‘Got something,’ said Chris. ‘Oh, damn, cake candles. Is it anyone’s birthday?’
Nobody replied. Cal shuffled forward a little more, finding another box. This one rattled when he shook it, and he peeled open the flap to discover a sealed bag inside. He lifted the box up, squinting.
‘Anyone like old Weetabix?’
‘Got any milk?’ said Marcus.
‘Got Fanta,’ said Cal.
‘Mmmm, old Weetabix and Fanta, my favourite,’ the new kid said.
It was another couple of minutes before Cal’s knuckles hit a small jar, making it roll in a circle. He snatched it up, not realising how hungry he was until he read ‘Peanut Butter’ on the label.
‘Jackpot,’ he said, telling the others what he’d found. They both groaned, Marcus making puking noises. Weirdos, how could they not like peanut butter?
They worked for a while in silence, the occasional whoop letting them know that more treasure had been discovered. Cal wasn’t sure how much later it was that Marcus spoke.
‘You guys really not know what’s going on, then?’
‘No more than you,’ Cal answered. He found a packet of biscuits that pretty much dissolved into mush the moment he touched them. Now the air stank of digestives and mould.
‘I don’t know anything,’ said the new kid.
‘Exactly,’ Cal muttered.
‘Guess they’re not zombies, though,’ Marcus went on. ‘They’re alive, for one thing. They go back to normal too when you’re not around them. Well, the ones that haven’t injured themselves. But even those ones don’t remember how they got hurt. You noticed that?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Sponges!’ said Chris. ‘Oh wait, they’re the kind you wash with, not the kind you eat.’
‘I got hit at home, right,’ Marcus said. ‘Like I said, my brothers. Man, isn’t like we really got on all that well, but the way they turned on me. It’s like they were . . . I don’t know . . .’
Cal gave up looking. Everything was gone, even the plug sockets had been stripped from the walls. This was pointless.
‘. . . possessed. It’s like they were possessed,’ Marcus said. ‘You know, like in The Exorcist or something. You ever seen that film?’
‘Bit of it,’ Cal said. ‘Got bored.’
‘Well my brothers, they had this look on their faces like they were possessed. I guess that’s my theory.’
‘Demonic possession?’ said Chris. It sounded like he had a mouthful of something. They were supposed to be stockpiling. ‘You reckon?’
‘Well, what’s your suggestion?’ Marcus said. They could all sense Chris’s shrug even though they couldn’t see it.
‘What happened with your brothers?’ Cal asked.
‘What do you think happened? I legged it. They were always bigger than me, and stronger, but they were like a couple of carthorses. I legged it from them, I legged it from my mum, I legged it from every one of them. Pays to be skinny and fast sometimes.’
‘Like me, you mean,’ said Chris.
‘Yeah, just like you,’ Marcus laughed back. His tone was light, but Cal could hear a terrible sadness lying just beneath the surface. It made him want to be back in the light, in the fresh air. He moved towards the pile of food, squatting down beside it. Pile was a big overstatement, he realised. There were maybe seven things there.
‘You guys ready?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ said Chris. ‘Nothing over here but dust.’
‘Could have sworn there was more,’ said Marcus. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’ll keep us going,’ said Cal, picking up what he could and walking back down the corridor and out into the light, looking down at what he carried. Weetabix, a cracked jar of PB that looked runny and green, a box of marshmallow snowballs which had been half eaten by rats. Chris strolled out holding a can without its label and a box of Alpen which had lost most of its colouring. He pulled out the bag from inside and a trickle of flakes drifted out, leaving it empty.
‘Oh,’ he said.
Marcus followed, cradling a big bag of something that turned out to be dog biscuits.
‘Dammit,’ he said. ‘I thought they were Oreos.’
‘That it?’ asked Cal, a knot of dread forming in his stomach. This wouldn’t be enough to feed them for a morning, let alone for however long it took for things to go right again. The truth was that even if they did manage to get their supplies back from Rilke they wouldn’t last forever on Haribo and Dr Pepper. He looked around, seeing the road, the dunes, the distant factory. There was nothing else. ‘We should get back.’
‘The mighty hunters return with their spoils,’ said Chris.
They sprinted over the road, their shadows elastic, held back by the garage. Two words resounded in Cal’s head with each set of pounded footsteps: We’re dead, we’re dead, we’re dead.
Brick
Fursville, 11.02 a.m.
Brick watched them run back across the road from his lookout post above the main gates. Everything looked different from up here, like he’d literally risen above it, like he could just watch the world go by and no longer be a part of it. Up here he was halfway to the sun, halfway to oblivion. It felt good.
It was bloody uncomfortable, though. He shuffled, holding on to the big plastic exclamation mark of FURSVILLE! to stop himself toppling off. It was only about six metres or so to the ground, but he’d probably still snap a leg or an arm or maybe a vertebra. Cal and the two new kids disappeared into the hedge in completely the wrong place, and he could hear them rustling about in there, whispering urgently, trying to find the opening in the fence.
They hadn’t found much food, that was pretty clear. It didn’t bother Brick too much. They had water and that was the main thing. They’d think of something.
He took a deep breath of salted air then swung off the top of the pillar onto the small access platform that ran beneath the park banner. It creaked under his weight but the rusted bolts held fast in the worn brick. When he’d been rooting around in the caretaker’s shed he’d found a can of paint and a couple of brushes that had seen better days. The paint was black, for ironwork, but it would do the job.
He walked carefully down the ledge, stopping at the giant green ‘S’. Using the handle to pop open the can, he gave the gloopy liquid inside a stir and slapped the dripping brush against the plastic. A few big strokes did the trick, and he stood back to admire his handiwork.
‘Furyville,’ he read, nodding. ‘That works.’
He started back, then changed his mind and edged all the way to the end of the platform where a big, goofy animal smiled down at the world. It was another squirrel, the park mascot.
‘Don’t know what you’re grinning at,’ Brick said, dunking the brush again and giving the creature a drooping, unhappy line for its mouth. He added two giant x’s for its eyes, with sweeping angry brows – the same picture he’d drawn back in the restaurant when Cal and Daisy had first arrived. ‘Not so happy now, are you?’
He left the paint there, wiping his hands down his jeans. The fumes were making him light-headed, and he retreated to the ladder, clambering carefully back to solid ground. He could hear laughter from nearby and he trudged towards it, curious.
Daisy, Jade and Adam were sitting on the carousel. Daisy was the one who was giggling, the sound like birdsong. She was pretending to ride her horse, as were the other two, like they were racing the Grand National. Cal, Marcus and Chris were standing beside them, holding whatever they’d got from the garage and grinning as they watched the race. Brick turned to go. It was better for everyone if he wasn’t around at the moment. He’d only taken a couple of steps, however, before Daisy called out his name.
He looked back to see her waving at him. Her face was spotless and glowing and seemed too tiny to hold that giant smile. She looked like an angel. The others glanced over as well, Cal holding up a hand. Brick hovered for a second, unsure, then swallowed his protests and joined them.
‘We’re having a rac
e,’ said Daisy, jiggling up and down and kicking her legs. Adam was shaking an invisible pair of reins so hard he was in danger of falling off. Jade was going along with it, her head down and butt up like a jockey. None of their horses was actually moving, of course, although the whole carousel was rattling alarmingly.
‘Yeah?’ he said. ‘Who’s winning?’
‘It’s not that sort of race, silly,’ Daisy said. ‘We’re all winning.’
Brick considered telling her the definition of ‘race’ then decided better of it. He turned to Cal.
‘Any luck?’
‘What you see is what you get,’ Cal said, holding out a box of cereal. ‘It’s these and some dog biscuits, I’m afraid.’
‘We can feed the dog biscuits to the horses!’ exclaimed Daisy, breathless. ‘They’ll need something after all this running.’
‘That’s a deal,’ said Cal. ‘Biscuits for the horses, Weetabix for the jockeys.’
‘Think I’d rather be a horse,’ said Chris. ‘Weetabix taste like crispy crap.’
The new boy, a skinny runt of a kid, waved a bandaged hand.
‘I’m Marcus.’
‘Brick,’ said Brick.
‘Brick? Kind of a name is that?’
‘Because I’m built like a brick outhouse, obviously,’ he said. Marcus laughed.
‘No you’re not, you’re almost as skinny as I am.’
‘Bollocks,’ said Brick, but the new kid’s good humour was kind of contagious. He stuck his middle finger up at him, doing his best to scowl. ‘Welcome to Furyville anyway.’
‘Fury-ville?’ said Cal. Brick held up his paint-stained hands but he couldn’t be bothered to explain. The others looked at each other, perplexed, but nobody pressed it. Brick turned back to the carousel, the three people there even more animated than before.
‘Come on, Angie, we’re nearly there!’ cried Daisy. ‘Adam, you have to talk to your horse to make it feel good.’
The little boy shook his head, glancing nervously at his audience but still tugging on those imaginary reins.
‘You have to talk to it, Jade,’ Daisy screamed. ‘Remember it’s called Wonky-Butt the Wonder Horse!’
‘It’s called Samson,’ Jade said. ‘You’re called Wonky-Butt.’
The three of them rode hard, their horses wild eyed and nostril-flared, so real despite the fact they were obviously plastic. And for an instant Brick was tearing over the ground, the wind rushing past his ears, the bulk of the animal beneath him – the sensation of movement so powerful that he was gripped by vertigo. He closed his eyes, staggering, thinking that’s what she’s seeing, that’s what’s going through Daisy’s head. And it was so good to be moving. Then, just like that, the moment passed. He opened his eyes, grateful for the fact that nobody was watching him.
‘So, anybody want one of these?’ Cal asked, rummaging in the cereal box. ‘They’re out of date, but . . .’ He opened the bag and pulled out one of the blocks, sniffing it cautiously and shrugging. ‘I don’t think they’re too bad.’
‘Long as you try it first,’ said Chris. ‘In case they’re poisonous.’
Cal nibbled the Weetabix. He pulled a face as he swallowed, then took a bigger bite.
‘Gross,’ he said through a mouthful of mush. ‘But it’s better than nothing.’
He handed one to Chris, then another to Marcus. Brick shook his head when he was offered, then took one anyway. He didn’t know when he’d get to eat again. He bit off half of it in one go, the biscuit like cardboard. It took him an age of chewing before it was small enough to force down his throat. Cal was up on the carousel handing out Weetabix to the others.
‘Are they made by Nestlé? If they are, I’m not supposed to eat them,’ said Daisy, looking at the box. ‘My mum said Nestlé are evil.’
‘Don’t worry, they’re not,’ said Marcus, smiling. ‘Hey, maybe that’s what’s causing all this. Maybe Nestlé have put something in their food that turns people into crazy zombies?’
‘I thought you were all for the demonic possession argument,’ said Chris.
‘The what?’ asked Brick, almost choking on the last of his biscuit.
‘Demonic possession,’ said Chris. ‘Possession by demons.’
‘Duh, I know what it means. I meant why did you think it?’
Marcus waved it away, then realised everyone was looking at him. ‘Oh, I don’t know, was just a thought. ’Cos the, what do you call them, ferals? The ferals act like they’re possessed, like they’ve got demons in them or something.’
Brick spat out a humourless laugh.
‘You’ve got more chance of being right with the Nestlé thing,’ he said.
‘Least I’m trying to think of things,’ Marcus said with a gangly shrug. ‘Don’t see you guys coming up with anything.’
‘What are demons?’ asked Daisy. She’d stopped riding now and was looking at Marcus with an intense curiosity. ‘Are they the same as bad ghosts?’
‘Kind of,’ said Marcus. ‘They’re like evil spirits or something, they can go inside you and take over your body, like you’re a puppet or something.’
‘In films,’ Cal butted in. ‘That’s all, in films. They’re not real.’
‘Okay,’ Daisy said, starting to bounce on her horse again. Adam was imitating her, and at least the little kid was kind of smiling. Jade was climbing down from her faded saddle. She looked exhausted.
‘No, Jade!’ Daisy yelled. ‘Not until the race is over.’
‘It’s a relay,’ the other girl said. ‘I’m passing the baton. Who wants it?’
‘Brick does,’ Daisy said. ‘Let him have a go.’
‘Uh uh,’ he said, backing away. ‘No chance, give it to someone else.’
‘It’s yours, Brick,’ said Jade, hopping down from the carousel and approaching him. ‘Come and get it.’
She broke into a run, grinning, and a wild excitement rose in Brick’s chest, one that made him swirl round and start to run too. He tripped, his arms wheeling, and Jade slapped him on the back.
‘It! Brick’s it!’
And before he even knew what he was doing he was tearing after Cal, the other boy kicking up dust as he spun out of the way, too fast to catch. Brick changed direction, darting after Chris, the bigger boy wobbling as he bolted.
‘No fair, you can’t get me, I’m big boned!’
Brick tagged him, spinning off in a different direction as Chris jumped onto the carousel and chased Daisy and Adam from their horses. They ran in circles around the central joist, everyone overcome with laughter. Even Brick, sprinting as Daisy gave chase, laughing so hard he couldn’t run straight, tears streaming, the wind roaring in his ears just like before, so good to be moving, moving, always moving.
Rilke
Furyville, 12.43 p.m.
Even though she couldn’t see them, Rilke knew what they were doing.
She could feel it, a warmth that crept through the chilled air of the restaurant, a light that robbed the shadows of their strength. They were letting themselves laugh, they were letting themselves forget.
And it was wrong.
She was so cold now that she could no longer feel anything. Even the chills had subsided, her body too frozen to shake. There was no light to see her skin by, but she knew it would be the colour of ivory, maybe even gunmetal blue, like the time she’d been locked out of the house for three hours in the middle of a blizzard. She could feel the dusting of ice on her but it no longer burned. She was beyond pain.
Schiller lay where he had lain since they arrived, his breathing as steady and as slow and as constant as the ocean outside. He emanated the winter wind, and it was because of this that Rilke wasn’t scared of it. Why would she be frightened of her brother? He had never hurt her, he idolised her.
More to the point, why should she be frightened of what he was becoming? If they had been chosen for a reason then surely they wouldn’t be harmed in the process. After all, you didn’t kill soldiers during training.
Rilke pulled her legs against her chest. The last candle had gone out a while ago – exactly how long she had no idea – and she couldn’t quite make herself get up to light another. There were jumpers and other clothes strewn around the room, mainly Cal’s. She wouldn’t wear any extra layers, though. Whatever was doing this to them, maybe it was testing them. She didn’t want to look weak.
Unlike the others. Their weakness rode into her head on a wave of light and warmth, nauseatingly pathetic. The world was changing, something incredible was happening, and yet all they could do for the past hour or more was run around outside like children, laughing. They had no idea, they had no respect for what they had become. And they would pay for it, they would be punished.
Her eyes were sore and she tried to blink, but her skin was too cold and her eyelids wouldn’t obey. This didn’t matter either. She got the feeling that soon she wouldn’t need them. She wouldn’t need any part of her body. She would never feel the cold again. Neither would Schiller, when he broke out of his icy chrysalis. That’s why she had kept him in here rather than take him out in the sun to thaw. It had all been part of his test, and surely he had passed.
She sat and she shivered and she thought. What had happened, when Daisy had been in the room? Rilke remembered the creature they had witnessed. It had towered over the world, a vortex of strength. It had been terrifying, yes, the same way death was terrifying. Because it was something pure, something ultimate. It was a force of good not because of any artificial sense of morality, but because it would strip away everything ugly, the tainted, the impure, the rotten, the broken. It promised oblivion, a beautiful, flawless nothing into which all the world would fall.