‘Hell you doing here?’ he yelled. The other inmates had pushed themselves up from the wall and were backing away.
‘Looks like one of them,’ said a small, blond-haired kid. ‘Shoot it.’
‘Whoa,’ I said, raising my arms even higher. ‘We’re with you. We don’t want trouble, okay?’
The Skull looked at me down the barrel of the rifle, using his free hand to wipe the sweat from his nose. He squinted, then lowered the gun a fraction.
‘You’re him,’ he said. ‘The one who got us out.’ I nodded and his face suddenly opened up into a crooked smile. ‘We sure glad to see you. You guys alone?’
I nodded, letting my arms fall to my side as I walked around the stairs. There was a small group of people cowering in the corner of the platform – two middle-aged men in suits holding briefcases, a younger guy in builder’s fluorescents and a girl about my age. They were all looking at the floor, glassy-eyed and terrified. All except for the girl, that was. She glared at me with such intensity that I had to turn away.
‘Can’t be too careful,’ said the Skull, pointing the gun at the floor. ‘You seen what’s goin’ on up there?’
‘Police everywhere,’ Zee replied, stepping past me and offering a half-hearted wave at the group. ‘Nearly got us.’
The Skull snorted, but it was the blond kid who spoke next.
‘Ain’t talking about the cops,’ he said. ‘You not seen nothing else out there? Not heard nothing weird?’
‘Like what?’ I asked.
‘Like those things back in the prison,’ said the Skull. ‘Those monsters. We got jumped by one, it took three of us, started … it started to …’ He let the words fall into silence, swallowing hard.
‘Berserkers?’ I asked. ‘The same one from Furnace?’
All three inmates shook their head.
‘Ain’t seen this bastard before,’ said the Skull.
‘Forget it, okay,’ Simon said, swallowing nervously. ‘We’re just here to catch a train. Heading north, be fewer cops out there.’
‘Good plan, boss,’ the Skull shrugged, looking at the tracks. ‘Won’t be catching no train here, though.’
‘Why’s that?’ I asked. The Skull didn’t answer, just turned to the tunnel at the end of the platform. I started to ask my question again but a soft squeal surrounded by a dull thunder cut me off. The sounds grew in volume, accompanied by a light that bloomed in the shadowed archway. It got brighter and brighter before solidifying into a pair of headlights that tore from the opening and blasted towards us. The train ripped past so fast that it took my breath away, sucked through the other tunnel like it had been hoovered up.
‘That why,’ the Skull said. ‘You wanna try and climb on board one of them you be my guest. Come every five minutes or so but they don’t stop, not for us.’
‘Must have set up a quarantine,’ Zee said quietly. ‘All around this area. Trains won’t be stopping here, or any of the nearby stations.’ He swore, stamping his foot. ‘And they’ve kept the trains running up here, which means we can’t even walk the lines.’
‘So what do we do?’ Simon asked. ‘Head up, take the streets? Might be far enough out by now.’
‘Nope,’ said the Skull. ‘No getting out that way, either. All the exits are sealed up tight, we tried ’em. Po-po out there, they’ll gun you down the second you poke your noses out.’
‘Why aren’t they coming in?’ Zee asked, directing the question to me. ‘Storming the place.’
‘They got enough to deal with on the streets,’ the Skull said. ‘Something real strange goin’ on up there; inmates goin’ wild.’
‘You surprised?’ Zee asked. ‘First time they’ve been free in a long time, they’re bound to go crazy.’
‘Not what I mean,’ the boy continued. ‘They’re goin’ wild, like animals. Didn’t seem human no more.’
‘You see the bodies?’ the blond kid asked. ‘Cops killed, torn to pieces, but the inmates didn’t take the guns. ’S like they’re rabid or something. Tearing each other to pieces as well as the po-po.’
‘Rats?’ Zee asked, looking at me. ‘How’d they get out so fast?’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ I replied, confused. The rats had been shut down in the tunnels beneath Furnace, along with the warden. There was no way they could have broken out this quickly. I looked at the Skull. ‘What’s your plan? How are we gonna get out of here?’
‘That’s what we was just talking about,’ he replied. ‘We fresh out of ideas. But now you here, you can tell us what to do, right?’
‘You need to hand yourselves in,’ came a voice from the corner. I glanced up at the girl, her expression twisted by rage. Her fists were clenched by her side and she looked like she could take down all of us single-handed if she wanted to. ‘Before it’s too late.’
‘We’ll take it under advisement,’ said Blondie with a shy smile.
She scowled at him, and looked like she was about to say something else when a noise broke free behind us – that same clownish giggle that we’d heard before, scraping over the tiles like fingernails down a blackboard. The Skull aimed his rifle up the stairs, his face a mask of fear.
‘They found us,’ he hissed. ‘Brought ’em with you. Led ’em right here.’
‘Who?’ Zee asked, stepping behind me. ‘What’s up there?’
The air suddenly grew thin, replaced by a thunder that flooded the platform as another train tore past, seeming to snatch all the oxygen from the air before disappearing with a scream. The laughter came again, mixing with the echoes of the train into a nightmare serenade. It was followed by the thump of bare feet overhead, something big heading our way.
I felt the adrenaline in my veins, felt the nectar start to do its job. I knew what would happen: it would cloud my mind, make me stronger and faster, capable of doing terrible things. But it would also try to make me forget who I was. It would try to turn me into a monster.
‘Get ready,’ I heard myself say, the words coming out as a throbbing growl. ‘Here it—’
Something blasted from the top of the stairs, a hulking black shape which crashed down them so fast that it was just a blur. The inmates cried out in fear, skittering back across the platform as the immense, knuckled form rolled across the floor towards us. The Skull fired his rifle, the bullet flying wide and punching a hole in a coffee-shop window, but the figure kept coming, bladed limbs carving the air, threatening to dice us all.
I threw myself at it, but I’d taken only a couple of steps before it stopped, doing a couple of clumsy somersaults before skidding to a halt on a bed of black blood, its long limbs flopping uselessly beside it. I saw its face and recognised it instantly. The creature was just as I remembered, rigid and scarred as though it had been carved from rosewood, one eye pure molten silver, the other lost in the gaping wound I had punched into its mangled skull.
It was the berserker, the beetle-black one that I had fought inside the prison.
And it was dead.
‘I thought you said—’ I started.
There was another burst of childish laughter from above us, then something huge leapt over the handrail from the top of the steps and crunched onto the platform, hard enough to create a cobweb of cracks in the concrete. Everybody scattered back like bowling pins, and past them I saw a creature sitting on its haunches, nothing but a ball of tortured muscle.
Then it straightened, its body unfolding to an impossible height – towering three feet over me. From a distance it could have passed for human – pink flesh that was so dark it looked sunburned, its arms and legs bulging but in proportion, its torso covered with a network of scars and dressed only in a pair of faded grey shorts.
But the more I studied the beast the more I realised that although it may once have been human, it was something much worse now. Its hands were huge, far too big for its arms, and swollen into clubs. There was something wrong with its bones, jutting up as if it was wearing a suit of armour beneath its flesh. And between the blades I coul
d see its muscles moving, as though there were snakes in there desperately trying to find a way out.
Its face, though, was the most horrific thing about it. Not because it was disfigured, or because it was unrecognisably alien, but because it was that of a child – swollen, yes, and bruised, but a kid’s nonetheless, nine, maybe ten. It swivelled on those giant shoulders, wearing an infant grin so permanent that it could have been painted on. Nectar dripped from that grin as though a tap had been turned on inside its mouth, splashing down the front of its body and leaving a trail on the tiles.
The creature studied us all with eyes that flashed gunmetal grey. Beside me the Skull fired again, the bullet thudding into the berserker’s chest hard enough to rock it backwards. The creature peered down at the wound more from curiosity than with any sign of pain, and the skin around the ragged hole began to pulse black, revealing a network of veins. In seconds it was sealed by a plug of nectar, the berserker flexing its grotesque muscles and grinning at me with that mannequin’s smile.
It laughed, a giggle that danced up my spine. There was no warmth in that laugh, no sympathy, only madness and cruelty.
‘Run,’ I yelled, but before the word had even left my mouth the berserker was on the move, covering a quarter of the platform in one bound. With another cackle of delight it swiped Zee out of the way, sending him flying over the ledge onto the rails below, wrapping its other hand around my head and neck. I felt my tendons stretch to breaking point as it lifted me off the ground, only half noticing that Simon was gripped in its other fist.
The berserker pulled us closer, its jaws distending impossibly wide like a snake preparing to devour its prey. Its whole face seemed to stretch with the movement, its eyes drooping as the skin beneath them was pulled down, its cheeks almost tearing with the effort. Inside its maw were blunt blocks of rotten enamel that had once been teeth, and its breath smelt like the charnel room inside Furnace, like it was engulfing me with death.
Then it leant forward and sank those teeth into my neck.
My vision sparked, black explosions that slowly erased the creature and the platform from view. The berserker pulled free its barbed teeth, and the last thing I saw was its eyes, pale silver and filled with black tears.
Then the darkness swallowed me.
Visions
The first thing I realised was that I was hanging in midair, a hundred metres or more above the earth. And the first thing I saw was a building.
It rose from a burning city, silhouetted against a sky that was so cloudy and so dark it could have been forged from obsidian. Smoke roiled against the encroaching night, and in those coiling tendrils I saw shapes – twisted bodies that swarmed over the streets below, that leapt effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop, and that crouched in dark corners gnawing on hidden feasts. Every time I tried to focus on one of those forms it vanished, becoming smoke once again.
The building was alight as well, smoke pouring up from the windows like inverted waterfalls. I studied it, trying to work out where I had seen it before. It was an office block, similar to all the rest – a tombstone of concrete and glass that rose maybe forty, fifty storeys from the inferno at its feet. Crowning the structure was a short four-sided spire, like a pyramid, although against the smoke-stained, blood-reddened sky it looked more like a pyre.
I tried to breathe but hot air, devoid of oxygen, filled my lungs. I struggled, but I couldn’t move. Somewhere, behind the illusion of the city, I could still see the creature that held me, fizzing in and out of existence every time I blinked. I twisted my body, trying to find a way to escape the berserker’s grasp, but even if I could have done so, the flames beneath me extended in every direction for as far as I could see, as if the whole world was burning.
It is, somebody said, the voice so loud and so close that it was as though the dying city had spoken. The whole world is an inferno. It will burn until every nation has fallen, until all who oppose us are dead, until people see the true light.
The building ahead was getting bigger, growing from its bed of fire. No, it wasn’t getting bigger, it was getting closer, pulling us towards it with some malevolent gravity. As the voice spoke the tower block grew brighter, the windows near the top coming alive and glowing with a sickly yellow light. I was still too far away to make out what lay inside, but I could see shapes there, as deformed and demented as those I had glimpsed in the smoke below. I fought against the grip but I was powerless, dragged relentlessly up towards the building’s spire.
‘What do you want?’ I screamed, though all that emerged was a whimper strangled by smoke.
You know what I want, the voice replied. It was distorted, comprised of the roar of flames and the crack of breaking bones, but I knew who it was. There was no mistaking the tone of Alfred Furnace, filled with power yet tinged with insanity. We showed you, Warden Cross and I. We showed you what the future would bring. And here it is, a world in flames and a new race ready to emerge from the ashes.
I thought back to my time in the tunnels beneath the prison, when the warden was turning me into one of his soldiers, into a blacksuit. He had spoken of a war, a judgement day where the strong would destroy the weak once and for all; a new Fatherland which would stand for ten thousand years. I had almost been ready to become a part of it, my mind washed of all sense by the nectar, my body butchered and rebuilt. I had almost staked my place in this new world, given myself to Furnace and his legion.
And you still can, the voice went on, reading my thoughts. You betrayed me, but you also betrayed yourself. Would you deny yourself a role in a world born from strength, from victory? Look, Alex, and see what awaits you if you answer my call.
I peered down into the smoke, churning like an ocean between the burning buildings. The shapes there were clearer now, row upon row of faceless soldiers marching down the street, goose-stepping towards the tower block. Their bodies were puffed out, packed tight with muscle, their eyes piercing silver blades that cut open the wall of smoke before them. Everything about this force smacked of power, of determination, of strength, of victory, and I felt the emotion vomit up from my stomach.
Is it not better to be a soldier in the new world than to be a corpse in the old? Furnace went on. You continue to surprise me, Alex. You have fought with courage. You are the kind of soldier who can change this pathetic little world and make it something wonderful. You are the kind of soldier who can fight at my right hand. And I need a new commander, Alex, because my old friend the warden has disappointed me. A man who cannot keep his house in order cannot be expected to have a roof over his head.
The small nugget of pleasure I got from hearing him insult the warden was lost almost as soon as it appeared. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him that I’d never join his army, but I couldn’t find the strength. Or was it something else? My stomach was still churning, my head ringing, and I knew it wasn’t from fear. It was excitement I felt, the same terrifying rush as when the warden had shown me what it would be like to crush my enemies beneath my heel, to break their bones and leave their smouldering corpses in my wake. It was power, pure and simple, and it felt good.
There couldn’t have been much nectar left inside me, but what little was there began to thump through my veins, turning my blood black and filling my thoughts with violence. I tried to fight it, but as I pictured myself storming through the streets, the entire world on its knees and begging me for mercy, I found myself grinning, a dull rumble of a growl escaping my throat.
See them weep, Alex, Furnace said, his voice emanating from the tower block like a pulse. See them plead. For I am their new emperor, and you are their new prince.
It suddenly dawned on me where I’d seen the tower before – in the city, of course, its spire visible on the skyline, replicated in countless postcards and posters.
We were closer to it now, and through the windows I caught a glimpse of what lay within. In every room was an operating theatre, decorated with blood and crammed to bursting point with wheezers. The creatures
breathed through their ancient gas masks, parting flesh with filthy fingers and screeching with delight. I don’t know how many windows there were – dozens, maybe hundreds – but they were all portraits of death and decay as Furnace churned out more soldiers for his force of freaks.
Side with me or side against me, he said as we drew inexorably closer. This vision is the truth of the world. Your antics inside the prison have forced me to play my hand a little earlier than I would have liked, but no matter. Perhaps you have done me a favour, boy, in making me act now. He laughed, the throb of his lunatic chuckle making the fires rage even more fiercely. Perhaps, when the last cities fall and the people embrace me, then it is you I will be thanking for giving me the opportunity to lay the foundations of the new world now. Yes, Alex, because of you the war begins this morning. The future starts today. Look at it, Alex, and tell me which side you would rather be on. Look at it, and make your choice.
My lungs were empty, crying out for air, but even if they weren’t I couldn’t have given Furnace an answer. We were nearly at the spire, and as we approached I saw yet another nightmare emerge through the smoke, through the shimmering haze of heat. A creature was clinging to the sloped roof with hands like blades, bigger than any berserker, its body strangely distorted as though its limbs had been stretched on a rack, its skin shimmering as the nectar pulsed through its veins. And its eyes. Those twin silver moons radiated a power and a strength that cut through everything else, which shone like beacons, like twin beams from a lighthouse, dousing the flames and blasting the smoke away until the city gleamed as if new and the skies blazed blue.
Furnace. Alfred Furnace. It had to be him.
The creature howled, a cry loud enough to rock the world to its knees. Then it began to laugh, a noise which faded into birdsong over the newborn paradise beneath my feet.
Fugitives Page 6
