The Fearless
Authors: Emma Pass
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Love & Romance, #Science Fiction
Contents
The night the Fearless swept through the country, they stole everything from me.
My parents. My home. My childhood. My future.
They felt no compassion. They showed no mercy.
I have one person left in the world.
I won’t let them take my brother.
For my support crew: Duncan, G-Dog and The Hound.
We miss you, big guy, and we’ll never forget you.
Neurophyxil - exciting results
Sent:
Monday 15th September 2014 10:21
From:
“Dr Edward Banford”
To:
“Professor Simon Brightman”
“Professor David Brett”
Hello Simon and David,
I hope this finds you and your families in good health. I have been at Camp Meridan for two weeks and am reasonably comfortable – well, as comfortable as it’s possible to be when one is in an army tent in the middle of the desert. It’s quite strange to think that I left England cloaked in cloud and rain! But I am not emailing you to grumble, my friends – far from it. The results for the new drug are simply astonishing – like nothing I have ever seen.
As you are both aware, Neurophyxil has now been administered to 95% of troops on active service worldwide. Just two soldiers here have suffered the more serious side effect associated with the drug – an increase in aggression – that disappeared once they ceased taking it.
The drug appears to start working around five days beginning treatment. Although soldiers still suffer stress reactions to trigger events, their stress levels recede far more quickly than those who have not taken the drug. There has been a noticeable decrease in nightmares, emotional outbursts and depression.
And, as studies earlier this year have already shown, levels of post-traumatic stress disorder and other emotional disturbances among soldiers no longer in active service have gone down by almost 85%. But you already know all this, of course – do forgive me for rambling on! The reason I’m emailing you is because of the other effects the drug seems to be having – effects that were not previously noted. Approximately half of all the soldiers taking Neurophyxil have reported increased energy and motivation, as well as enhanced strength in combat situations. Not only that, but levels of anxiety when entering combat situations have fallen. It would appear that Neurophyxil not only has an effect on stress levels after trigger events but also helps control fear itself.
If Neurophyxil can dampen down the fear mechanism, then just think what the possibilities for this drug could be! On my return I will, of course, file a proper report. Exciting times, my friends!
And now I must go as I’ve just been informed that ‘grub’s up’. (And I can tell you, excitement or no, army rations are one thing I won’t miss once I’m back on home soil!)
Very best wishes,
Edward
When I was ten, the world ended.
It was the summer holidays. Dad, who worked as a surgeon at a hospital in the next town, had a few days off so, after tea, we went out for a walk. ‘Dad, wait!’ I called as he strode up the hill. He stopped, and I hurried to catch up.
‘Sorry, Cassie-boo,’ he said.
I rolled my eyes. ‘Don’t call me that. I’m not a little kid any more.’
‘As if I could forget,’ he said, smiling slightly as he added, ‘Cass.’
We climbed to the top together and stood looking at the view while we caught our breath, our shadows stretching across the dry, silvery grass. Blythefield Hill was the highest point in the landscape for miles around, and below us, I could see our village and the beautiful Hampshire countryside that surrounded it, bathed in August evening sunshine.
Usually, I loved going for walks with Dad. He knew the names of all the plants and animals, and where to pick blackberries in autumn where no one else went. He knew where badgers built their setts in the woods at the top of our lane, and the best time of night to sit quietly and wait for them to come out. Mum normally came with us, but now she was eight months pregnant, her feet were swollen all the time, she still felt sick most days, and the doctors said she had to stay at home and rest.
But that evening, it wasn’t wildlife or my baby brother I was thinking about while Dad and I stood on top of the hill. Instead, my thoughts kept returning to the newspaper I’d found last night while I was sorting out the recycling.
Mum and Dad had been in the front room, Mum watching TV and Dad checking emails. We kept the recycling box in a kitchen cupboard to stop our cat, Kali, from getting into it, and when I pulled it out I saw the newspaper wedged behind it. Assuming it had fallen out of the box, I picked it up. Dad used to buy a paper every day on his way back from work, but lately, he’d stopped – or so I’d thought. This one was dated from a week ago. THOUSANDS OF CITIZENS FORCED TO FLEE AS FEARLESS INVADE FRANCE, the headline shouted.
I sat down and began to read, my gaze skimming over words like
carnage
and
rising death toll
and
unstoppable
and
pain
. A sick, cold feeling started in the pit of my stomach and coiled up into my chest. As I turned the page and saw the pictures – piles of bodies, ruined buildings – my hands were trembling. The worst was one of a skinny, ragged-looking man in an army uniform with horrible wounds on his face and head, his clothes soaked in blood. He was grinning at the camera, his expression crazed and twisted, his eyes a weird silvery colour, and even though it was only a photo, you could see they were filled with hate and madness. Underneath was a stark caption:
The face of the Fearless
.
I heard footsteps coming towards the kitchen. Leaping up, I shoved the paper into the recycling box and turned to face the door, my heart hammering. ‘Are you all right?’ Mum said as she came in to get a glass of water. ‘You look a bit pale.’
‘I’m fine,’ I said quickly. I knew that whoever had stuffed that paper behind the box – Dad, I reckoned – hadn’t wanted me to see it. I tried to smile at Mum, although it was the last thing in the world I felt like doing, and took the recycling outside.
That night, I had a terrible dream about a man with silver eyes. I shouted myself awake, bringing Dad running into my room. But when he asked me what was wrong I said I’d had a nightmare about a monster. I was scared that if he knew I’d read the newspaper, he’d be angry.
Now, though, standing on the top of the hill with Dad, I couldn’t keep my worries to myself any longer. I’d carried them around inside me all day, and they were getting bigger and bigger.
‘Ready to head back?’
Dad asked. ‘Dad,’ I said. ‘What’s happening in France?’
His face immediately grew serious. ‘Where did you find out about that?’
I told him about the newspaper.
He sat down on the soft, springy grass, and patted the ground beside him. ‘There have been wars going on in the Middle East for a long time,’ he said, putting his arm around my shoulders. ‘Our army has been fighting over there, and when our soldiers come home, a lot of them suffer terrible problems because of all the horrible things they’ve seen there. It’s known as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder – PTSD. Our government paid for some scientists to invent a drug that would stop this happening. At first, the drug was very successful. Not only did it dramatically reduce the number of soldiers suffering from PTSD, but it meant they could fight better while they were out there.’
He hesitated for a moment, then went on. ‘But then it was discovered that the drug had a devastating side effect. The soldiers who’d taken it – and by now, there were thousands of them – stopped feeling fear altogether. They started doing terrible things. At the same time – no one’s sure how – the enemy got hold of the formula for the drug and made an even more concentrated version of it, so the side effects kicked in immediately. And then . . .’ He swallowed, shifting position slightly and plucking at the dried grass, tearing a clump up and twisting it between his fingers. ‘And then they started forcing it on anybody and everybody. Even . . . even people who aren’t soldiers.’
My stomach lurched. ‘Are those . . . the Fearless?’ I said, remembering again the man with the silver eyes who’d stalked me in my dreams.