Fugitives

  Somewhere in the frenzy I heard a voice telling me to slow down, telling me not to drink too much. I didn’t know if it was somebody else or if it was me, that same internal thought that had kept me sane back in the prison. I ignored it, sucking poison from the torn cavity of the creature beneath me, filling my belly with nectar. That infuriating hunger that I’d felt for what seemed like forever was gradually being sated, every cell of my being turning from a dry, useless husk into a swollen vessel of power.

  I raised my head from the corpse and let my dripping mouth hang open. A noise escaped me, a roar that came of its own accord. I lifted the dead berserker, now as light as cotton wool, using both hands to tear the cadaver in two. I threw the bloody pieces away, turning to the platform to find something else to test my strength on, something else to destroy. The nectar was screaming at me, sluicing through my brain and shrieking a single word with each pulse – kill, kill, kill – and on top of that the sound of laughter resonating in my head, a low, deep cackle that I knew belonged to Alfred Furnace.

  You have made your choice, he said, the nectar carrying his voice into the deepest reaches of my soul, the words borne on another wave of mirth. They seemed to sprout into visions, images that blossomed into full bloom – me at the head of an army, raining hell down onto the world, me locked in combat with somebody who looked like the warden but who couldn’t be. Whatever you do from this moment on, whatever path you decide to take, you have made your choice.

  I clamped my hands to my ears but it did no good. Furnace was howling as though he had torn open my skull and stepped inside. The nectar carried on flowing, healing my wounds, turning my muscles to rock, smashing my thoughts like china plates. I searched the pieces, trying to keep my mind, but all I could hear was that endless laughter, like thunder, and that same relentless order telling me to kill.

  If I obeyed, maybe it would make the madness stop.

  I scoured the platform, saw two faces I knew but at the same time didn’t. They weren’t worth my time. Turning, I saw the girl, watching from the doorway.

  She’d do.

  I no longer knew what I was doing, crossing the platform in three giant strides until the pathetic creature was beneath me. She heard me coming, scrambling to her feet and holding her hands up to protect her face. Her eyes glared at me, still full of fight, never wavering.

  You wanted to help her, remember? You wanted to save her.

  More voices in my head, all fighting each other, contradicting each other. And the only way to banish them was to make that choice, to take a life. I raised my hands, ready to twist her neck like a chicken’s, to end it once and for all. But still she fought me with that gaze, two piercing points of white light that held me back as firmly as a hand on my chest.

  She’s looking at you like you’re one of them, but you’re not one of them, Alex, you’re not one of them, you’re not—

  I threw my head into my hands, the voices jumbling together into an insane chorus. I screamed against my palms, only half noticing that there were words in there.

  ‘Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?’

  I lifted my fist again, knowing that all it would take was one simple movement and the girl would be dead. Then Furnace would be right, my choice would have been made. I wouldn’t have to fight any more. To my side came the sound of an explosion as a train flew from the tunnel, the deafening noise the final straw. I moved fast, faster than I’d ever moved, turning, screaming as my fist descended like a guillotine blade, driven earthwards by the nectar, by its nightmare desire to destroy.

  The train was almost gone but I caught the end of it, my fist punching through the glass of the last window in the last carriage, the force of the blow so great that it reduced the plastic to splinters, tearing a chunk from the metal frame. The impact felt as though it had ripped my arm right out of its socket, dragging me along the platform on my heels. But it was the train that lurched, the carriages rocking against one another almost hard enough to pull it from the tracks.

  With an ear-shattering squeal it accelerated through the other tunnel, plunging the platform into silence. I dropped to my knees, cradling my fist, the nectar’s pounding song beginning to quieten, quenched for now, leaving me alone with my sobs and with the endless echo of his whispered delight.

  You have made your choice.

  Lucy

  It took me a while to realise that somebody was talking.

  I swam out of a trance, breaking free from the ocean of dark thoughts that I’d been drowning in. I don’t know how long it had been since I’d fed, the last few minutes – or maybe hours – nothing but a blur. My hand was itching furiously, and I focused on it to see blades of glass protruding from between the knuckles, surrounded by smudges of greasy black blood. The wounds had already healed, the nectar plugging the holes in my skin, knitting the flesh back together.

  But there was something more. My hand seemed to have grown, swelling so much that the skin was tight, and an ugly shade of bruised black. It wasn’t just my hand, either, it was my whole arm. I felt beneath the sleeve of my hoodie, running all the way up the bulging flesh until I reached the bite mark in my neck. It was pulsing with every heartbeat, and when I lifted my hand away my fingertips were stained with nectar.

  Gradually the rest of the world settled, growing still and clear as if I’d been looking at a reflection in a disturbed puddle. I was on my knees on the lip of the platform, rats scurrying about below, sniffing curiously at the pools of dark liquid I had left between the rails. My head was ringing, almost loud enough to drown out the words from behind me.

  I eased my head around to peer over my shoulder, aware that my whole body felt tender. There was no pain, the nectar had made sure of that, but there was something else, a deep-rooted tickling sensation that stretched from my neck down my spine and finished in my hips. I tried to remember what had happened, had a fleeting image of me bringing my fist down on something.

  On a girl?

  As my eyes gradually made sense of the shapes behind me I saw to my relief that the girl was there, sitting on a bench against the wall of the staircase, her head resting against her chest, her hands playing with a small, silver medallion that hung around her neck. Zee was next to her, although he was perched uncomfortably on the other side of the bench, leaving as much space as possible between him and her. Simon was pacing up and down urgently in front of them, all trace of pain from the gunshot wound in his shoulder now apparently gone. I realised that he must have consumed some nectar, too; not much, just enough to patch him up.

  It was Simon who noticed me first. He flinched when he made eye contact, his entire body stiffening. Then, when he saw that my senses had returned, he relaxed.

  ‘Welcome back,’ he said.

  Hearing his words, both Zee and the girl looked over, her face twisting into an expression of terror. She tucked the necklace out of sight, then pushed herself back into the bench, pulling her knees up to her chest. Her eyes were still haunted, still defiant, still fierce.

  ‘Don’t let him near me,’ she hissed. ‘Don’t you dare let him anywhere near me.’

  ‘We told you—’ Zee started, but the girl cut him off.

  ‘I don’t care if he’s your friend or not; he’s a psycho. You hear me? You’re a psycho!’

  I turned away as a fit of dizziness rocked me. Then I swivelled round, shuffling away from the tracks. The girl started to protest and I held my hands up in surrender.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said, my voice throbbing. ‘I won’t come near you. I’m sorry, sorry I scared you.’

  ‘Scared me?’ she said. ‘You almost killed me!’

  ‘Then you decided to punch a moving train instead,’ Zee said, raising an eyebrow. ‘I’m not really sure what to say about that. How’s your arm?’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said, his words bringing back the memory. I tugged one of the shards of glass from the soft flesh between my knuckles. It fell to the floor with a tuneful tinkle, followed by a single drop of black
blood. ‘I really did punch a moving train.’

  ‘Nectar’ll do that to you,’ Simon said. ‘Makes you do craaaaazy things. Better than being dead, though. I think. And you fought it, you came back.’

  ‘I almost didn’t,’ I replied. Every time I got a fresh dose of nectar I toppled a little closer to oblivion. It had happened in the prison, when I’d fought those first two berserkers. And it had been worse just now. Christ, I’d nearly beaten an innocent girl’s brains in. How many more times would I have to take the nectar to stay alive? And what would happen when I couldn’t find my way back? I’d belong to the warden, and to Alfred Furnace, for good.

  Simon was wrong, that wasn’t better than being dead.

  ‘Anyway, let’s forget about it,’ Zee said. ‘You’re awake, and you’ve got your strength back. You’re gonna need it. We’re all gonna need it.’

  I nodded at Zee, then nodded an acknowledgement at Simon. Despite everything, he’d probably saved my life by feeding me nectar. I’d been on my last legs. Hell, I’d been on my last everything. And I really did have my strength back. I got to my feet, my whole body singing, feeling as though it was capable of anything.

  The girl seemed to press herself even further into the bench so I backed off another few steps, keeping my hands by my side. I wasn’t quite sure what to say, and I doubted there was anything I could do to win her over after what had happened, so I settled for an awkward attempt at a smile.

  ‘Well, this is Alex,’ Zee said. ‘Alex, this is Lucy.’

  ‘I thought you’d be running for the hills about now,’ I said.

  Lucy wiped her eyes, smearing mascara over her cheek, and with her dark hair hanging in untidy strands over her cheeks it made her look like a Goth. She was wearing jeans and a neat blue suit jacket over a Led Zeppelin T-shirt, a pair of scuffed trainers on her feet. Up close, and free of the nectar’s malevolent grip, I noticed she was older than I’d first thought, maybe sixteen or seventeen.

  ‘You kidding me?’ she said. ‘With those... those things up there? Not to mention a prison-load of your ex-cellmates.’

  ‘We’re not like them,’ Zee said. ‘I told you.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re all innocent, you said.’ Lucy snorted a humourless laugh. ‘You just happened to be walking by and they threw you in Furnace. You’re all as bad as each other, thugs and killers, don’t try and pretend you’re not. My dad was a copper, you know. He’d have sent you all back down there before you’d taken three breaths of fresh air.’

  I wondered how much they had told her, asking the question out loud.

  ‘Enough,’ Simon answered. ‘You were zonked out over there for a good twenty minutes.’

  ‘You told her about the berserkers?’ I asked. ‘About the experiments?’

  The girl spluttered, scoffing at the story she’d been told. But it was a little difficult to deny, given the evidence, and the way she turned her tired eyes to the floor, her mouth drooping, I could tell she was finding it harder and harder to suspend her disbelief.

  ‘Told her everything,’ Zee said. ‘Don’t think she believed me. But I don’t think it matters. She trusts her own eyes.’

  ‘It’s impossible,’ she said. ‘You can’t … you can’t just make something like that, you can’t just turn a … a …’

  She sneaked a look at me and gave up, chewing her lip instead.

  ‘Told her all about you, too,’ Zee went on. ‘That it’s not your fault you’re … y’know … all messed up and everything. Not your fault you look like Shrek’s uglier brother.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I muttered.

  Lucy’s head lifted, and she must have seen something human in my eyes – or maybe it was the smiley face plastered over my hoodie – because she let her legs unfold, dropping her feet to the platform below. She sat forward, her elbows on her knees, her fingers smearing more mascara over her delicate features.

  ‘That all true?’ she asked, staring at the scars on my neck, on my face, around my silver eyes. ‘What he said. That they took you apart and put you back together again?’

  ‘You think I was born like this?’ I said, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. I angled away, raising a hand and pretending to scratch my forehead, leaving it there for longer than it needed to be. ‘None of it matters, though. It’s all history. All we need to think about is finding a way out of here, out of the city.’

  ‘It’s bad up there,’ Zee said, hauling himself off the bench and smoothing down his ripped jeans. ‘Lucy says all the main roads out have been closed off, the mainline train stations too.’

  ‘We were told to stay home,’ she said. ‘It was all over the news. But hardly anyone believed it was as bad as they were saying. I couldn’t take a day off work; needed the money. I reckon most people felt the same. Thought the cops would get it under control; thought it was safe enough.’ She snorted again, this time in disgust. ‘Thought wrong, didn’t I?’

  ‘Whole city’s in lockdown,’ Simon mumbled, kicking out at an imaginary stone. ‘It’s hopeless. May as well stay here till we’re rounded up.’

  Till the city burns, I thought with a shudder.

  ‘Haven’t been no trains since the one you tried to kill,’ Zee said. ‘Guess they figured it was too dangerous, people on the tracks and stuff.’

  ‘So the tunnels are clear?’ I asked. There was a round of shrugs.

  ‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Simon said. ‘I don’t fancy getting halfway down one and finding out they’re just running a bit late.’

  ‘What, then?’ I asked. ‘You didn’t think of any amazing plans while I was out? Jeez, guys, what am I paying you for?’

  At this the girl actually smiled – the smallest twitch of one corner of her mouth, gone a heartbeat later, but a smile nonetheless.

  ‘Well, feel free to dock my salary,’ Zee said. ‘Because I’ve got zip. Far as I see it, we can either risk the tunnels, keep heading north for a quieter station, or—’

  ‘Don’t get much quieter than this,’ Simon interrupted, looking around at the deserted platform.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Zee went on. ‘We either try that, and risk a train, and find ourselves in exactly the same position half a mile closer to the centre of the city. Or …’

  ‘Or …? Simon and I said together.

  ‘Or we breach the surface now, see what the situation is up top.’ He peered longingly up the stairs, snatching a ragged breath. ‘If there are cops up there then we’ll have to fight, I guess. But they might be busy with those other things. We might be able to sneak out onto the streets.’

  ‘And then what?’ I asked. ‘Hot-wire a car again, get the crap shot out of us by another helicopter?’

  Zee’s shoulders lurched up and down in resignation.

  ‘Guess it’s a risk,’ he said. ‘But the alternative is to stay here and wait for trouble to come to us, whether it’s the cops or another of Furnace’s sick freaks.’

  ‘Great,’ I said. ‘So it’s get hit by a train, get shot at by the cops or get eaten by a mutant kid-faced gorilla. Jesus, what a choice.’

  ‘You lot are better off heading up top,’ Lucy said. ‘If everything you say is true – and I don’t for a second believe it is – but if even some of it is true, then you should hand yourselves in, let the courts sort it out.’

  Simon pointed a finger at the girl, his face growing overcast.

  ‘How do you think we got here in the first place?’ he said. ‘I’ll never give myself back to Furnace. I’d rather die than do that.’

  I felt the same, but Lucy had a point. If the berserkers were up there, if the public had seen them, then there was a chance that people would believe us. At the very least they’d keep us in a normal jail with windows and televisions and luxuries like that, and they’d have to investigate what had been going on. It wasn’t as if they could shove us back into a burning prison. No, things had changed since last night. The world might listen.

  I started to voice my thoughts when a jolt of pain gripped my neck, cramp t
wisting the muscles all the way down my arm. I grabbed it, massaging it with my good hand, feeling the scarred tissue beneath my skin writhe and pulse as if there was something living under there. Something living and growing.

  ‘Wassup?’ Simon asked, seeing my discomfort. I shook my head, the pain already ebbing.

  ‘It bit you, didn’t it?’ Zee asked. ‘That thing. Took a chunk right out of your neck.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ I replied. ‘I’ve been through worse. Come on, what’s the plan?’

  Zee and Simon shared a look, then Zee spoke.

  ‘Let’s just poke our heads out. Not for long, just to see what’s what. If the streets are crawling then we’ll try the tunnels, yeah? Either way, we keep heading up into the city and out the other side.’

  I nodded, looking at Simon. He glared at me, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, then shook his head in a way that said he didn’t like it but he’d give it a go.

  ‘But you’re poking your head out first,’ he said to Zee, clipping him round the back of the neck. ‘That way, if I see your noggin pop then I can get mine out of the way.’

  ‘Deal,’ Zee said, setting off up the steps with a weary sigh. Simon followed, and I looked at Lucy.

  ‘What about you?’ I asked. ‘Are you going to wait here for the cops?’

  The girl took an uneasy look around her then jumped to her feet, smoothing down her skirt and making for the stairs.

  ‘Are you a mentalist?’ she muttered. ‘That thing might be back at any time. No way, Psycho Boy, I’m coming with you.’

  The Streets

  It should have been a five-minute walk to the surface, but it took us three times that long.

  We went slowly, stopping at every corner to make sure the coast was clear, pausing with our breath held each time we heard the ghost of a noise spirit down the passageways. The last thing we wanted was to walk in on a berserker midway through a meal, or to swing round a bend into a barrage of bullets from an overzealous SWAT team.