Brick stopped, uncertain. He swore, picking up a chunk of rock and lobbing it at the shell of a house.
‘We should go, we should do this,’ Cal said. ‘You saw what you did. You scared it. Hurt it, I think. Anything that can be hurt can die, right?’
‘I think so,’ said Daisy. ‘I think it ran because it knew we might kill it.’
‘Then let’s kill it,’ said Rilke. She walked to Daisy. ‘Take us to him.’
‘No way,’ said Brick. ‘You’re crazy.’
Something growled overhead, a distant peal of thunder. Cal’s heart seemed to forget what to do for an instant as he thought the man in the storm had returned. Then he realised it was something else, a plane maybe, or a missile. It grew louder, searing a path through the sky.
‘That’s it,’ said Graham. ‘Last chance.’
Rilke looked at Cal, her expression full of a savage fury. There was a question there, as clear as if she had spoken it. Are you coming? What choice did he really have? If they didn’t stand up to the storm then sooner or later the whole world would look like this. He nodded. Rilke turned to Marcus, who smiled weakly.
‘I’m in,’ he said.
‘Yeah, and me,’ said Howie. ‘We should finish this.’
They all turned to look at Brick, that rumble in the sky getting louder all the time. It wouldn’t need to reach the ground, Cal knew. It would be detonated over their heads where it would do the most damage. How long did they have? A minute? Five? Brick must have been thinking the same thing, because he spat out another curse.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Have it your way.’
‘You should go,’ Daisy said to the man. ‘Before it’s too late.’
‘What about you?’ he replied. ‘You need to get underground, somewhere safe.’
‘We’ll be okay,’ she said. She closed her eyes, the flames spreading slowly out from her chest, her wings unfolding like those of a waking swan. ‘Just tell them we’re on their side,’ she said, cold fire crawling up her neck. ‘Tell them we’re trying to help. And thank you for the warning.’
The inferno engulfed her, and when she opened her eyes it was as if they were portholes on the side of a burning ship. The air shook with the strength of her, that same mind-numbing hum, but behind it the growl of a plane grew louder.
‘You sure about this?’ asked Brick. ‘I mean, we could just—’
Daisy didn’t let him finish, just lifted her arms and pulled the world up over their heads. Cal’s stomach lurched. He saw Marcus vanish, then Adam, then Howie. Rilke too, with one final, heart-breaking glance at the body of her brother. The man, Graham, was pulled up alongside them. Even as they went something ignited overhead, a pure light that seemed even brighter than Daisy, a noiseless explosion that turned the sky silver. Cal saw the damage the nuke did as it blew up, a chain reaction that ripped things apart at their core. Would an angel have been able to stand up to that? Would they have lived if they hadn’t been warned?
Then there was nothing but the rush and tumble of the ether, and the awful knowledge of what awaited them on the other side.
Daisy
London, 1.26 p.m.
This time, she kept her eyes open.
It was like when her dad used to make her fly, when she was a kid. He would hold her tight, his huge hands engulfing hers, then spin around in a tight circle, launching her up into the air. The first few times she’d screwed her eyes shut, too afraid to watch despite the thrill. But when she knew for sure he wasn’t going to let go, send her sailing off over the roof of their house, she would open them, see the world moving so fast it was just a blur – the only constant her dad’s grinning face as he turned with her. She was the moon to his gravity; she knew that however fast he went she would never pull free.
It wasn’t her dad keeping her locked tight now, it was her angel, and as she escaped from the world, shrugging off droplets of reality the way a dog shakes itself after a swim, she thought she almost saw it there. It was like the world was made of coloured sand, pulled apart by a hurricane. Even as she rose up and out of time – Cal and Brick and poor, lost Rilke and everyone else rising beside her – the landscape was scrubbed clean. The white light she had seen, the one that burned in the sky, brighter than the sun, brighter even than the angels, was a bomb, she realised. She peered into the very heart of it with her new eyes, saw the atoms colliding, the power that burst from each one as the reaction spread. The explosion reached for them, but – thanks to the nice man and his warning – they had already slipped through the cracks, stepped into a place where nothing, not even a nuclear blast, could ever hurt them. Gradually the light faded, the ruined city disappeared, leaving them hanging in an empty, quiet place.
Not for long, though. Soon enough she felt the fingers of reality digging into her ribs, into her tummy, the same way you feel gravity try to pull you back down. Life wanted them back, it didn’t like it when they found a way loose. She focused, keeping her eyes open – doing so seemed to slow the whole process down, giving her more time to think. There was nothing around her now but darkness, and yet it was a strange kind of darkness that was also light – she could see the others floating alongside her, as if they were all sinking into an ocean. They all had their eyes closed, but even if they hadn’t she didn’t think they’d have been able to see her. It’s not the same for them, she thought. This is just a blink of the eye, a single beat of the heart. It was funny watching them like this, as though they were asleep, and Daisy almost felt like laughing.
Until she felt it, a sudden loss. Jade, she thought, seeing the girl for an instant, in a forest, surrounded by soldiers. Then the crack of a gunshot and nothing. I’m sorry, she said, her angel once again numbing the sadness.
The world around her was vibrating, ever so slightly, just the smallest tickle in the air, in her skin. The tremor was growing stronger, though, more insistent. It was the universe, she realised; they were in danger of breaking it. The little wheels and cogs and spinning things of reality just weren’t designed to hold them here. What would happen if she resisted for much longer? Maybe time and space would simply close up behind her, shutting them out forever, locking them tight inside this pocket of nothingness. The thought frightened her, and she started to relax her mind, ready to let life reel her back in.
Only . . . something stopped her, another thought. She reached into her head, into her soul, to the thing that now lived there. It didn’t react, didn’t seem to notice her, which wasn’t surprising. These angels, they weren’t really angels at all, not the angels she’d been brought up to believe in. They were more like, like animals or something. No, more like machines. They didn’t know how to communicate, she thought. Maybe they didn’t know that communication was even a possibility. They were utterly single-minded, built for one purpose: to fight the man in the storm whenever and wherever he appeared. Everything else was alien to them, unknowable. They were programmed to defend life, and yet they didn’t even know the magic, the wonder, of what they were fighting for. If that was true, she thought, it was awful.
The vibrations around her were growing worse, making her teeth chatter even though she was pretty sure that here, in this place, she didn’t have teeth. The others were jiggling around where they hung in mid-air, looking like sheets left out to dry in a strong wind, their faces growing distorted and strange. Daisy relaxed her grip on the ether, letting herself slide back towards the world, only anchoring herself again when she felt something move inside her chest. The angel, was it trying to tell her something? Or was it just shifting around in there the way she would often shuffle when she was in a car on a long journey, trying to get comfy?
Tell me, she asked it. You can talk to me, I’m your friend. Tell me who you are, please.
Another itch inside her soul, a sensation that was painless but also unpleasant, as though she had feathers growing in the marrow of her bones. Was that how they spoke? Daisy felt like one of the ants that her dad had vacuumed up. For all she knew those little
creatures may have been calling out, trying to talk to them. But how can an ant communicate with a human, and how could a human possibly communicate with an angel? It was impossible.
And yet there was suddenly a thought inside her head, a sensation. This was uncomfortable too, scratchy feathers bristling in the flesh of her brain, but she seemed to understand its translation. This place, this awful, empty, shaking, freezing, groaning place lost behind time, was home. This is where they lived, the angels, until they were called to fight, and this is where they returned once the war was over. There was no life, not here, no happiness or fun or family or friendship, just flashes of duty drowned in eons of nothingness.
Is that right? she said, feeling like her insides had been scooped out and thrown away. The thought was too terrible, it was unbearable. But the angel said no more, not in a way she could understand. You poor thing. You poor, lonely thing. I wish there was something I could do. I wish I could help you. You could stay with me forever if you want. I promise I’d never send you back here.
And as soon as she’d thought the words she wished she could take them back, because she didn’t mean it, not really. After this – if there was an after, if she survived and there was a world left to live in – she wanted to go back to her life, to . . . maybe not to her house, because that would be too sad. But there were others she could live with, her gran, maybe, or her mum’s sister Jane. At least she could try to be normal again, and after time who knew, maybe all this would seem like a distant memory, a dream even. She could go back to school and university and get married and have babies and just be normal, just be Daisy. But none of that would be possible if she had an angel inside her, if at any moment she could burst into flames and burn the planet to ash.
She pushed the thoughts away, hoping that the angel hadn’t heard her offer, or at least hadn’t understood it. Pulling the hooks of her mind from the world, she let herself fall, feeling her ears pop as the pressure changed. The others fell with her, those little blue flames burning in their chests. All except for Brick, that was. His flame had grown, spreading out across his shoulders and down towards his tummy.
He’s next, Daisy thought as their descent increased, the roar of wind in her ears, the thunder of the fall making her bones rattle. She closed her eyes against the rush, doing her best not to scream. It was terrifying, and yet she felt something else, too, something different – excitement. It was such an odd feeling, next to the fear, that it took her a moment to understand that the sensation wasn’t hers. It belonged to the angel – the thrill of escape, of leaving this place, of being born once again into the world. Whatever it was inside her – alien or angel or some piece of timeless cosmic machinery designed to keep the world in balance – it was eager, it was keen, it wanted to be away from here.
As the tumble ended, the world reforming itself around her, Daisy wished once again that she hadn’t said what she’d said. Because what if, when all was said and done, the angel didn’t want to leave?
Brick
San Francisco, 1.26 p.m.
Almost as soon as the smoking, gaping wreck of London had vanished, another landscape appeared, wrapping itself around Brick with enough force to send him reeling. He staggered back, tripping on his own feet, sunlight like a fist pounding at his face. His stomach lurched, puke pooling in his mouth as he fell. He thumped on to his backside, spitting, groaning through his wet lips and trying to see past the moisture in his eyes.
They were in a forest, a pine forest which at first looked so similar to the one back in Hemmingway that he had a sudden rush of nostalgia, almost heart breaking. It didn’t take him long to notice that the trees here were bigger, though, swaying wildly from the shockwave Daisy had created as they arrived. Branches snapped free, crashing to the ground, twenty, thirty seconds passing before everything was still. A breeze drifted through the quiet shade, carrying the smell of conifers. Through the trees, he saw the sun was lower, like it was morning, and he wondered how far Daisy had brought them. The other guys were scattered over the forest floor, all of them except Daisy and the new boy Howie wiping vomit from their lips.
Brick stood up, ignoring the way the world seemed to spin. He didn’t understand a single thing about what was going on, but he was pretty sure that getting repeatedly ripped apart into atoms and then reconstituted wasn’t good for you. The truth was, he didn’t actually feel that great. There was something wrong with his stomach. He put a hand to it, feeling almost as if a piece of him was missing, had been left behind in London. It wasn’t painful, just weird. The thought of it, of being damaged, made him angry. Or at least it should have done. But he felt strangely calm about the whole thing.
‘Where are we?’ asked Cal, staggering to his feet. Daisy, just a girl again, shrugged her shoulders, taking in the forest with a look of confusion. Adam ran to her and she took him in her arms.
‘I’m . . . I don’t know. I thought it would take us to where he was.’
Brick looked up through the trees, expecting to see the skies grow dark, but there was just sunshine and birdsong.
‘Maybe you did kill it,’ he said. ‘Maybe it’s over.’
‘No,’ said Daisy. ‘We didn’t. The angels would have gone if the man in the storm was dead.’
Why did she look so nervous when she said that?
‘Maybe they have gone,’ said Brick. ‘How do you know they haven’t pissed off back to wherever they came from?’
Daisy closed her eyes, and when she opened them again they were two pools of molten ore so bright that Brick had to lift an arm to shield himself from their glare.
‘Oh,’ was all he could think of to say.
‘I’ll take a look,’ said Daisy. She eased herself free of Adam, and Brick heard the whoomph of fire as she turned, followed by the slow, powerful beat of her wings. He peeked over the filthy, freckled skin of his arm to see her burning up through the branches. It was like watching the sun rise, and within seconds she hung against the blue, the brightest thing in the sky. Brick looked at Cal, then Marcus and Howie, and finally Rilke, who knelt on the ground, curled into herself, her eyes two dark pebbles that didn’t blink. He wondered if he should say something to her, then decided not to. As evil as Rilke was, he kind of felt sorry for her. It couldn’t be easy knowing that you’d led your own brother to his death.
Then again, she had shot Lisa in cold blood, murdered his girlfriend right in front of him. He rubbed his stomach, wondering again what it was that felt so odd. It was almost a feeling of relief.
‘What happened to that man?’ Cal asked. ‘Graham. Didn’t he come with us?’
‘Yeah,’ said Marcus. ‘He did. I think that’s him.’
The gangly kid was pointing between two trees, and when Cal turned and looked he slammed a hand to his mouth, gagging. Brick walked over to them, curious, peering into the shadows to see a lump of something small and red and wet, like a butcher’s parcel. Only this one had what looked like half a face, a ridge of teeth pushed up into an empty eye socket. He turned away, clamping his eyes shut.
Cal swore. ‘What the hell happened to him?’
‘He wasn’t one of us,’ said Rilke, whispering her words into the dirt. ‘He couldn’t survive it, and he fell to pieces.’
Nobody spoke for a few moments, then Cal said, ‘Well, don’t tell Daisy. I don’t think she’ll handle it well.’
Brick wasn’t worried about Daisy, not any more. She seemed capable of handling anything. He, on the other hand . . . He thought one more twist, one more horror, might be the last straw, might just rip out the very last of his sanity and leave his head an empty bowl. And yet, he didn’t feel scared, didn’t feel much of anything right now, which was freaking him out.
‘I’ll cover it up,’ said Marcus, rooting around until he found a loose branch, hefting it over the man’s mangled corpse. He stood back, wiping his hands on his trousers. The man’s face was out of sight, but Brick could still see it, in his head, as clear as day. He figured he probably always
would, right up until the end. There it was again, not a sensation but an absence of one, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something, a piece of him that had been there for as long as he could remember, was now gone. This time he actually lifted up his dirt-caked T-shirt, prodding his belly.
‘Hungry?’ asked Howie, the new kid. Brick dropped his T-shirt and looked at him. The kid was thirteen or fourteen, and even though he’d turned, his skin was still mottled with bruises and cuts. ‘God knows I could eat a plate of something right about now. Think there’s somewhere round here we can get some food?’
‘How can you be hungry?’ Cal asked.
‘Man’s gotta eat,’ said Howie.
The forest grew brighter as Daisy returned, her fire sucked back into her pores as she touched down. She shook her head, the engine of her eyes sputtering out.
‘We’re on the top of a big slope,’ she said, pointing to her left. ‘There’s a city over there, with loads of hills and a pointy tower thing. And the sea. And a big orange bridge. I can’t see any sign of the man in the storm.’
‘Still say you’ve scared the bastard away,’ said Brick, shivering. ‘You tore his face off, he’s not coming back after that, right?’
Nobody answered, and he glanced up to see that they were all looking at him. Daisy’s head was cocked, a soft smile on her lips. He frowned at her, ready for that stew of anger to bubble up from his gut, almost disappointed when it didn’t. There was only that same lull in his stomach, that absence. That’s what it was, he suddenly understood, the anger, it wasn’t there any more. He slapped a hand to his belly, as if somebody had taken a kidney. His rage was so much a part of him that it was almost frightening not to feel it there.
‘What?’ he said, everyone still looking at him. ‘What is it?’
‘You,’ said Cal. ‘Look.’
He didn’t want to, but what choice did he have? He lifted his T-shirt once more, the skin there blue. It could have been dirt, except for its soft sheen, a subtle sparkle when it caught the light. He put his hand to it, feeling the cold there. He scrubbed his skin, shaking loose flakes of ice.
The Storm Page 18
