The Fury

  ‘Because they have chosen us.’

  Rilke could feel a force inside her stirring as she spoke. It was so small, now, but it would grow.

  ‘But how can it be?’ Jade said. ‘How is it possible?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I don’t think we’re supposed to know. The only thing that’s important is what we’re being asked to do.’

  Schiller groaned. His left arm was hanging at a strange angle, it had been dislocated at the shoulder. Don’t fight it, little brother, she told him, knowing that the words would get through. You’re going to be okay. Just don’t fight it.

  ‘What are we being asked to do?’ said Marcus. A trickle of blood was winding down from his ear and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. ‘I saw it in my head, I think. I saw people, the ones that tried to kill me.’

  ‘They tried to kill you for a reason,’ said Rilke. ‘Because they know how dangerous you are.’

  ‘But why would angels want to hurt people?’ Jade said. She was glancing towards the door, frowning like she was stirring from a deep sleep. Now that Schiller had stilled, she seemed to be changing her mind. ‘They’re supposed to be good, aren’t they?’

  Rilke spat out a laugh.

  ‘What do you think they are? Little cherubs with harps and halos? No. They’re soldiers. They are powerful, and they are cruel.’ She knew that much from church. ‘They can’t exist here by themselves, they’d burn right through the skin of reality. They need a host, a vessel. They need us.’

  Marcus and Jade looked at each other. If they bolted now, Rilke decided, she’d shoot them both dead before they reached the door. How could they be so ignorant?

  ‘They’re cruel?’ said Marcus.

  ‘No, that’s the wrong word,’ Rilke said. ‘They’re not cruel. But they’re not kind either. They have no emotions. They are warriors. They have no love for us, they don’t feel anything at all. They have been sent here before, to destroy cities. They’ve killed thousands. If I had a Bible I’d show you, there’s proof. It says that the angels will cleanse the world of the wicked.’

  Even as she spoke she knew the creature inside her was nothing to do with the Bible. It was much, much older than any human stories. Rilke could feel the weight of its age on her soul. But they must have been here before, they must have inspired those stories.

  ‘That’s our job?’ Jade said, shaking her head. ‘Killing people? It doesn’t feel right.’

  ‘Just the bad ones. Don’t you see? The world is a horrible place. People do terrible things to each other all the time. Would it be such a bad thing to purge all that . . . that rot?’

  As she said it, a sudden doubt took hold of her. She thought back to what she’d seen with Daisy, the man in the storm that hung over the street and howled, which sucked in all that was warm and light and which spat out only absence. If they were angels, then what had that thing been? One of them?

  No, not one of us, it isn’t one of us. That thing is the opposite of us, it’s here to destroy everything. We have to fight it, we have to fight it. The words in her head were not hers, and she pushed them away. She had to believe that what she was doing was right. If she didn’t believe it, then she was lost.

  ‘You’ll see,’ she said. ‘You won’t doubt me for much longer.’

  None of them would. Something incredible was going to happen – even more incredible than Schiller’s transformation – she could feel it the same way she could feel the tickle of a sneeze. She didn’t know what, but it would involve fire. She wasn’t sure if that premonition had been hers or Daisy’s, but it was inevitable. There would be fire, and they would see the truth.

  And she knew what she had to do to make it happen.

  ‘I need a phone,’ she said. ‘Do either of you have one?’

  ‘Battery’s dead,’ said Jade. Marcus fished his from his jeans and examined it.

  ‘Why d’you want it?’ he said.

  ‘Trust me.’

  He obviously did because he handed it to her.

  ‘They’re going to the factory, aren’t they?’ Rilke asked. ‘To look for food.’

  Jade nodded, her expression uncertain.

  Rilke dialled 999 and lifted it to her ear. Daisy and the others would soon understand exactly what they had to do – if they survived, that was. There was a click, then a voice asking her which emergency service she required.

  ‘All of them,’ she said, smiling. ‘I think there’s going to be a terrorist attack.’

  Daisy

  Hemmingway, 5.34 p.m.

  By the time Daisy had finally managed to clip in her seat belt they were already slowing down.

  The factory loomed up from the horizon, a cluster of black buildings and half a dozen towering chimneys which pierced the brilliant blue sky. It looked like a dead fly with its legs in the air, Daisy thought. There was nothing else nearby apart from a sign on the side of the road that said ‘Thank you for visiting Hemmingway and Fursville – Please Drive Safely!’ The same bug-eyed squirrel grinned at them from it. Fursville itself now lay half a mile behind them.

  ‘See anything?’ Cal asked. The factory entrance was set just off the road, up a short, wide driveway. There was no gate, just a barrier. On either side of that were big walls topped with mean-looking spikes. There was a booth there too, a little one with a door and a window, attached to the main building.

  ‘There’s somebody in there,’ Daisy said, seeing a blurred shape behind the sun-drenched glass. ‘I think we should turn round.’

  ‘It might just be one person,’ Chris said, letting the engine idle.

  ‘And he might have fifty mates out the back,’ Brick said. ‘A hundred.’

  Daisy felt her stomach complain. It was partly fear but mostly hunger. She wished they could just phone the factory people and ask them to bring out some food. Wouldn’t they do that for a car full of kids?

  ‘Yeah, we should call them,’ said Cal, scooping the thought out of her brain. ‘Look, it’s right there, Cavendish-Harbreit. We could one-one-eight it.’

  ‘And say what?’ Brick asked. ‘Hi there, we’re just wondering if there’s anyone in today because we’d like to break in and steal some stuff?’

  ‘No, idiot, we could just see if anyone answers.’

  Chris tapped a button in the centre of the dashboard and a keypad appeared on the touch-screen there.

  ‘Nice,’ said Cal. ‘Does it have a signal?’

  ‘Let’s find out,’ he said, typing in 118 118. There was a hum, then a flurry of numbers, and a voice sounded from the car’s speakers. Daisy tuned it out, gazing through the window and back towards Fursville. The whole park looked tiny, and shimmered in the baking heat. It didn’t seem real, as though any minute now the view would just flicker and switch off. It was a crazy thought, but surely not anywhere near as crazy as having creatures inside them.

  Angels.

  And yet it felt so right, what Rilke had said. Well, most of what she’d said. What lived in them wasn’t really angels, she didn’t think. These weren’t the same things her mum had pictures of in the house, the ones she’d become obsessed with when she was ill. Those had smiling faces and rosy cheeks and sat on fluffy clouds.

  These . . . They were different. Daisy didn’t have the right words to explain how, only that they weren’t alive in the same sense that people were. They couldn’t live here, in this world. That’s why they’d chosen her and Cal and Brick and the others. They needed a body to ride around in, the same way that humans needed cars to get places.

  Only these angels couldn’t control you like a person controlled a car. It was more like they just rode around with you, giving you strength – fire, like Schiller’s – but waiting for you to make the right decisions.

  Was that right? Daisy wasn’t sure.

  They were good, though, these things. Not like nice people, more like a friendly animal, like a dog or a tiger. They wouldn’t speak, but they would look after you. That’s where the ice cubes in her head came fr
om, those little glimpses of other people’s lives. Only other people with angels in them, though, she realised. That’s how they talked to each other.

  ‘Shall I put you straight through?’ said the voice.

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ said Chris. There was a soft click then more ringing.

  The big question was why the angels were here. There was no way that angels would make them murder people. Rilke was wrong, really wrong. Daisy didn’t blame her. It wasn’t like they’d all been given a big instruction book or anything. None of them had any idea what they were supposed to do. But they weren’t here to hurt people, Daisy was sure of it.

  ‘Nobody’s answering,’ said Brick as the ring tone continued to fill the car.

  ‘Really?’ said Cal. ‘I thought somebody had picked up and was just making phone impressions.’

  Brick had his mouth open to reply when a voice blasted out of the speakers.

  ‘Welcome to Cavendish-Harbreit Agricultural Technologies. Our office hours are nine a.m. to five p.m., Monday to Friday. If you require emergency assistance or product advice outside office hours, please hold.’

  Music, something classical that reminded Daisy of her drama class. The memory of it was like somebody had slapped her around the face. The play! They would have done it by now. Emily Horton would have played Juliet, she would have kissed Fred. It should have been her. The hunger in her tummy turned into something much worse, like she was being crushed. Tears ran down her cheek but she wiped them away before anyone could notice, taking a couple of deep, shuddering breaths until the weight lifted.

  She couldn’t worry about the play now. There were more important things. There had better be, anyway. There had to be a reason for this, something that made it all okay, otherwise she’d have lost everything – everything – for nothing.

  It’s the thing you saw, she thought. The man in the storm. He’s the reason you’re here. You have to fight him. And even though the memory of that creature was terrifying, the thought settled her.

  They were here to stop him. Before he could eat the whole world.

  That’s what he wants to do. He wants to eat everything, until there’s nothing left but darkness.

  ‘Hello?’ said a voice through the speakers, making Daisy jump.

  ‘Oh, yeah, hello,’ said Chris, looking urgently at the others and mouthing, What do I say? ‘Um . . . How are you?’

  Cal was pointing at the booth, and they all squinted through the glass to see that the person inside was on the phone.

  ‘This is an emergency number,’ the voice said. ‘We’re closed. If you just want a chat, call back tomorrow.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Cal, leaning between the front seats. ‘We need to speak with somebody urgently.’

  ‘Is it an emergency?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Cal went on. ‘Er, we’re outside and we think someone might be trying to break in.’

  ‘What?’ hissed Brick. ‘You trying to get us caught?’

  ‘Who is this?’ the man repeated.

  ‘Outside, on the road, a gang in a silver car. They look suspicious.’

  There was a clunk, a squeak, shuffling noises, then the door of the booth opened. Daisy ducked down, peeking as a man in a security guard’s uniform appeared. He cupped a hand over his forehead, looking towards the Jag.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Brick said.

  ‘Trust me,’ said Cal. ‘He’s going to come over. Chris, as soon as he gets close enough, move off, okay? Drive slowly, make him follow you back up to Fursville. There are plenty of places to turn round up there, just make sure you keep him hooked. And lock the doors, yeah?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Chris, his voice a tremor. ‘No probs.’

  The guard reached into his booth for a cap, putting it on then walking out into the sun. Daisy could hear his footsteps crunching on the sandy track as he approached the road. He wasn’t far away. Any second now he’d sense them. She took Adam’s hand, squeezing it.

  ‘If he gets too close then you just floor it,’ Cal went on, doing his best to smile at Daisy. ‘Keep them safe, whatever happens.’

  He popped open his door, the car rocking as he got out.

  ‘Come on, Brick, you’re up.’

  ‘No way, man, I’m staying in here,’ Brick said, snorting a laugh. ‘Why doesn’t Chris go?’

  ‘Can you drive?’ Cal asked. The guard was walking fast, shouting something at them. Brick swore, slamming a hand down on the glove box. ‘Come on, mate, this is your chance to be a hero.’

  Brick grabbed the handle and shouldered open the door, almost knocking Cal over.

  ‘Hey, stay where you are,’ the guard yelled. He was jogging now, a big belly swinging beneath his tight, grey shirt.

  ‘Good luck,’ said Daisy, putting her hand on the window. Cal pressed his against the other side as Brick slammed the door shut. ‘Be safe, Cal, please be safe.’

  ‘You too,’ he said. ‘We’ll meet you at Soapy’s, yeah?’

  ‘Gotcha,’ said Chris, pressing a button to make the doors lock. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Who arrrrrrr ooooo?’ the guard’s mouth was drooping out of shape, his eyes filling with a depthless rage. Daisy pushed herself away from the door as his steps became lurches, then bounds, propelling him down the last section of path.

  ‘Go!’ yelled Cal, running into the ocean of sea grass that grew by the side of the road. Brick followed him, both boys ducking out of sight as the guard careened towards the car.

  ‘Oh crap, should have thought about this,’ said Chris. He spun the wheel, trying to turn round. The back of the Jaguar slammed against the verge as he reversed and the engine almost stalled. Daisy screamed as the guard threw himself against the window, thumping the glass. He butted his head against it, his nose bending at a weird angle. Blood gushed past his yellow teeth but he didn’t notice. He didn’t know anything now except the Fury.

  Chris revved hard. The front of the car scuffed the verge at the other side of the road, bumping up and down, then they were clear. Remembering what he was supposed to be doing, he eased on the brakes. Daisy looked through the back window to see the guard tearing after them, his face a mask of cruelty and anger. Behind him, sneaking from their hiding place, Cal and Brick jogged across the road towards the factory.

  ‘Be safe,’ Daisy said to them. ‘Good luck.’

  But she had an awful feeling that luck wasn’t going to be enough.

  Cal

  Cavendish-Harbreit Agricultural Technologies, 5.46 p.m.

  Brick reached the booth first, running through the open door so hard that he almost ripped it off its hinges. Cal skidded to a halt outside, casting a look back up the road. He could just about make out the glinting roof of the Jag, the guard’s guttural shouts drifting back on the wind. His pulse was so fast and so hard in his throat that he felt like there were fingers there, squeezing.

  ‘Cal, come on!’ Brick was at the door, furiously waving his hand. Cal pushed past him into the small room. It was empty, just a desk, a control panel, a couple of security monitors and a phone with the receiver out of the cradle. He lifted it to hear the roar of a car.

  ‘Hello? Chris, you still there?’

  ‘Cal?’ Chris’s voice was laced with panic.

  ‘Yeah, we just got in. There’s nobody else here. You guys alright?’

  A pause, then Daisy’s voice:

  ‘He’s catching up!’

  ‘We’re okay,’ Chris said. ‘Go on, get it done.’

  Cal dropped the phone back on the desk, keeping the line open. Brick was focusing on the monitors, clicking a switch that changed which camera was being shown.

  ‘Looks dead,’ he said.

  Cal walked across the booth to the other door, opening it a crack to see a short corridor. He stepped through, stopping when he heard Brick’s voice.

  ‘This might come in handy,’ the other boy said, pulling a sheet of paper from the wall and handing it to Cal. It was a plan of the factory, made up of fine lines and even sm
aller print. Cal recognised the booth in which they stood and, close by, a big rectangle marked ‘Staff’.

  ‘Gotta be it,’ he said, pointing. ‘Right?’

  ‘One way to find out.’

  They walked through the door, Brick doubling back to pick up a giant Maglite torch from the desk. He held it like a rounders bat as they ran down the corridor, past a big reception room and a toilet. There was another door at the far end, and Cal opened it up onto a sunlit courtyard. Two jeeps with the factory’s logo sat there alongside a dented blue Rover. Cal glanced at the map, getting his bearings.

  ‘That way,’ he said, setting off. They jogged past the cars, their ragged breathing the only sound in the entire place. The factory loomed over them, giant chimneys casting finger-like shadows over the open ground. He increased his speed, making for a squat, low building dead ahead.

  They’d almost reached it when another security guard appeared, a short woman who strolled out from between two huge, gleaming silos about thirty metres away, swinging a set of keys around her finger. She was whistling, the tune cutting out when she saw them. Cal skidded to a halt against the wall, Brick running into him, and for a second all three of them stood like statues.

  ‘You Roger’s kids?’ the woman asked, dropping the keys into her pocket and reaching for her radio. ‘You can’t be playing back here.’

  She walked briskly towards them, speaking into her handset. Her words dropped into a low, wet groan, the whine of a dying dog. Then she was running, her hat flying off. Cal ripped open the door, but Brick held his ground.

  The woman reached him, her fingers hooked like talons, her teeth gnashing. Brick didn’t hesitate, swinging the Maglite. It struck her in the jaw, the crack echoing between the buildings. The woman dropped, a gout of blood spurting from her broken mouth. She twitched, then lay still. Brick stumbled away, throwing the torch on top of her like it was a poisonous snake.

  ‘Get her radio,’ Cal yelled. Brick snatched it up from the ground, running to the door.

  ‘Oh Christ,’ he muttered. ‘I didn’t mean to hit her so hard.’