9781629270050-Text-for-ePub-rev (21 page)

Clutching his suitcase of somewhat depleted goodies, he headed out of the hotel, found
a car containing petrol and set off for the Big Smoke.

* * * * *

Lunch consisted of cold beans and meat, followed by tinned pineapples. Tom suggested
heating the beans with Peter’s camping stove, but Peter insisted they didn’t have
time.

Ceri passed on the pineapples. Instead, she took a battered packet of cigarettes from
her pocket. She offered it to her companions who both shook their heads.

“Yeah, it’s a bad habit,” she said, “though don’t suppose it much matters now.” She
lit the cigarette and gave a satisfied sigh. “I can stop feeling guilty about fags
now.”

Tom smiled at her, then turned to Peter. “So where exactly are we headed?” he asked.

“North,” said Peter. He avoided Tom’s gaze. Tom suspected he knew why.

“I’m not going any further, you know,” he said quietly. “Not without some answers.”

Tom was aware from the corner of his eye of Ceri pausing in mid drag to watch the
two men closely.

“I meant to talk to you about that,” said Peter. Now he did look at Tom. “They’re
coming after me. You and Ceri may not be safe. Perhaps it would be better if we separated.”

“
Who
are coming after you, Peter?” Tom still spoke quietly and deliberately. Otherwise,
he felt, he would explode with his need to know.

Peter sighed. “Okay. I suppose it’s time to tell you a little more.” He glanced from
Tom to Ceri, then back to Tom. “Showing you would be better. And quicker.”

Tom nodded. He glanced enquiringly at Ceri who also nodded. “Show us.”

“Come closer,” said Peter.

Tom scooted across the tarpaulin to where Peter sat cross-legged and took a similar
pose facing him, a little to his left. Ceri took a last drag on her cigarette and
flicked it to the side of the road. After a slight hesitation, she followed suit,
sitting a little to Peter’s right.

“It makes it easier if we hold hands,” said Peter, holding his out. Tom and Ceri each
grasped one. “And you two.” Tom grasped Ceri’s hand, completing the triangle.

“Right,” said Peter. “You need to relax your minds. And when you feel me trying to
get in, don’t resist.”

“Hold on one second,” said Ceri. She released her grips on their hands and hugged
herself as though she was cold. “I really don’t like the sound of this.”

“You’ll come to no harm,” said Peter. “But it’s entirely up to you, Ceri. If you’re
not comfortable with this, I can show Tom on his own.”

Tom grabbed Peter’s free hand with his own. “I’m fine with that,” he said.

“No, wait!” said Ceri. She peered closely at Tom. “Do you trust him?”

Tom regarded Peter for a moment. He gazed calmly back. Tom looked at Ceri. “Yes. I
do. I have nothing to base this on except a gut instinct. But I believe that he means
us no harm. Remember what happened in your house.”

“Yes,” said Ceri slowly. “Forgive me, Peter. It’s just that I barely know you.”

Peter shrugged. “It is okay to be cautious. There will come a time when caution will
need to be cast to the wind, though it is not upon us yet. But we need to get moving. . . .”

“Okay,” said Ceri and took hold of their hands again. “Let’s do it.”

Peter looked down. Immediately Tom felt it and heard Ceri utter a small gasp. Then
all his concentration focused inwards.

A fluttering sensation inside his head, as though a butterfly was flapping its wings
in there. Tom could have stopped it going any further, thrown up shutters that would
have made the fluttering cease, but he didn’t. Images appeared, flickering like a
badly tuned TV then growing stronger. So strong they were like a high-definition movie
and his face was pressed to the screen. Then he passed through the screen and became
immersed in the images. Experiencing them.

A vast black ship rising from black sand, glinting redly in the light of a baleful
sun. He was inside the ship, moving away from the dying star, speeding up as it passed
beyond the gravitational field. An idea glinted at the edge of his consciousness.
He grasped at it, snagged it fleetingly. The craft was riding a current that pulled
it like a leaf in a storm-swollen stream. He felt entire solar systems pass in the
blink of an eye. He sensed that time as he knew it had no meaning here. The ship crossed
great gulfs of the galaxy in heartbeats.

He moved deeper inside the ship. He stood on a balcony looking down onto row upon
row of glass coffins that stretched away into the impossible horizons of this cavernous
interior. Each coffin contained a figure submersed in fluid that pulsed to the rhythm
of unseen pumps. Each figure had a sloping brow, a pronounced jaw and a coarse pelt
that rippled like the fronds of sea anemones.

The craft slowed, became almost pedestrian compared to what had gone before. He looked
out once more. He saw another star, a white flaming ball of hydrogen that flared fiercely,
making the first star appear old and tame in comparison. A planet filled his vision,
swirling blue and green and grey as the ship headed towards it. Into it. Too quickly.

Tom’s perspective shifted. He was on land of sorts, amongst the creatures. They sensed
the coming like an approaching storm. Some fell with dread and sank to the floor of
the swamp. Others fled, instinctively heading for high ground.

Clouds covered the skies in a broiling orange mass. The wind rose, became a hurricane,
a hundred hurricanes, tearing up forests, gouging canyons, raising gigantic waves.

The clouds broke apart as the craft descended. As large as a continent, it landed
on the ocean,
in
the ocean, creating a tidal wave that swept the circumference of the planet and opened
fissures in the earth’s crust with the might of its passing.

He was back inside the calm of the ship, looking out at the devastation; then his
vision moved inwards and he saw a man smiling serenely at him. It was Peter. . . .

Tom gasped as the vision winked out. He looked up at Peter who was regarding him calmly.
He glanced at Ceri. Her mouth hung open and her eyes were wide. He could feel her
shaking.

“What was that?” he managed. His throat felt dry and he let go of the others’ hands
so he could reach for a bottle of water.

“Are you all right?” Peter asked. “Are you okay to drive?”

Tom swallowed half a bottle of water in four large gulps. “I’m fine,” he said.

Peter looked at Ceri who was wiping weakly at her mouth as though she had dribbled.
“Ceri? You okay?”

She nodded and took the bottle of water from Tom.

“You didn’t answer my question,” said Tom.

“We have to get moving,” said Peter, rising to his feet.

Tom didn’t move. “What was that?” he repeated deliberately.

“Absorb what I showed you. We’ll discuss it later.”

“But—”

“Later, Tom. One step at a time.” Peter began to collect together their things and
pack them into the Range Rover.

Tom watched him for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he rose to his feet and helped. After
a few moments, Ceri stood shakily and walked to the Jaguar.

When they had packed everything away, Tom called to Dusty. He appeared panting from
the trees, pine needles sticking to his black coat. He shook himself to dislodge them.

“Good boy,” said Tom, bending to pick out a few needles that had refused to budge.
“Into the car with you then.”

The dog bounded to the Jaguar and Tom let him into the back seat where he settled
down in his basket. Ceri was already installed in the passenger seat, seat belt on,
gazing out of the window over the scrubland.

Peter called over. “We’ll stop to refuel at the next bunch of cars we pass. You and
Ceri discuss what I said. About whether you really want to be accompanying me. You
may be placing yourselves in danger.”

Before Tom could say anything, he turned and climbed into the Range Rover. Tom got
back behind the wheel of the Jag and they set off once more.

* * * * *

It took Milandra a full day to recover sufficiently from the rigours of the Commune
to take an interest in her surroundings. The calling of the inhabitants of Great Britain
hadn’t been too difficult; they were, after all, within very close reach. It was the
remainder of the Commune that had completely drained her.

Satisfied that she had called every British survivor—apart from two—she had spread
in every direction simultaneously, crossing oceans and continents until the combined
psyche covered the world like an invisible mist. It honed in upon the survivors, probing,
smashing down feebly-erected barriers, installing a subliminal message that the recipients
would be virtually powerless to ignore. The message was simple:

Do not seek out others. Remain here. Burn bodies. Do not seek out others.

Simple it may have been, but delivering the message worldwide exhausted her to such
an extent that anything more complex would have been beyond her ability without greater
numbers to boost the combined psyche.

With the last of her mental strength, Milandra reined it back in and released the
others. She slumped down in the plastic chair, making it lurch to one side. She might
have fallen if Grant, Lavinia and Wallace hadn’t rushed to her side and supported
her. She retained sufficient cognisance to note that the Chosen remained seated.

It was left to Grant to thank everyone for their efforts and to bring the assembly
to a close. He invited everybody to attend a great feast that had been prepared and
was waiting back in the main concourse of the airport.

He helped Milandra back to their vehicle and drove her back to the hotel. When she
was settled into an armchair, he placed a platter of food on her lap.

“Eat,” he said.

Milandra needed no second invitation. She filled her mouth with food and laid her
head back against the chair, closing her eyes as she chewed.

When she opened them, Grant was watching her intently. She could sense concern flowing
off him. Weakly, she flapped a hand at him.

“I’m okay,” she said. “Go and join the feast.”

“It went well.”

“Yes,” she said. “Now go.”

“If you’re sure. But first. . . .”

He walked out and returned carrying another platter piled high with food that he placed
on a table by her side. He went out again and returned with two large bottles of cola.
These, too, he deposited on the table. Finally, he placed a candle on a saucer and
a box of matches on the remaining space on the table top. It would soon be dark.

“Thank you,” she managed around the fresh mouthful she had just crammed in.

Grant left and did not return with the other Deputies until some hours later. By then,
Milandra had eaten her way through both platters and drunk most of the cola.

“How are you feeling?” Grant asked.

“A little stronger. What I could really do with is sunlight, but more food will have
to do.”

Grant turned to Lavinia and Simone. “Fetch more food, will you? I’m going back out.
I have an idea. Wallace, come with me.”

They were gone for a couple of hours. When they returned, they struggled in carrying
a large box and six car batteries. Grant opened the box and extracted a full body
solar lamp, while Wallace fiddled with the batteries.

After a couple of false starts, the room was bathed in a blue-tinged light. Grant
stood the lamp next to the armchair, directing the light onto Milandra. He blew out
the candle.

“The batteries will only last a couple of hours,” he said. “And obviously it’s not
as good as the real thing. But it should give you a boost.”

Milandra lay back and allowed the warmth from the light to wash over her, feeling
her cells soaking it up.

“Mmm,” she murmured. “It’s wonderful.”

By the time the batteries gave out, it was almost dawn and Milandra felt a lot stronger.
By morning and after munching her way through yet more food, she was beginning to
feel like her old self. She struggled up out of the armchair for the first time since
settling into it and used the bathroom. The bodies of Milandra and her kind were far
more efficient than the human body, extracting every speck of nutrient from food,
able to utilise many more minerals than humans can, so producing very little waste.
Nevertheless, the sheer volume of food that Milandra had consumed over the last eighteen
hours meant a large volume of waste products by her standards and it had become a
case of make room or burst.

Grant was waiting for her when she returned to her chair.

“Visitor asking for you,” he said. “You up to it?”

“A visitor?”

“Troy Bishop.”

“I had a hunch he’d show up here sooner or later. Show him in. Oh, and better get
the Deputies in here, too. This is about Ronstadt.”

Wallace and Lavinia came in and drew up chairs. Simone soon followed, looking bored.
Grant came close behind, accompanied by a man. He was tanned and slim and muscular,
but the overall effect was spoiled by his expression that suggested it was permanently
sardonic.

He strode into the room and stopped in front of Milandra.

“I’m Bishop,” he said. “Nice to see you again. It’s been a long time.”

“Millennia,” said Milandra. “Please. Sit down.”

Grant had pulled up three more chairs. He and Simone took two of them. Bishop took
the last one so that they formed a rough circle.

“What’s this about?” said Milandra, though she knew full well why Bishop had come.

“The Commune,” said Bishop. “We have a rogue. I saw him. He protected two drones.”

“Yes,” said Milandra. “I expect everyone saw him. And your point?”

Bishop grinned. “You already knew about him, didn’t you? And you’ve already decided
he has to go. What’s his name?”

“Peter Ronstadt,” said Grant. “Yes, we’ve already discussed him. And you’re right,
we’ve decided it’s too risky to allow him to live. But how does this concern you?”

I want to do it
Bishop sent.

“No!” said Milandra. “Speak, please. I’m still too weak from the Commune.”