A fresh siren, another police car pushing through the loose flap of fence and giving chase. This one was bigger, one of those giant truck things. It hardly even seemed to notice the craters and hillocks of the field, looming up behind them like a shark in the ocean.
‘Don’t!’ Daisy cried out to the policemen inside, her voice lost in the thunder of engines. ‘You’ll get hurt!’
But they had already turned feral, nothing but glinting eyes and half-moons of teeth in the darkness of the four-wheel drive. It shunted them, the back of their car jolting off the ground. The view through the windows lurched like a ship’s wheelhouse in a stormy sea. She had time to see the ditch dead ahead of them, a deep scar that ran the width of the field.
Then the car plunged into it and her world flickered off.
Cal
Hemmingway, 6.23 p.m.
Cal cried out as he landed, his legs sinking into the soft, beachy soil. This time the pain in his knee was like a poisoned knife twisting into the cartilage. There was a thud as Brick dropped beside him, rolling clumsily away from the wall. He scrabbled to his feet and picked up the sack Cal had thrown over, before running back and offering Cal a hand.
‘You okay?’ he asked, hauling him up. The pain flared as he pulled his foot free and he couldn’t stop the moan tumbling from his lips.
‘I’m fine,’ he said, limping across the rough ground. Brick ran off, frantically foraging for food in the short grass and throwing anything he found into the sack. From behind them came a nerve-shredding chorus of banshee wails and the thunder of fists against the wall. The cops would go back to normal as soon as he and Brick were out of range, then they’d start the chase again. The helicopter roared above them, flattening the strands of sea grass and making the field ripple like water. It was pumping out so much noise that Cal didn’t hear the growl of engines until there was an almighty crunch from the other side of the field.
He looked up to see a silver car flip end over end, its bonnet crumpled up like a fist, punching into the dirt, then collapsing onto its roof. A police Land Rover somersaulted gracefully over it, losing momentum mid-air and tumbling sideways. Smoke spewed from the wrecks, but through the billowing black curtain Cal recognised the driver.
‘It’s Chris,’ he said, pointing. He began to run, his twisted knee forgotten.
‘Here they come,’ yelled Brick, slinging the half-empty sack over his shoulder. Cal glanced back to see four or five cops charging from the main road, all of them shouting and pointing. They were a hundred metres away, maybe, but they’d soon catch up once the Fury had them.
We’re going to die, Cal thought, and he was surprised by the lack of emotion. It was a statement of fact, one that seemed to carry no weight. If anything, it filled him with a trace of relief. No more running, no more hiding, no more not knowing. Just death.
And then he thought of Daisy, upside down in the car, clawing at the window as petrol fumes filled her lungs. He ran harder, putting his head down, overtaking Brick. In the distance, another Land Rover was emerging from Soapy’s, the bulk of Fursville hanging over it like a dark cloud as it accelerated across the field. Incredibly, somebody was clambering out of the crashed one, too, a broken shape whose police uniform had all but been torn away. The man staggered onto his feet, then seemed to collapse on the upturned Jag, kicking at the windows.
‘What do we do?’ Brick said, wheezing.
They were halfway between the factory and the car now, the sound of shouting behind them rising up even over the thunder of the chopper. There were barks, too. It wouldn’t be long before Cal felt needled teeth in his legs, dragging him to the ground. Then it would be game over.
‘Cal? What do we do?’
He didn’t have a plan, only his instinct. If they could just get to the car, if they could just reach Daisy, if they could just get back to the park, they’d be okay.
‘Keep running,’ he shouted as they closed the gap. The other Land Rover was going to beat them to it, but it didn’t matter. ‘Keep running, and trust me.’
Daisy
Hemmingway, 6.25 p.m.
Somebody was shaking Daisy from a dream of fire. She was glad, because in her dream the whole world was burning, but instead of heat there was cold – bodies freezing and buildings collapsing while ash-coloured snow fell from the heavens.
She snapped open her eyes, thinking at first that her dream had come true. Everything was wrong, the world upside down, her head full of horrible, choking smoke. Her whole body ached, but there was a really bad slicing pain in her neck. When she reached up – no, down – she felt a noose there, digging into her skin. It took her a moment to understand it was her seat belt.
It took her another moment to realise that Adam was next to her, crouching on the ceiling which was now the floor. His small hands were on her shoulders, shaking her wildly, and his sooty face opened up like a flower when he saw that she had come round.
‘Are you okay?’ she wanted to ask, the words coming out as a hacking cough. Something was banging, a bare foot crunching against the window, the toes bruised and bent unnaturally. Daisy’s memories shone in the smoke, the police car that had chased them, then Chris driving into a ditch.
Chris. He too was suspended the wrong way up, in the driving seat. Blood dripped freely from his nose, forming a little pool on the ceiling. She called his name between more coughs but he didn’t respond.
Adam was fiddling with something on the seat, and she followed his hands to her seat-belt clip. The button was jammed, not budging no matter how hard she pressed it. A powerful wave of claustrophobia ripped through her and she cried out, tugging the belt in an attempt to free it. There was a funny smell in the air, behind the smoke. It was the way her dad smelled every time he put the barbecue on in summer. It was the horrible fuel stink that came right before a fire.
‘Go,’ she said to Adam. ‘Get out.’
She wasn’t sure if they were words or just coughs. Either way Adam showed no sign of leaving. He pulled at her belt, making soft, scared whimpers, his face screwed up with the effort. She could hear another engine sound from outside, then their car rocked wildly as something thumped into it. The cramped space seemed to shrink and darken even further, like it was sinking into the ground. There was a soft whumping noise, and the air flickered and glowed.
‘Please, Adam, you have to go or you’ll die in here.’
He shook his head, still pulling at the belt. There was a shriek from outside, then the window right next to her shattered. A pair of rough, bloody hands reached in. She screamed, fingers like steel rods in her skull. Another crash, a cut-throat grin slithering in through the boot and bloodied fingernails around Adam’s throat.
Daisy’s vision was fading, the pain too much. And the worst of it was that as the shadows and the smoke crept into her head, turning everything to dusk, she could only hear Rilke’s voice. I told you, it said. Why didn’t you listen?
But if Rilke was right, and they were here to murder the world, then Daisy didn’t really want to live any more anyway. She would rather be with her mum and her dad, wherever they were. At least this way she could go home.
She let go of the claws that ripped at her scalp, and reached out to Adam.
‘It’s going to be okay,’ she said. ‘We’re going together, and I’ll always look after you.’
Even though he was being dragged from the car, Adam seemed to hear. He stuck out his hand, stretching his fingers towards her. And incredibly, he was smiling.
It’s not such a bad way to leave, Daisy thought. Looking at a smile.
And offering him one back, she grabbed hold of his hand.
Brick
Hemmingway, 6.27 p.m.
Brick was only ten metres away when the car exploded.
The upturned Jag was surrounded, five policemen kicking and punching it, trying to get inside. One of them had his hands through the back window and Brick could make out a familiar face in the billowing smoke. Daisy. Rage boiled up from hi
s stomach, howled from his mouth as a ragged scream.
‘Leave her alone!’
There was a flash of pure, white light, a bubble which expanded from the car and blasted away the smoke. Brick threw himself to the ground, a hand over his face, waiting for the fire.
It never came.
He looked up to see that searing white light engulf the police, burning through them. They crumbled into ash like sticks of dry wood, filling the air with a snowstorm of burning embers. The blinding orb flickered, then was sucked back into the car with lightning speed. A shock wave blasted across the field, a crack of thunder that almost knocked Brick’s head off. Then an impossible silence.
He worked his way unsteadily to his feet, swaying. Beside him Cal was doing the same, wiggling his fingers in his ears as though he’d gone deaf. They peered back through the infinite quiet to see the surging mass of police still stampeding towards them from the road, not yet close enough for the Fury. In the other direction the Jag sat inside its blizzard of incandescent ash, no sign of life anywhere near it.
‘What happened?’ Cal’s voice sounded a mile away. Brick flexed his jaw, noises gradually easing their way back into the world. The helicopter had pulled back from the explosion, but it was hovering above them again, the downdraught making Cal’s hair billow.
Brick didn’t answer him, just started running again. It was only after a couple of steps that he realised he’d dropped the half-empty sack of food. Not that it mattered – as hungry as he was, it didn’t look likely that any of them would live long enough to eat again. He reached the car in seconds and dropped to his knees beside it. Hot ash danced around his face, burning his skin where it landed. He brushed the falling flakes of dead people away, peering into the crushed darkness to see Chris there.
‘Daisy?’ Cal yelled, ducking down next to him. They both looked into the back seat. It was empty. ‘He must have dropped them somewhere. Come on, help me get him out.’
‘But I just saw her,’ Brick started, wondering if he’d only imagined her face in the churning chaos.
Cal tried the door but it was crumpled into itself. He stood back and kicked the splintered glass of the window, reaching through the gap and calling Chris’s name. Brick looked up, the mob of cops maybe thirty metres away, close enough to make the ground shudder. There was an army of them.
He pushed in beside Cal, both of them trying to loosen the seat belt. There was a pool of blood in the bottom of the car, still dripping off the tip of Chris’s nose. He was unconscious, his motionless bulk making it impossible to free him. Brick glanced up again. Twenty metres, and the ones at the front were already turning. He grabbed Cal’s shoulders, pulling him out of the window.
‘We can’t leave him!’ Cal shouted, throwing himself back, wrenching at the boy inside.
‘We have to,’ Brick said. Fifteen metres, a line of witches’ faces. ‘Cal, come on!’ He grabbed Cal’s arms and ripped him free, hauling him up. ‘Look!’
They stared at the wave of uniforms, the grunts and howls and shrieks and growls almost too much to bear. Cal looked back at Chris.
‘I’m so sorry, mate,’ he said. Then they were both running again, bolting from the madness at their heels.
Daisy
Hemmingway, 6.29 p.m.
Daisy felt like she’d been inside a tumble drier, her head spinning and her stomach churning. She doubled over, a jet of milky vomit erupting from her mouth. Flecks of fire settled in the mess, hissing as their heat was extinguished. The air was alive with fireflies, those same glowing embers that she’d seen back in the restaurant with Rilke.
She realised there was a hand in hers and she looked to see Adam there, a halo of ash circling his head, dropping onto his shoulders. He was still smiling.
Daisy stood up, reeling. She was standing in a field. The same field. But their upside-down silver car was all the way over there. She spun round to see the deserted showroom right next to her, and behind it the towering toothless grin of the big wheel inside Fursville.
We moved ourselves, she realised. We touched hands and somehow got from over there to over here.
Gradually pieces of reality were clicking back into place – the sound of sirens and the fat, black fly that hovered over the distant car. Squinting into the sun, she could make out a swarm of people stampeding across the other side of the field, and two more sprinting towards her.
‘Cal!’ she shouted, recognising them. ‘Brick!’
She tightened her grip on Adam’s hand and started running, stumbling over the lumpy earth and through knotted traps of long grass until they were within earshot.
‘Daisy?’ Cal was calling. ‘You okay?’
‘I’m okay,’ she said, skidding to a halt, panting. The two boys galloped up to her, both of them drenched in sweat. They all looked back across the field. The car was invisible beneath a mass of writhing, black-suited forms, the helicopter hanging over them and making the whole horrible scene swim in dust.
‘Chris,’ said Daisy, the tears bubbling up even though she didn’t want them to. Whatever they’d done, her and Adam, they’d left him behind. She peered through the blur to see Cal shaking his head.
‘I’m sorry, Daisy. We couldn’t get him out.’
There’s still time. She didn’t say it, though, because it was a lie.
‘We should go,’ said Brick. ‘We might be able to hide inside the park. It’s our only shot.’
But none of them moved, watching as the horde tore its way into the upturned car. And they all felt it when Chris died, a sudden cold shadow in their heads as though something had been switched off. A burning shape seemed to claw its way out of the wreck, a flickering, insubstantial figure made of flame. It spread its huge, graceful wings, opened its mouth as if to howl, then evaporated into the heat and noise of the meadow.
That was Chris’s angel, Daisy thought. It died too.
‘Come on,’ said Brick. ‘We should go.’
Daisy looked for a moment more, seeing the police seem to snap out of a trance. Some of them had red, glistening hands. She hated them so much. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t known what they were doing, that it wasn’t really their fault. They’d still murdered him. Some of them were already turning to face her, pointing and shouting. The helicopter banked, sweeping towards the park.
They clambered over the broken fence that led back into Soapy’s, running past the bodies of the security guard and the policeman. The ambulance lay to their right, just a smoking shell. But there was nobody else in sight. Daisy looked up as they jogged across the road, seeing the sign that Brick had painted over. Furyville. Cal disappeared into the thick hedge and the rest of them followed. Only in the welcome coolness of the shade did Brick turn to her.
‘What happened back there?’ he asked. ‘In the car? I saw you inside it, then you vanished.’
‘It was the angels,’ she said. ‘Rilke was right. They moved us. They saved us.’
‘And what happens now?’
‘Something bad, I think,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I don’t know.’
She didn’t know, yet hadn’t she already seen it? The park drowning in flames, and Rilke standing in the middle of the inferno, laughing. What choice did they have, though? Outside there was only the Fury, there was only death. At least in here they were together.
Brick held her gaze for a moment more, then he took her hand and led her into the park.
Rilke
Furyville, 6.33 p.m.
‘They’re here,’ said Schiller.
Rilke straightened at the sound of her brother’s voice, the first words he’d spoken since this all started. He sounded the same, and yet different. There was a hidden depth to that familiar, whining tone. Something ageless which resonated inside her skull.
She stared at him. His hands were still alight, painting the room in a shimmering glow. As she watched, the fire spread up his arms, engulfing his torso and his neck and finally his face. His eyes were two raging suns, their lig
ht overwhelming. Rilke gazed into them, and it was like she was looking through her twin into a realm of pure being, a place of terrifying, mesmerising power.
Schiller shrugged, and this time two translucent wings unfurled elegantly behind him, stretching over his head like twin sails. They seemed to shimmer in and out of being, as if they were made from nothing more than air, heat. He extended them, their tips almost bridging the gap between the restaurant walls, and when he folded them again they unleashed a hurricane of wind. It sent Marcus and Jade rolling across the room, tables and chairs crashing into the walls, but Rilke held her ground against the cold blast, kneeling before her brother like someone praying at an altar.
She had never loved him more.
‘You know what you have to do,’ Rilke said to him. He cocked his head, unsure.
‘I think so.’
‘You know so,’ Rilke said, standing and taking a step towards him. ‘Because I’ve told you why you’re here, why this is happening. Don’t disappoint me, Schiller. Don’t disappoint them.’
Schiller’s fire flared, and he smiled at her.
‘I won’t, sister. I promise.’
Jade was crawling frantically back, her eyes like saucers. She lay prostrate beside Rilke, laughing. Marcus huddled against the back wall, shaking his head. Schiller extended his wings again, and with a gentle effort he raised himself into the air. He began to move, not walking, just gliding a foot or so off the ground. Beneath him, things seemed to grow from the floor – tremulous shapes that looked like budding plants but which were made of flame, twisting and dissolving after a second or two.
‘Where is he going?’ asked Jade.