony of clattering and clicking, scuttling and rattling along the stone floor, their tails quivering and aggressive, their acrid smell catching in my throat.
“Get the lab door!” shouts Other Me.
Jessica is swiping her security pass at the laboratory door’s entrance control, but she’s doing it too fast and pushing at the same time. Meanwhile, there are scorpions massing round the plinth bearing the statue of Edward Jenner, and Jackson is standing in Jenner’s lap, aiming jets of fire-extinguisher foam at any of the creatures that try to scrabble up the stone base.
“Go on! Get off, ye little devils! Take that!”
Then I see him: Buster. He’s twenty yards away, down the corridor, but he turns his upper body and tilts his head. He starts to come toward me and a chill of fear runs down my neck.
He recognizes me.
“Quick, Mum!” s
houts Other Me.
“I’m trying!” wails Jessica, jabbing frenziedly at the door panel.
Buster is getting faster and closer, his coal-black pincers clacking with aggression and his tail quivering.
He has drawn back his stinger to strike when the lock springs open and we fall through the door. Mr. Mash is barking loudly and lunges forward, seizing Buster’s front leg between his teeth. The scorpion lets out a squeal and the giant sting arches over his back and plunges into Mr. Mash’s thigh.
No!
Mr. Mash howls in pain and lets go. As Buster pulls back, ready to strike again, there’s a split second for me to reach out and drag Mr. Mash by his collar into the lab. Slamming the door behind me traps Buster’s tail as it aims another strike, and it waggles menacingly while I lean on the door. A second later, the weight of the door crushes the tail and it snaps off, twitching horribly on the floor as the door slams shut.
Poor Mashie is twisting in pain, whimpering and turning his head to try to locate the source of the sting and lick it, but he can’t reach. I long to comfort him, but I have to leave him.
“Where is it, where is it?” I shout as Jessica opens a big fridge door, and a cloud of ice steam seeps across the floor. Seconds later, she passes a box to Other Me, who rips it open and offers me a tiny glass bottle.
“You’ve come a long way for this,” she says.
Other lab personnel have gathered round us, drawn by the noise and the disturbance. An older man with white hair says, “What on earth is happening out there, Jessica? What in God’s name are you doing?”
“Not now, Arthur,” she says with such force that he stops talking and watches.
The bottle. It’s tiny, but I’m supposed to swallow it whole. Not the contents: the whole bottle.
I try.
I put it in my mouth and I try to swallow it.
And I can’t.
It’s a little cylinder about two centimeters long and I gag every time I try. I’m sobbing with frustration, as time is running out.
Outside in the corridor I hear shouts, then a Klaxon alarm goes off at a deafening volume. Through the window, the corridor is filled with giant scorpions; then there’s a loud whoomph as a smoke bomb explodes, followed by gunshots as the soldiers try to deal with the scorpion invasion.
Inside the lab, people scream at the gunshots and fall to the floor, and I’m desperately trying to swallow the little bottle. I get it to the back of my throat, but I keep gagging. It’s scratching the flesh of my mouth, and I’m sobbing with frustration.
It’s all over.
I’ve failed.
So many people are going to die.
“What’s happening?” asks Other Me, her voice rising in pitch with fear at the chaos surrounding us.
“It’s no good,” I say in despair. “The scorpion sting I got bridged the RL–VR gap. It means anything inside me can pass through the wall.” I’m panting and not explaining myself very well.
“Which wall?” wails Other Me, looking around as if there was an actual wall.
“Don’t you remember? The virtual wall between you and me! Between this and a year ago!” I yell. “But it has to be inside me. I can’t just, you know, carry it.”
“So…so swallow it! Try again!”
“I can’t. It’s just too big.”
In my pocket, my phone goes ping pong.
Out of time.
I slump to the ground to await the blackness of the dome.
Mr. Mash limps over to me and my double, his long tongue hanging out.
I wait.
Then suddenly Other Me grabs Mr. Mash’s collar and leaps to her feet. “He’s just been stung!” she shouts. “Victoria sponge! Jackson’s Victoria sponge!” She reaches into her shoulder bag and pulls out a squashed paper bag.
“Mashie! Mr. Mash! Look what I’ve got for you!” she says, and without asking she snatches the glass tube from my hand, shoving it into the center of a sticky slice of sponge cake. She pushes it toward Mr. Mash’s muzzle.
He sniffs it. Then, without chewing, he swallows it whole.
I hear, “Good luck!” and look up to see Other Me and Jessica clutching each other in a tight embrace, waiting for me to go.
“Georgie! Georgie! Quick!”
I’m holding Mr. Mash as everything goes black, and then, through the fog of my brain and the agony of the headache, I can hear someone shouting. I’m retching and convulsing and scrabbling at my helmet with my fingers.
I recognize the voice. “Georgie! Georgie! Are you all right?”
It’s Ramzy.
Above me, the pin lights of the dome come on.
He’s standing at the edge of the circular floor, and I crawl toward him, sweat running down my neck, the taste of vomit hot in my throat. There’s a rhythmic thumping noise coming from somewhere, and I hear, “Open up, open up now!” shouted through a megaphone.
“The police are coming in with a battering ram downstairs,” says Ramzy. “Did you get it?”
I can’t speak, but I point at Mr. Mash, who is himself retching. He’s bleeding badly from the scorpion sting and I half push, half drag him off the floor and through to the control room where we both collapse. It’s only been ten minutes but it feels like much longer. In the corner of the control room is Sass, still in the beach robe, still staring at us in wonder.
“Are you OK?” she asks, but I’m too exhausted to answer.
Dr. Pretorius sits in her desk chair, breathing shallowly. Her dark skin has turned a grayish brown and her eyes are slits behind her thick glasses.
“Tell me…tell me you got it, kid. Tell me that all of this has been worth it—please!”
From downstairs, we hear the door being bashed in.
I look over at Mr. Mash, whose neck is stretched forward as he vomits up the glass tube. Fishing it out, I hold it up, and it seems to take all my strength to lift it, but I do, and a smile breaks out on the old lady’s drawn face.
It’s a full smile: the first I have ever seen her make, and her pale eyes crinkle at the edges. She nods.
“Good work, kid.” She closes her eyes and her head drops.
“No!” I cry. “Don’t die!”
She opens her eyes again. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not gonna die on you. The job ain’t done yet, kid.”
The computer monitor is still showing the news program: it’s chaos on the street outside, with sirens and flashing blue police lights. On-screen, Aunty Nush is in the cab of a truck, facing the metal doors of the loading bay, and a reporter is saying, “…dramatic scenes here in Whitley Bay as the aunt of one of the children is about to break down the doors of the Spanish City…”
“No, Aunty Nush!” shouts Ramzy at the screen, but it’s too late. His aunt fires up the engine.
“Can you kids still carry me?” says Dr. Pretorius. “ ’Cause we’re runnin’ short on time. Get me into that beach robe!”
Sass quickly takes it off and helps Dr. Pretorius into it.
“OK—now socks. Quick! Ah, forget it. What difference will it make anyhow? We gotta go.”
I can barely drag myself to my feet, let alone carry another person, but somehow Ramzy and Sass manage to get Dr. Pretorius down the metal stairs into the loading bay at the point when the first deafening crunch happens.
Aunty Nush has driven into the doors.
The big metal doors bow inward but don’t give way. It won’t be long. Sass squeals in fright.
“There it is. Get me in. It’s fully charged, but who knows how far a solar battery will take me at nighttime?”
The copter-drone sits in the center of the concrete floor, and holding Dr. Pretorius on each side, we drop her into the chair as the metal doors take another massive bashing by the front of the truck outside. One more bash, and they’ll come crashing in.
“Stand back!” shouts Dr. Pretorius. The blades of the drone start to whir and the noise in the loading bay is tremendous. “Here—take this!”
She tosses Ramzy a rectangular cassette, the size of a book, that she popped out of Little Girl before we left the control room.
“What is this?” he shouts over the din as the drone begins to hover, lifting Dr. Pretorius a yard off the ground.
“It’s only my whole life’s work, kids. Thanks to you, I know that it works. That’s good enough for me. Do with it what you think is right.”
There’s a pause in the din, one of those odd moments when everything goes quieter in the midst of chaos. Outside, the crowd is breathlessly awaiting another attempt to smash in the doors, and the truck’s engine noise dips slightly before revving up again.
In the second or two of calm, Dr. Pretorius looks at me as fiercely and as intensely as anyone has in my life. Her lips are moving but I can’t hear. I lean in so she can croak into my ear.
“You done good, kid. All of ya. And that stinkin’ mutt. And, if anyone asks, tell ’em I ain’t all bad.” Then she smiles her half-smile. “Ha!”
There’s another huge bang and the doors of the loading bay finally crash forward under the impact of the truck. There’s a cheer from outside, and the truck backs up, leaving a huge open space. I can see TV cameras, and crowds of people, and police officers. Camera flashes are almost blinding me.
Then the crowd gasps as the copter-drone rises up a little more and hovers in the center of the storage area as Dr. Pretorius adjusts the controls. Someone shouts, “It’s her!”
Then the door of the truck opens, and Aunty Nush’s large figure appears as she climbs down from the driver’s seat. I look across at Ramzy, whose mouth is hanging open.
Aunty Nush’s face is a picture of pure fury, her eyebrows clumped together into a fierce hedge, and she stomps toward Ramzy, clenching her fists. I cower and put my hands up to my face to cover my eyes. Ramzy’s flinching too.