Shadow Creatures

by Andrew Lane

  A voice shouted ‘Stop!’ in Mandarin, then again in English. Tsai Chen didn’t even blink. She just kept running, but the two men with her stopped and turned round. They raised their guns.

  A shot rang out from the direction the voice had come from. One of the men fell back, blood blossoming from his shoulder like an exotic flower. His fingers tightened on the trigger of his own gun, which fired a stream of bullets uselessly into the air. Some of them hit the crates near Tsai Chen. She dropped the hard drive, glanced at it for a moment, glanced back to where the police were running down the aisle, then ran off, leaving it behind. Stray bullets caught the top corner of the centipedes’ crate, smashing it to wooden splinters.

  The second man looked at his injured friend, then at the police at the end of the aisle. He threw his gun to the ground and raised his hands.

  A movement and a flash of colour caught Rhino’s eye. He glanced over at the centipede crate.

  The corner was now missing, replaced by a large hole in the wood.

  A hole through which one of the centipedes was crawling.

  The man who had thrown down his gun glanced at the centipede, glanced back at the police, then turned and ran.

  The centipede flowed sinuously down the side of the crate, more and more of its body emerging from the hole that had been blasted by the gunfire. Rhino, almost hypnotized by the sight, heard shouts of disbelief and shock from the policemen.

  The end of the centipede emerged from the crate just as its head got to the injured man on the floor. The touch alerted him that something was going on: he opened his eyes and stared directly into the centipede’s open jaws.

  And screamed.

  Gecko sprang forward, grabbed the man’s arm, and pulled him away just as the arthropod’s jaws snapped closed. Foiled, the centipede snaked its way across the floor and out of sight into the shadows of another gap between crates.

  Rhino’s gaze went back to the hole in the crate. The second centipede was emerging. It was larger than the first. Its body was almost as wide as the hole, and its legs made a rasping noise as they caught against the wood. Instead of following its companion it twisted its body round and went directly upward, on to the top of the crate. From there it headed for a nearby pillar and crawled higher, towards the roof.

  The injured Chinese man was curled up on the floor, talking rapidly to himself in a hysterical voice. Gecko left him and stood up.

  ‘I think we need to go,’ Rhino said to him, bending to pick up the discarded hard drive. ‘We can’t get any genetic samples now. The things have gone.’ He looked around. ‘Come on – we can still get to the rope and get out, sheltered by the column. If we get arrested now, who knows how long it will take to get things straightened out!’

  Rather than emerge into the aisle, with the police at the far end, the two of them backed along its length to the parallel aisle. This one was empty. They ran down it, away from the police and towards the place where they had come in.

  The creature they thought was a tiger was prowling angrily around its cage, disturbed by the activity. It saw Rhino and Gecko approaching and snarled, baring its teeth in an unmistakable ‘Keep away!’ signal.

  They ignored it. Rhino turned and made a stirrup with his hands, boosting Gecko to the top of the cage. The tiger sprang for him, but Gecko danced out of the way and extended a hand, pulling Rhino up after him with incredible strength for his young frame. Rhino pushed Gecko towards the rope. It was still hanging down from the open skylight, but the bottom part, the bit that had hung into the cage, had been shredded.

  Gecko scrambled up the rope. Rhino kept moving across the cage, not letting the tiger get its claws through the bars and into his boots. When Gecko was clear of the cage, he grabbed hold of the rope and began to pull himself up.

  Looking downward, he saw a furious yellow eye glaring up at him from between the bars.

  ‘Stop! Hey, you! Stop!’

  It was the English voice that Rhino had heard making the announcement about the UN and the raid earlier on. He looked off to where the sound was coming from. A man was standing near the centipedes’ crate. He was Chinese, young, with his long black hair pulled back into a ponytail. He wasn’t with the police, unless he was plainclothes: he was wearing jeans, hiking boots and a green hunting jacket. His gaze locked with Rhino’s.

  Rhino smiled at him, made a sketchy little salute with one hand, and then scrambled up the rope towards the relative safety of the roof. The police would be surrounding the warehouse, but Rhino was pretty sure that he and Gecko could get past them and get away.

  But what then?

  CHAPTER twelve

  Calum waited for a while under the covers in his comfortable cell, just in case some silent alarm had been triggered, but nobody came into his room to investigate. All the time he was there, his brain was trying to wrap itself around the fact that he had been kidnapped by Nemor Incorporated. The thought made him shivery. They had been interested in him for months, and it looked as if that interest had now translated into something larger. That was how he and Tara had met – she had been blackmailed by them into trying to spy on his website, and he had caught her. Or, rather, he had spotted the intrusion, worked out where it was coming from and then sent Gecko to find out who it was. Nemor had also tried to break into his apartment to get information on the trip his friends had made to Georgia in search of the legendary Almasti. They had even set up their own rival expedition and taken Natalie captive so they could get to the Almasti first. Calum didn’t know what Nemor Incorporated wanted with him, but it was obviously something to do with the Almasti and Calum’s search for missing or rare DNA. Now he was being held captive by them.

  This wasn’t good. This really wasn’t good.

  He needed to get out of there, and fast, and that meant he needed help.

  He was interrupted in his dark thoughts by the door opening again. A security guard was standing there, looking into the room. When Calum didn’t move, the guard retreated into the corridor, letting the door shut behind him.

  Calum glanced at his watch; it was exactly an hour and a half since the guard had last checked on him.

  He sat up in bed and turned the tablet on. Within a few moments he had established that it was a basic Android device, which meant that he knew a number of ways around the security systems, thanks to Tara.

  Not that there were a lot of security systems set up on the tablet. Robledo Mountains Technology didn’t seem to be particularly security minded. Maybe they didn’t kidnap people that often. Whatever the reason, he pretty quickly had a map of the building’s various floors on the screen, and had established a connection to the internet through some kind of company Wi-Fi. Presumably there would be a record of his access somewhere, but he was hoping to be long gone by the time anyone realized.

  He checked the top of the tablet. Yes, it did have a camera, and that meant he could send a video message to his friends to tell them where he was and to ask for help. He could even Skype them in real time, if they were on their computers at the same time he was. He thought for a few seconds, and then decided it was too risky. If some passing guard or late-working member of staff passing his door heard voices inside, then they might just get suspicious and check in on him – and then the game would be up for sure. No, he was better off sending an email.

  He thought for a moment, then rather than start up the email app on the tablet he went straight to the web browser and accessed his own email account that way. It was clumsier than using an app, but less likely to be traced.

  Hi, he typed.

  This will probably come as as much of a shock to you as it has to me, but I think I’ve been kidnapped, and I think it’s by Nemor Incorporated. I had an accident with the robotic legs that Robledo had loaned to me, and some people from the labs came to rescue me. They sedated me and flew me to their labs in Las Cruces, which is where I am now. They keep pretending that I’m not a prisoner at all, but I’m trapped in bed here and they aren’t letting me
communicate with anyone. I’m sending this email on a tablet that I’ve ‘borrowed’.

  I really don’t know what to do, which is why I’m emailing you. I need you to get me out of here! I don’t care if I never see those robotic legs again – I just want to be back in my own apartment.

  I really hope I hear from you soon. I’ll keep hold of this tablet for as long as I can, and I’ll check in on my emails whenever I get the chance. Please, please reply soon.

  Oh, by the way, the name of the doctor who has been treating me is Kircher – he came with me from England. The name of the psychiatrist who has provisionally labelled me as being ‘paranoid’ – presumably as a way of justifying keeping me here – is Dr Laurence. Laurence T. Laurence.

  Please get me out of here.

  Calum

  He read the message back a couple of times. It sounded desperate, but then he was desperate.

  He thought for a moment about whom exactly he should send it to. Ideally it would be Rhino, but he was in Hong Kong with Gecko and Natalie, and he had a job to do. Calum didn’t really want him to be distracted from that – and he didn’t want him bursting in all guns blazing. Tara was a possibility, but she was in London and he didn’t see what she could do.

  In the end he typed the only realistic name into the To: section of the email, and pressed Send.

  He leaned back in the bed. Hopefully, his guardian, Gillian Livingstone – Natalie’s mother – would get the email soon and know exactly what to do . . .

  There were five trays stacked up in the corner of her room now, and Tara was beginning to think that everything smelt of fried chicken. The view outside the window didn’t change much either: sometimes it was night, sometimes day; sometimes a red car went down the street and sometimes it was a blue car; sometimes a kid in a hoodie was standing by the bus stop and sometimes it was an old woman with a shopping trolley, but that was about the extent of the variation. Life was pretty tedious. Tedious and scary.

  Without a laptop or a tablet to keep her amused, Tara was at her wits’ end. She spent a lot of time either looking out of the window at the ever-changing yet ever-similar scene or lying on the mattress staring at the cracks in the plaster ceiling, imagining what might happen to her if Gecko didn’t respond, and then trying not to imagine what might happen to her. She felt nauseous with terror all the time.

  And Gecko hadn’t responded. That was the thing that terrified her most. Or he had responded but her captors hadn’t told her, which she thought was unlikely. She’d got to know them slightly over the past day or so, and they seemed to be straight talkers who were vaguely embarrassed about what they were being asked to do, but who would do it diligently because that was how they worked. They, in their turn, had become almost protective of Tara – making sure she was well fed and well rested and that she had frequent toilet breaks, and chatting to her about inconsequentialities. One of them had even popped out to get her some fresh clothes and toiletries from a pound shop down the road. Under other circumstances she would have enjoyed their company.

  If they hadn’t been planning to cut her fingers off if Gecko didn’t respond.

  And they still wouldn’t tell her what country they were from. Or what their names were.

  She was lying on her back on the blanket, watching the sunlight slowly crawl across the carpet and trying not to be sick, when the door opened.

  ‘Just put the tray down by the door,’ she said wearily. ‘I’m not sure I can face fried chicken again. Not right now, anyway. If nothing else, you could always vary the sauce. Maybe some barbecue, or some garlic and herb. Anything apart from tomato ketchup.’

  ‘Actually,’ a voice she recognized said, ‘I brought pizza. I hope that’s OK.’

  She jerked upright. Tom Karavla – the boy who had lured her to the coffee shop and then abandoned her – was standing in the doorway. He was looking very uncomfortable, and he was holding two large, flat cardboard boxes that were giving out steam from their seams.

  ‘Deep pan?’ she asked, despite the sudden flush of anger she felt.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Meat feast?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Stuffed crust.’

  ‘Oh yes. And extra cheese.’ He paused, staring at her. ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  Karavla walked in, letting the door close behind him, and sat cross-legged on the floor beside the mattress. He slid a pizza box across to Tara and kept the other one for himself.

  ‘I got one meat feast and one barbecued pork. I hope that’s OK? We have a saying in my country,’ Tom continued, opening his box, ‘“Hunger is the best sauce”.’

  ‘I’m not exactly hungry,’ Tara snapped. ‘I’m just bored of the same thing all the time.’

  ‘Yeah, my uncles have no imagination.’

  Tara caught the admission straight away. ‘Your uncles?’

  He shrugged, not looking at her. ‘Yes. That’s how they got me to do what I did. Family pressure.’

  ‘So they’re brothers?’

  ‘Both older brothers of my mum. They managed to get her to England. Things were bad back in Croatia.’

  She filed that one away as well. ‘Croatia? That’s where you came from?’

  He nodded, eating a slice of pizza himself.

  ‘But you don’t have much of an accent,’ Tara pointed out.

  ‘We came over when I was eight years old. I speak English almost perfectly, but I’m told I speak Croatian with an accent.’

  ‘And your name – is it really Tom?’

  He nodded. ‘ “Tom” as in “Tomas” – Tomas Karavla.’

  She glanced at him. ‘And you lured me to a coffee shop by making me think you were interested in . . . in cryptids and in thelostworlds.co.uk.’

  He shifted uneasily. ‘I didn’t know why they wanted me to do what I did. I was just told to get close to you on email, and get you to meet up somewhere.’ He paused. ‘It wasn’t hard.’

  She scowled. ‘I know. I fell for it hook, line and sinker.’

  He sighed and closed his eyes. ‘My English phrasing does sometimes let me down. What I mean is, it wasn’t difficult for me because I wanted to do it. I actually do like the idea of cryptids, and your website is incredible. And talking to you on email was really fun. I’m just sorry that . . .’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘So am I.’

  They ate in silence for a while.

  ‘So, your uncles – they know you’re here?’ Tara said eventually.

  ‘Yes. I asked them if you were OK, and they said you were, apart from the fact that you were complaining about the food. I asked them if I could bring you a pizza, and they said yes. I think they want to make sure that you’re not going to go mad and try to beat them up with a tray the next time they come in.’

  ‘Don’t think I haven’t thought about it,’ she said darkly. ‘The trouble is that they both look like they’ve taken a fair share of hits to the face before. I’m not sure there’s anything else I can bring to the party.’

  Tomas laughed and, in spite of her anger and fear, Tara felt herself relax slightly. The sick feeling in her stomach receded. ‘Yes, they both do cage-fighting in their spare time,’ he said.

  That kind of stopped the conversation for awhile.

  ‘Did they also ask you to get me to record another message for Gecko?’ she asked.

  He frowned. ‘Gecko?’

  ‘My friend. They want him to come back so he can be a thief for them.’

  He nodded. ‘Ah yes – I heard about that. I didn’t know the boy’s name, but I knew that my uncles – and the man they work for – are really impressed with the way he can run and jump and climb.’ He frowned, and looked away. ‘So – is he your boyfriend, then, this “Gecko”?’

  Tara felt her eyes widen at the thought, and her face flush. ‘No!’ she said quickly. ‘He’s not my boyfriend.’

  ‘Oh,’ Tomas said quietly. ‘Good.’

  That kind of stopped the conve
rsation for a while longer.

  ‘Tomas, can you help me escape?’ Tara said eventually, in a very soft voice, not looking at his face.

  ‘I wish I could,’ he replied, as if he had been waiting for her to ask. ‘I really do. I’ve been thinking about whether there’s anything I can do to get you out. The problem is that my uncles will know it was me who helped you, and they’ll beat me.’

  ‘Your uncles would beat you?’ she repeated, disbelievingly.

  ‘Oh yes. They would do it because I had failed to show them respect, and because I had disobeyed them, and because the man they work for would have them beaten for losing you, and they would pass that beating down to me.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said quietly.

  ‘It would be worth it,’ Tomas added, almost diffidently, ‘if I thought I could actually get you out without them seeing, but I couldn’t. They are on guard all the time.’

  ‘Well,’ Tara said eventually, ‘thanks for even thinking about it.’ She glanced at him. ‘If this was a prison-break film then you would have smuggled a small saw or a knife in here inside the pizza.’ She paused. ‘You didn’t, did you?’

  ‘If I had, then you’d have eaten it by now. I’ve never seen anyone eat that fast.’ He looked at the empty pizza boxes and sighed. ‘I suppose I ought to be going,’ he said.

  ‘More girls to abduct?’ Tara said bitterly, and then wished she hadn’t when she saw the pain on his face.

  ‘Look, I really am sorry about this. I wish it wasn’t happening – I really do. I just wish we had met under different circumstances.’ He got up, brushing pizza crumbs from his hands on his trousers.