Contagion

^{CHAPTER NINE} EIGHT

They moored the boat and disappeared into an Italian restaurant on the riverfront, gathering in the kitchen, and their mood was dour. Few words were exchanged. They had to formulate a plan, but their futures looked so bleak that no one knew where to begin.

Breezer decided to leave. Jack asked him to stay, but he only shook his head, defeated. “I have friends,” he said. “People who’ve looked up to me for too long for me to abandon them now. I want to be with them when…at the end.”

“You can’t just give up!” Jack said.

“You can’t,” Breezer replied. “Jack, you can get your friends out easily. With the abilities you have, and with her.” He nodded at Fleeter. She sat apart from the others, quiet and still.

“There’s no way I’ll do that and leave everyone else to die,” Jack said. But the harsh idea had already crossed his mind. Around eight hours until the bomb exploded, and soon would come the cut-off time for him and the others to escape London. Before then they’d have a chance, and Breezer was right—Jack could get them out. After that point, they’d have run out of time to flee. He didn’t know the extent of the damage the bomb would cause, but the Exclusion Zone formed the boundary they had to cross.

The thought of running, and failing everyone in London, was terrible. Jack’s abilities gave him a sense of responsibility which he couldn’t shake. When the time came, perhaps he would send Fleeter out with his friends. But he could never leave. Nomad’s touch had made him a part of what London had become, whether that city’s doom was sealed or not.

“We can’t just give up,” he said to Breezer. This time it sounded like a plea. The others were watching, and Jenna stood close to Jack, supporting him with her strong silence.

“We rush the Exclusion Zone, they cut us down,” Breezer said. “We stay here, we’re toast.”

“Something will happen,” Jack said. “I’ll make something happen. See the truth in what I say. It’s what you do, so see it!”

Breezer sighed, eyelids drooping. “I see that you want it to be the truth,” he said. “You’re a good kid, Jack.”

“So don’t just sit down and die!” Jack said. “You’ve already spread the word to get as many as you can to Heron Tower. So now go back there and take them west.”

“And then?” Breezer asked.

“One way or another, we’ll march out of London. And if we have to fight our way out, so be it. Better than just waiting for the bomb.”

Breezer sighed, nodded. He seemed relieved to have had the weight of decision taken from his own shoulders.

“Good luck,” Breezer said. He shook Jack’s hand. “You and your friends…you’re pretty amazing. I’ll see you in the west. We’ll wait somewhere near Chiswick.”

“I’ll find you.”

As Breezer left, Jack eased himself down against a metal cabinet and sighed. He was exhausted, and the universe inside seemed to be thrumming with expectation. The whole of his world knew that something momentous and terrible was about to occur.

“So now what?” Sparky asked at last. “It’s a mess. We’re lost.”

“We’re doing everything we can,” Jenna said, but even she no longer sounded certain and strong. Jack heard her doubts, and when Rhali sat close beside him, he leaned into her and smiled.

“Fleeter,” Jack said. “Any thoughts?”

“Only that we should get out of London.”

“And leave everyone else to die.”

She did not reply, but she looked troubled.

“Lucy-Anne?” Jenna asked.

“I can dream,” Lucy-Anne said. She sounded far away, talking to herself. “When I’m dreaming, and I know I’m there, I can move things as I want. Make things happen as I want them to happen. But I don’t think I’m really in charge. Maybe it’s fate. Perhaps I can just…juggle fate, for a little while.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asked.

“I’ve dreamed of the bomb,” Lucy-Anne said. “I see Nomad and then the bomb explodes. Except…” She frowned.

“Lucy-Anne?” Jenna prompted.

“Except now it’s mixed up with another dream. I see Nomad, and she kills me.”

“We can’t just stop an atom bomb with a bloody dream!” Sparky said.

Lucy-Anne didn’t seem to hear him. She was frowning, lost in her own world, and Jack went to her and touched her chin. Her tears were cool. He lifted her face.

“We’ll do whatever we can,” he said. “And with everything that’s happened, I do believe a dream can help. I do.”

She smiled past her sadness and loss.

“Eight hours,” Jack said, turning around to face the others. “Four hours to do whatever we can to stop the bomb or find a safe way out. And then if none of that works, we go west, meet Breezer and the others, and try to get out anyway. What do you think?”

No one replied, but everyone nodded. As plans went, it was woolly. But it was all they had.

Moving north towards the Thames, Andrew saw a man about to die.

The man was wearing no uniform, yet he had the bearing of a military man—cropped hair, slim build, a neat moustache. He carried no weapons. If he had, there was a chance they might have saved him from what was about to kill him. But even then, Andrew thought it unlikely.

The creature circled him. It had been human once, and though still retaining some vestiges of humanity in appearance, its actions and movements were alien. Taller than the man and thinner, its legs long and chitinous, torso human-sized but covered entirely in a sleek, shiny shell, it was its head that still reflected humanity—human eyes, long hair, a head longer and thinner yet still recognisable.

It clicked and snicked, circled the man, drooled.

The man was begging, and it was his words that drew Andrew into the confrontation. Any other time he would have moved away, not even turning when the screams and noises began. Those inhuman creatures did not concern him, because they could always sense that he too was no longer wholly human. And he knew that even they found him troubling.

“I can stop it!” the man said. “Please, please!” He was panicked, verging on hysterical. Andrew wondered where he came from.

“Stop what?” Andrew said. He crossed the road and stood on a traffic island, ten steps away from the desperate man. The creature only glanced at Andrew before seeming to disregard him.

“The bomb!” the man said. He gasped when he looked at Andrew, uncertain that he was even there.

“You’re normal,” Andrew said. “You’re not one of us.”

The man uttered a sharp, insane laugh. “What the hell is it? What the hell are you?”

“How can you stop the bomb?”

The man’s shirt was soaked through with sweat, and he carried a small rucksack over one shoulder, grasping the strap as if it was precious.

“Because it’s what I was sent in to do,” he said.

“So you’re one of them,” Andrew said. “One of the people keeping London hidden away as a dirty, dark secret.”

“Do you blame us?” he asked, nodding at the creature scratching sharp claws across the road surface.

“Yes,” Andrew said. “Completely. But if you can stop the bomb, perhaps you amongst all of them can redeem yourself, a little.”

“That’s what I want,” the man said. “I lost an uncle and three cousins to Doomsday. All dead, not…changed. Not like you. And when we heard that madman Miller had triggered the countdown, I was one of the first to volunteer to come in. Deactivate it.”

Andrew moved towards the man, passing the creature and sensing the startling intelligence its appearance seemed to belie. The man cringed back a little, but not too far. He seemed used to the strangeness that London now harboured. Though he had never seen anything like Andrew. “So what happened?” Andrew asked.

“We were attacked. The Superiors. Only three of us got away, and we hid, discussed what to do. And we decided…between us…to carry on.” He touched his jacket. “Tried to dress more normally. There was no talking to them! No reasoning! They attacked us, but did they know what we were coming to do? Do you think they even had a clue?”

“So what happened to the other two?” Andrew asked, ignoring the question. He knew about Superiors. They would have attacked the Choppers without pause, and without mercy. Killing those who might, this time, save them.

“We split up. I lost touch with them this morning.” The man took a phone from his pocket.

“Let me hear,” Andrew said. The man did something to the device and then hesitantly held it out. Andrew closed his eyes and listened.

The hollow, low moan of eternity. Andrew had heard it when he died, and the sound haunted him now, as if mocking his unnatural state and assuring him that, soon, he would be where he belonged. There was a sickening sense of scope to that noise, as if it was the underlying note to an infinite universe, nothing to echo from, its travel never-ending. If Andrew had possessed a body he would have shuddered.

“They’re both dead,” he said, opening his eyes.

“And…you?” the man asked.

Andrew simply stared at him.

The creature scuttled forward and Andrew turned, insubstantial hands held out. “No! He’s important,” he said. “You came down from the north because of the bomb, and he might be able to stop it.”

The thing darted closer, mandibles gaping, wet mouth already working as if chewing at flesh. The man gasped and pressed back against a wall, and Andrew stepped in front of the creature.

It skidded to a stop, scarring the road.

“He’s important,” Andrew said again, quieter. He urged the man along the pavement, backing away from the creature. He could not tell whether it heard him at all, and if so whether it understood.

“Which way?” the man whispered.

“Whichever way looks best,” Andrew said. “But slowly. Don’t give it the opportunity of a fast hunt. Might like that.”

“Oh, great. Great.” The man whispered. “And now I’m listening to a ghost.”

The creature watched them go. Andrew smiled. He’d experienced a frisson of fear, and it had been good to feel human again. But the fear had not been for himself.

After a few minutes they passed a multi-storey car park, and the man stepped inside. He paused between ranks of forgotten vehicles, hands on his knees, leaning over as if about to be sick.

“You need to stay with me,” Andrew said.

“A dead guy. You’re coming with me to the museum?”

“No. You’re coming with me away from it.”

“No,” the man said, shaking his head. “No, no, I have to go where the bomb is.”

“Go there alone and you’ll die,” Andrew said. “You think the thing that almost ate you was strange? Wait until you reach the museum. There are scores of them there. They’ve come down from the north, and none of them can do anything to prevent what’s going to happen.”

“But I can!” the man shouted. “So they’ll let me pass, let me in!”

“Like the Superiors did?” Andrew shook his head. “They’re different now. Moved on. Evolved. Just because you and they want the same thing, don’t assume they won’t eat you.”

The man closed his eyes and grabbed his hair in despair.

“But I’ve got an idea,” Andrew said.

“We don’t have time for ideas!”

“We’ll have time for this one.” He circled the man, trying to exude confidence, calmness. “What’s your name?”

“Hayden.”

“Hayden…that Range Rover. See it? Wait in there and I’ll bring people who will help.”

“What people?”

Andrew thought of his sweet sister. “Special people. Now hide yourself away and stay safe. Right now you might be the most important person in London.”

“I’ve got to try,” Jack said. “I’ve got to try!”

“We’ll keep watch,” Sparky said, and he and Jenna slipped from the kitchen and out into the restaurant area. Jack guessed they’d like some time on their own. Rhali stayed with him in the kitchen, but her eyelids were drooping, and she fell quickly asleep.

“What do you think you can do?” Lucy-Anne asked.

“I know so much of what I can do already,” he said. “But there has to be something more. Something that can help us. All I have to do is…” He pretend-grabbed something from the air and clasped his fist shut, staring at it, knuckles white with pressure.

“Not your fault if you can’t,” Fleeter said.

“Maybe not,” Jack said. “But I’ve got to look for something. I feel the weight.”

“Of responsibility,” Lucy-Anne said. “Yeah. I think we all feel something of that.”

Jack smiled at his friend and then at Fleeter, pleased that the girl smiled back. She was changing, slowly. The problem was they no longer had time for slow.

“Won’t be long,” Jack said to all of them, and then he sat in a corner between units and closed his eyes.

He fell into his universe. He was a shooting star, a fleeting spark of hope. Infinity was nothing because he had infinite speed, and he moved from one talent to the next. At first he touched abilities he was already familiar with—a shout like Reaper’s, Rhali’s sense of movement, Fleeter’s flexing of time and movement. He gathered them to him and let them go again, comforted by their familiarity. Then he moved on to other stars, reaching out with hopeful fingers.

He could pass through walls, manipulating the quirks and quarks of quantum mechanics. Drawing oxygen from water would become easy. He could read minds, and another talent presented itself that would filter out the terrifying static and interference of another person’s thoughts, allowing him to home in on one specific idea. It was chilling and thrilling, but he passed it by.

Amazing, but none of this was of use to him.

The great red star of contagion throbbed and glowed right across his universe, pregnant with possibility.

He searched for anything that might help, skimming from one star to the next, understanding the amazing gifts they might grant him but knowing that none of them would be of use. In his desperation he moved faster, and soon his mind was aflood with new talents he had yet to use. Some of them he did not truly understand, because they were more obtuse. Beyond the normal bounds of human behaviour. Maybe I could talk with the monsters, he thought, but even that would not be of use. Not for what he needed.

Talk could not consume nuclear fire. A mind sensitive to thoughts or heat, movement or deviousness, could not cast aside the sun-hot flash that would soon bloom across London. Angry and scared, Jack opened his eyes and burst from his inner world. He found that he’d been panting hard and sweating, and Lucy-Anne was kneeling beside him looking concerned. He took the bottle of water she offered and drank deep, seeing stars.

“It’s hopeless, isn’t it?” she asked.

Jack did not answer. He looked at Fleeter, waiting to catch her eye. When she looked at him at last, he spoke.

“You and me,” he said. “We’re the only hope.”

Fleeter shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Yes!” he said. “We flip, go to the bomb. Move it somehow. Carry it, drag it, whatever. Get it on a boat, sail out into the North Sea. We’ve got time. Eight hours here is eight days for us, or more.”

She shook her head slowly, mouthing, No.

“Fleeter…” he said, and he wondered what her real name might be.

“You’ve never been flipped for more than a few seconds real-time,” she said. “I have. I know what it feels like, what it does. It feels like forever. After the first few minutes you find it hard to function. Your body shuts down. A distance grows, and it’s harder and harder to move or get back. It’s a transitory thing, Jack. Like jumping around while everyone blinks. It’s a trick, and I don’t think we can trick time, or nature, or whatever it is that much.”

“Don’t think, or don’t know?”

“Damn it, Jack, I know you’re desperate, but don’t blame me that it won’t work!” Fleeter seemed serious, her usual smile absent. “Besides, you know what happens when we move things when we’re flipped. Everything’s speeded up in this world. We move the bomb, nudge it, drop the bloody thing, and who knows what’ll happen?”

“So it’s a long shot,” Jack said.

“The longest.”

“It probably won’t work.”

“No. It won’t work.”

Jack nodded and took another drink of water. “If you won’t help me, I’ll do it myself.” He climbed to his feet and ran his fingers through his sweat-damped hair.

“Jack, no,” Lucy-Anne said. “I’ll not lose you as well.”

“Then dream me safe,” he said, smiling. He hugged Lucy-Anne, and as she hugged him back, she stiffened.

“What?” Jack asked.

“Andrew,” she said. “He’s here.”

“Jack!” Jenna called from the restaurant outside. “Everyone! Someone’s here.”

Lucy-Anne pulled away and rushed through the swing doors, and Rhali stirred at the raised voices.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“I think a ghost’s come to visit,” Jack said. Fleeter went first, then he helped Rhali to her feet and supported her through into the restaurant.

Just inside the front doorway stood someone who was barely there.

“Lucy-Anne,” the ghost breathed, his voice barely a whisper. “I can stop the bomb. But I need your friends’ help.”