The Sons of Scarlatti

by John McNally

  Finn wriggled through the nest until most of his torso hung beneath it. Arching his back, he could see a hazardous route along the twigs, down the branches – ultimately to the trunk. But it would take many hours, demand far more energy that he had left, and leave him wide open to bird and insect attack.

  Or he could drop. He looked down again.

  BOW-WOW-WOW

  Only to see Yo-yo bound off after a glimpse of fluffy grey squirrel.

  “NO! YO-YO!”

  The tiny voice cleaved Yo-yo’s instincts in two and sent him skittering to a confused halt.

  “COME BACK, YO-YO!” Finn shouted, killing his throat. “GET BACK HERE NOW!”

  Yo-yo abandoned the squirrel and returned.

  “LIE DOWN, YO-YO! LIE DOWN!”

  The dog lay down. Finn wriggled further out of the nest till he was left clinging to its underside. This was crazy, he told himself. This was totally crazy.

  He climbed round the nest until he was level with a twig sprouting a fresh growth of three bright green leaves, each the size of an umbrella. If he could break off the stem, the leaves would slow his descent and, if he got really lucky, he might hit the forest litter at a force that didn’t actually kill him. And if he got even luckier than that…

  Just keep going.

  With a last look down and a “STAY BOY!”, he swung himself over and grabbed the soft green stem with both hands. It bent… then, after an age, he felt the base tear neatly from the twig, and he was suddenly and rapidly falling.

  “ARRRRGGGHHHHHHHH!!”

  The leaves flapped but offered little drag. Only one thing could save him now.

  “HERE, BOY! HERE, BOY!”

  Yo-yo just had time to spring excitedly off his haunches towards the sound. Finn hit the warm fur and felt firm flesh envelop him – WHUMP – knocking the wind out of him and bouncing him straight back up in the air to somersault once more… before landing again and coming to a halt by just clinging to the furthest tendril of Yo-yo’s mane.

  Yo-yo spun, madly barking – BOWOWOWOWOWOWWOWOW! – wanting to find Finn and love him and roll around and BOWOWOWOWWOWOWOWOW!

  Finn had to hang on for dear life. “SIT! Yo-yo, SIT! Easy, boy. Easy now…”

  Yo-yo’s few coherent brain cells galloped through a line of dog reasoning: Finn. Where’s Finn. Nowhere. Somewhere. Some sound. Some smell. Some Finn. Is some Finn the Finn-ness of Finn? Yes. Finn! BOWOWOWOWOW!

  “SIT!” Finn all but begged.

  Yo-yo sat. Absolutely still. One happy idiot.

  * * *

  Grandma puttered and whooped along the back lanes of Berkshire. Whooped, because the automatic clutch of the Honda repeatedly engaged and disengaged according to the patches of remaining wear on the plates, causing sudden bursts of very high revs.

  She couldn’t admit that she had lost Al and Finn, because that would be to Admit Defeat.

  And a mother’s love never failed.

  It was in the small print.

  Even if you did find yourself weeping into your helmet with the stress of it all every ten minutes.

  So, when she finally did find an abandoned De Tomaso Mangusta (not that she actually knew or cared what it was called), it was with a sense of great relief and no little self-justification.

  It didn’t take her long to find him.

  When Al was small, and through his troubled teens (never had a boy engaged in so many imaginary love affairs), he would go and lie in the cornfield behind the house (scaring her witless imagining combine-harvester accidents). She would go and lie down beside him to jolly him along or just to listen, as lying in fields feeling sorry for yourself was the type of romantic thing everyone should do in childhood. If not at thirty-two.

  She approached him across the meadow.

  “Well, well, what a lovely day. Bit breezy, but lovely. Oh, it’s good to be back.”

  “I’ve lost him,” said Al. “I’ve lost another.”

  “Don’t be silly!” Grandma said and, with old lady difficulty, managed to lower herself beside him. They both stared at the sky.

  “Do you think you’ll ever settle down with a nice young wom—”

  “Do you really have to ask that now?”

  “Well, I didn’t meet Daddy till I was twenty-seven and that was considered very old in those days. Isn’t that cornflower blue just magical? Christabel and that man, King Rat or whatever he’s called, gave me the gist. Finn’s run off and you’ve gone looking for him with Yo-yo, hoping to pick up the scent no doubt. Well, that is admirable. But you are not to worry. Whatever you may think of Finn, he is in fact the most resourceful, most intelligent, most robust…”

  “Mum, it’s not quite that sim—”

  “I’m talking! Most brilliant boy, and he’s bound to pull through – and sensitive, did I say sensitive?”

  “Mum…”

  “And may I remind you that in this family the tradition is not to just lie there and do nothing, but to try and try again, to reach for the stars every day, no matter what! We did not crawl out of the primordial slime by wallowing in it. No. We love and we hope and we do.”

  Long used to such perorations, Al had switched off.

  “I’ve even lost the damn dog…”

  “Nonsense.”

  She chivvied herself to her feet and, for want of anything better to do, Al got up with her. When she had steadied herself, she took the dog whistle from around her neck and blew hard on it. They looked down the meadow. Nothing seemed to stir.

  “I don’t think that…”

  “Well, of course you don’t. You’re not a dog. Let’s try further down the hill.”

  “It really isn’t all that simple, Mum…”

  “Come along, you can tell me all about it on the way.”

  And she yomped off through the long grass like some kind of mad old lady guided missile, putting the dog whistle in her mouth.

  WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Finn hugged the warm, smelly clutch of mane in his arms and felt the dog’s drumming heartbeat beneath his feet.

  He looked back up at the tree he’d just dropped from. Unbelievable.

  He tried to take in Yo-yo’s size. His great tail was thwacking the ground behind them. He was like some rodeo dinosaur. A mountain of magic carpet in need of a shampoo. If Finn could hold on, he could rejoin the fray. He could find his friends. He could fight.

  To get more support he wriggled his legs under Yo-yo’s leather collar. Automatically the dog’s swing-bridge-sized rear leg scratched at him.

  “STOP! DON’T SCRATCH, YO-YO!”

  Yo-yo’s hind leg froze in mid-air. Finn sat back more on the worn rim of the collar, holding on to the fur like reins. The hind leg dropped.

  Finn tried. “OK, let’s walk.” He held on as they sprang up.

  “Good dog! Back to the road, boy! Back to the house!”

  Yo-yo barked, happy, but just trotted round in a big circle. Then sat again. Finn realised the dog had no idea where he was.

  How was he supposed to guide him? Dogs didn’t follow directions. They followed things – scents, owners, cars. He’d have to wait for something or someone to pass, but there were no cars – they were in the middle of an evacuated nowhere – how were they ever—

  VROOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

  The jeep shot past on a road concealed above them at the edge of the wood – its jet at screaming pitch and travelling at twenty-five macro-miles per hour – loud and clear.

  The Apache? thought Finn. But that’s imposs— Before he could finish the thought though, Yo-yo had exploded off after it.

  Finn clung on.

  * * *

  Back in the garage of the burning house Kane had found what he was looking for.

  He straddled the family’s quad bike – fat, fun and 400cc – slammed a Vehicle Override Key into its ignition (the VOK was every Tyro’s favourite bit of kit and worked on everything from cycle locks to Ferraris) and turned.

  The qua
d rasped to life. Kane stood on the foot plates and revved. The quad shot out of the garage and ripped down the gravel drive.

  Out on the road, the jeep whizzed along at breakneck speed.

  Kelly looked back out of the cab. The quad with the Cyclops aboard rocketed up the road towards them.

  “He’s gaining!” he yelled above the scream of the jet and jumped up to man the Minimi.

  The quad came right alongside and Kane raised a boot. Kelly aimed at his helmetless head.

  DRTRTRTRRTTRTRTRT!

  Kane cursed as tiny bullets stung his scalp. He fell back and lined the quad up to run them down. Then hit the gas. As he did so, Delta hauled on the brake – SCREEEEEEECH! – and for a moment the crew found themselves and their jeep shooting underneath the four giant rubber wheels of the braking quad bike – WHOOM! – but the jeep stopped first and the quad went shooting by, Kane riding the brakes, skidding all the way, skewing to an eventual halt.

  Delta hit full power again before he could right himself on the road, and the jeep shot past him, briefly leaving the ground as it hit a rise in the road.

  “Fetch!”

  Running parallel to the vehicles streaking past on the road above, Yo-yo stretched his body in hopeless, delighted pursuit, Finn clinging on to his expanding, contracting, galloping back.

  “Good boy, Yo-yo. Get the jeep…”

  “We’ve got to lose this sucker!” said Delta, Kane roaring up behind them again in no time.

  Ahead of them a track led off the road into the woods. She took it.

  As they flew past, Kelly noticed a sign – MBT TRAIL. He barely had time to mentally process the abbreviation into ‘Mountain Bike Trail’ before they hit the jump…

  …describing a perfect arc over the first ditch and landing with a spine-bending thump on the run up to a half-pipe.

  Stubbs looked back to check that the mounts holding the jet still held.

  “It wasn’t designed for this!”

  “Don’t worry. I was,” said Delta.

  “WAAAAAAAAAAH!” Stubbs cried – discovering hidden emotional depths – as Delta took the jeep at 90 degrees round a section of high-speed banking before levelling out to hit a ramp – WHUMP – that saw them soar over an open canyon of dirt – WHAM – landing on its far distant side.

  “Badass…” Delta said through gritted teeth, loving every second.

  Kelly simply threw up.

  They looked back to see Kane, a few macro-metres behind them on the quad, racing towards the jump.

  Kane gave it full power and was approaching the corner at the required angle…

  …just as Yo-yo appeared.

  WOOF WOOF WOOF BOW-WOW-WOW!

  Kane’s balance was thrown (he HATED dogs) and the bike left the ramp 0.68 degrees askew, hitting the ground all wrong and leaving him – SMACK! – somersaulting over the top of the quad and into a 100-year-old elm.

  As the crew wondered what had just happened, Stubbs saw the trail curve ahead. “There’s a gap in the banking, we can get out there!”

  The jeep’s jet sang as it hit the gap and its wheels left the earth…

  …just making it over, landing on two wheels instead of four, before – SLAM – coming back down to safety.

  “Where the hell did that dog come from?” said Kelly.

  “Man’s best friend,” said Delta, “or maybe not…” as, looking back, she saw it bounding towards them.

  “Shoot it,” said Stubbs. “It probably wants to eat us.”

  “OVER HERE!” Finn yelled from Yo-yo’s collar. “GUYS! IT’S ME!”

  He saw the Minimi swing round.

  “Wait, Yo-yo! Stop!”

  DRDRRTT!

  Yo-yo yelped and backed away as the tiny bullets stung his chest.

  “STOP FIRING!” called Finn, useless now as the jeep sped on. “COME BACK!”

  * * *

  DAY THREE 07:52 (BST). Hook Hall, Surrey

  The fire crew that had entered the kitchen at Lanyard House to douse the heart of the flames immediately noticed material stacked up bonfire-style against the cooker.

  They reported signs of arson to the authorities who in turn reported these suspicious findings to Hook Hall, as instructed.

  It was almost certainly nothing. Looters probably. But, King thought, I must dot every i. Cross every t.

  Time was running out. Further discussions at Hook Hall and in secret session at the United Nations in New York determined that if his fears were true and Kaparis didn’t keep his side of the bargain and give up the location of the nest site then the nuclear response, no matter how terrible, must be a joint act between all nations. A briefing would take place at 09:00 hours to prepare all parties for the possibility. Then, with preparations all in place, if the location of the site had still not been discovered or divulged by 12:00 hours, the Prime Minister of the UK would ask the UK Joint Chiefs to carry out the order.

  A series of five-megaton hydrogen bombs would be detonated in a ten-mile radius around the original release site producing fifty megatons of explosive force, creating fifty square miles of ‘total destruction’ and a much wider area of ‘severe damage’. The blasts would be felt across the continent.

  “Get men down there. Search the entire area,” snapped King.

  * * *

  There were eleven nymphs. Seven were already starting their final moult. The rest were close behind.

  It had done its duty to the swarm, and the energy from the rising sun would soon do the rest.

  The scent of danger was too strong to resist now. Its instinct, its fury was too strong.

  KILL…

  It flexed and forced and drove towards the danger, towards a chaos of sound at the north end of the woods.

  Wkwkwkzzzwkzzkzkwkwkwkzzz kzkwkwkwkzzz…

  FORTY

  Sandy Dale Golf Club was founded in 1900 as a private golf club for ‘200 Gentlemen Members’ paying an annual subscription of five guineas. Over the subsequent 114 years, it had become one of the most prestigious and beautiful courses in the world. Patronised by Open champions, celebrities and billionaires alike, it was famed for its luxurious grand old clubhouse and its manicured greens and fairways.

  The jeep flew out of the wood and landed on the elegant seventeenth green at the nano-equivalent of 110mph.

  Not expecting the sudden change of terrain – and certainly not expecting automatic overnight sprinklers to have left a skid-pad sheen of water across the entire course – Delta hit the brakes hard. Water shot up in a perfect unbroken blue sheet as she slid towards the infamous Long Bunker.

  Immediately behind, undeterred by the bullets and spurred on by Finn, came Yo-yo, still happily giving chase, then forgetting everything for a moment to stop and bite a spurting sprinkler head, soaking its nano-passenger – “No, Yo-yo! Catch the car!”

  He sprang up again with a Yap! to chase the jeep which had brushed the Long Bunker’s lip and was throwing up rainbow arcs of water this way and that as it snaked its screaming way off the sodden green and on up the eighteenth fairway, mist rising in the dawn.

  The eighteenth fairway ended at the last hole and the colonnaded grand old clubhouse.

  The jeep jumped as it hit the lip of the green and landed on the far side of the final flag, wheeling round as it hit the clubhouse terrace.

  Yo-yo, tiring now, bounded up after it, tongue hanging out.

  The jeep screamed and circled the clubhouse terrace, looking for a way in. At the rear of the building Delta spotted a service door with a cat flap. She briefly calculated its height, compared it to the distance from the lip of the terrace and swung off the flagstones.

  “What are you doing?” asked Stubbs.

  She turned back towards the door and hit the gas.

  “Oh great…” muttered Kelly.

  The jeep hit the edge of the terrace and leapt the fifteen centimetres or so it needed to hit the cat flap – WHACK! – with enough force to lift it and let them through, landing safely on the other side and�
�

  …coming face to face with a set of large double doors.

  “Great. Now what?” asked Stubbs.

  Just then, Yo-yo squeezed and barked and dragged his chaotic limbs through the cat flap after them.

  “Oh great… Man’s best friend’s back.” Stubbs climbed up to man the Minimi.

  “Don’t waste the ammo and don’t hurt it!” shouted Delta. “Just yell at it, take command of it!”

  They turned to the cathedral-sized dog now sitting panting before them.

  “GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE! SCRAM!” screamed Kelly, the others joining in.

  “NO! IT’S ME!” they heard a tiny voice reply.

  Delta couldn’t believe her ears – she looked up at the colossal dog and said, “Finn? FINN!”

  “HERE! I’M HERE!” Finn started shouting down, waving madly from the collar.

  Delta whooped. Actually whooped.

  “I don’t believe it! FINN?!” Kelly shouted up.

  “KELLY?!” Finn grinned and saw the soldier grinning back up at him. “YOU’RE ALIVE!”

  “DAMN RIGHT! WHERE DID YOU GET THIS THING?” shouted Kelly.

  “IT’S MY DOG! CHRISTABEL MUST HAV—”

  But their relief at making contact was cut short as outside they heard the quad approaching. Finn saw the double doors and realised the problem.

  “Go, Yo-yo! Through the door! What’s in there, boy? What’s in there?” He felt Yo-yo rise beneath him and obligingly barge through the swing doors, the jeep scooting through after him.

  Both emerged into a large empty ballroom, Yo-yo’s claws skating across the sprung wooden dance floor.

  “Look, a phone!” yelled Delta, pointing to a handset on a wall at the far end of the room.

  The quad reached the eighteenth green and took off as it hit the lip of the colonnaded terrace, Kane powering it straight into the large French windows of the lounge bar – SMASH!

  A sign above the door bar warned MEMBERS ONLY.

  In Siberia, Li Jun had already found architectural blueprints of the clubhouse on a building contractor’s server.