Swarm (Book 4)

by Alex South

  They expected her to be so impressed. The technology. The revelations about Earth.

  FUCK THEM.

  She fought an urge to head butt the glass. They were stupid. Just like everyone else. They were just as fucking stupid.

  Chapter 31

  The landscape had become less green. The houses smaller and closer together. Zack had left the last traces of countryside behind – around him a sprawl of buildings and roads, with no real distinction between one area and the next. Here, everything had been smashed up.

  Zack had chosen several possibilities for ‘the devil’s bowl.’ Most likely it was a stadium. He knew of three. Two for football. One for cricket. Perhaps it could be some sort of sculpture, although he had never seen one in a bowl shape.

  He turned a corner and saw a chemist – windows broken. He pulled up in front and got off the bike, putting it down on its side. He entered, broken glass crunching under his shoes. The shelves lay untouched. He moved to the back of the shop, behind the pharmacy counter, to a rotating circular shelf. He saw that everything was labelled alphabetically and rotated the shelf until he found his epilepsy medicine.

  Chapter 32

  Adam watched Laura lying in the yellow plasma. She looked peaceful. He felt a little better. After all, for everything that was wrong, it hadn’t changed anything. He had kept her powers suppressed – even if it took multiple blasts from the crystals. So far, she had learnt everything she needed to. And her M.N.A. was being documented. The days were passing. He was drawing closer.

  It was working, he just had to keep the faith.

  An idea came to him: they were geniuses, they knew so much more than him. Perhaps his lack of knowledge, his unpreparedness for the situation, was a part of their plan.

  Perhaps they knew he would do the right thing. Perhaps it was even a test. They didn’t need him, they didn’t need Laura – after all, there were others. So perhaps they had left him unprepared to see what he would do. If he failed, they didn’t mind. But he hadn’t. He wasn’t. He was passing.

  He just had to keep going. He just had to see it through.

  Chapter 33

  Zack knew these streets – he was a short distance from the city centre. Around him stood red brick houses and straight roads bleached by years of sun. The air had become still. He constantly scanned the buildings – empty, lifeless, showing signs of neglect but not meticulous damage.

  He could hear something.

  He winced as his brakes squeaked. He switched to his feet instead – letting his soles skid along the ground until the bike lost its momentum. He stayed still, hearing the noise again. A kind of loud thudding, which he placed a few streets away.

  It must be some of them, he thought. His feet moved back to the pedals and he began to cycle. A road opened up at his side. A large group filled it, only visible to him for a second before he passed. They hadn’t been the source of the noise; he was sure of that. That meant two groups, at least.

  Smash.

  A window breaking – a new sound, a new direction. Closer than the others. How many were there? He slowed down the bike as he approached another corner. He jumped off and peered around it.

  Nothing. He turned back to his bike. As he did so, he saw further down the road. Another crowd had appeared, running towards him. He grabbed the bike and clambered on, almost losing balance. He pedalled, looking over his shoulder. They had lost ground but they were still running. He turned a corner, then another – making as many changes of direction as possible. He slowed the bike. Every window around him lay shattered and bare.

  He moved to a house with an open door, put his bike inside, closed the door, and returned to the street. This was it. He had to blend in. Was it busy enough? He needed to get into the heart of the city, where there weren’t separate groups, just one combined population. He walked down the sunlit tarmac, half expecting them to come around a corner and grab him.

  They had seen him on the bike. If they got lucky, chose the right combination of random twists and turns….

  Should I run?

  Would running make him stand out? He had to stay cool. He concentrated on walking fast, trying to look purposeful instead of guilty.

  I left them behind. Just keep walking. Keep walking.

  He began to hear more smashing. He had to take the quickest route – have faith in himself. He drew close to a corner, growing convinced that he was heading for another group. He drew a line ahead of him, this road had a slight slope upwards, then a right hand turn. After that, if he got past, he would cross the main street, keep going down, same direction…

  Sure enough, the junction opened up under his feet to reveal a crowd at the end of a stretching road – all of them engaged in smashing things up. Zack focused on trying to walk slowly, and holding a calm, focused look on his face.

  If they speak, you speak. If they don’t, you don’t.

  He drew closer, trying to look at them with approval. The first pair of eyes flicked his way. A woman – especially dirty, her clothes’ original colour and shape long lost. As quickly as her gaze met him, it moved again. She crossed the road and began hitting a wire fence with a plank.

  Zack kept the same speed, passing into the heart of the group. Some on his left. Some on his right. He anticipated their words – some question or religious statement.

  Nothing – only destruction, only a noise that began to fall behind him. His heart thumped. Adrenaline made him lighter, as if the sweat pouring off him held all his mass. He was doing it. It was working.

  His mind grew calmer, a clarity came, the streets became something to watch, a slow unfolding of a route from his past, of familiar landmarks, corners, houses and roads, all bundled up in sunlight – naked from the emptiness of a missing population. His body moved on automatic. He crossed a road, once busy with vehicles, a main artery of the city. Now it lay still, traffic lights signalling to no one. Coming to the other side, he headed straight, passing under the shade of roadside trees, until he reached a junction and turned right.

  Another group. Half way down the street. Zack felt a strange freedom. It was out of his hands now. Their faces began to grow detailed. He chose a point behind them and fixed his eyes there, so they became smudges in his peripheral vision. Smudges that drew closer and closer, before passing him by.

  Chapter 34

  Everything had blurred for Zack – countless individuals passing him, countless moments walking through endless crowds. As they had shifted and moved around him, he had fixed himself on his journey. Only waiting for the next corner, the next street, the next section. He constantly thought of how much was left. Every time it was a little less. Every time he felt more confident that he would at least get there, that he would at least get inside – then he turned the final junction and laid his eyes upon it.

  A massive structure of steel and glass, its body composed of sweeping curves and interrupted only by huge poles pointing up and out, like ship masts, with cables shooting out from their tips, some back to the stadium, some to the ground.

  It seemed to possess its own gravity. A thick ring of bodies had formed around it, growing with every passing moment, as more and more people were sucked in. The roar of countless voices distorted the air, like a black hole, unstable and heavy – drawing up mass. All confidence fled him. It seemed less and less possible. He had no guarantee that she was in there. No guarantee that he could find her.

  He had no resource left, but hope. Ungrounded hope. His only path. Zack let it take him forward, walking amongst the others, along the road, through a gate and into the stadium’s grasp. It rose higher above him. The spaces between bodies shrank, as Zack dodged and pushed through fleeting gaps. He hit a thick wall of bodies, and moved sideways, searching for a way around – but it stretched on endlessly, the warmth of the crowd pushing against him from all sides.

  “Let me through!” he shouted. “Let me through!”

  No one looked at him.

  “Let me through,” he shout
ed in a woman’s ear, her back turned to him.

  Nothing.

  Zack stood on tip toes, trying to see if there were any streams of movement he could join. A bitter anger tightened his throat and made his stomach clench.

  Chapter 35

  Occasionally the crowd swelled and shifted, but Zack made no progress.

  “High priest. Carry me on. High priest.”

  Zack’s eyes flicked sideways.

  “Forwards! Forwards!” said the voice again.

  Zack stood on tip toes, holding onto the man next to him for balance. Gazing across a sea of faces, he saw a body lying horizontal above the crowd – a man being carried forwards.

  “High priest. High priest. Take me there!” said the man.

  Zack took a deep breath, “I am a high priest! Carry me forwards. I am a high priest!”

  Heads turned in his direction.

  “I am a high priest. I need you to carry me forwards. Carry me. Carry me.”

  Hands began to grab Zack. He fell back and then rose above the crowd. He continued to shout his identity to them. He began to move forwards, feeling the hands underneath, a repetition of forwards motion.

  “I am a high priest. Carry me forwards… I am a high priest. Carry me forwards.”

  Zack watched the stadium drawing closer, a huge wall he had to smuggle himself through. He saw a large square of glass built into the metal and concrete. An entrance. It seemed to be pulling him in. It towered higher and higher above him, until he came to it and passed through – inches from the door frame.

  “I am a high priest. Carry me forwards… I am a high priest. Carry me forwards.”

  The crowd carried him down some steps. The ceiling became uniform white squares. The walls drew close together – Zack brushed against one, moments later brushing against the other.

  He could see a bend ahead. He urged himself closer.

  “High priest! Quickly! Carry me forwards! Quickly!”

  He came to the turn. Another long corridor. Barely distinguishable from the last. He came to a split. He could go straight on, or turn. Instinct told him to get to the pitch.

  “Carry me right! Around the corner! Around the corner! Right! Right!”

  They did so, slowly. Zack somehow ended up on his front. He stretched his arms in front of him.

  Another corner unfolded, the colour of the walls changing as they moved further apart. One blue and one black. The roar of the crowd washed over everything. He felt the cold air, as he came out onto the pitch. The stands rose up around him to form a bowl shape, full of noise and people – countless strokes of colour. The people under him ended. The grass rushed up to meet him – he twisted mid-air so that it slammed into his shoulder. His hands searched for the cold earth as he pushed himself up and sprang to his feet.

  He felt his own smallness and the weight of the crowd. His body flushed with heat. He jerked his head around. No one was looking at him. His eyes moved to the centre of the pitch, to a man with an axe – his face covered in blue paint, his eyes wild above a devilish grin. A line of children came from out the opposite tunnel. Each child had an adult next to them, to whom they were tied – wrist to wrist.

  The closest child was dragged forwards by her escort. A second man came to help. The escort grabbed her wrists. The man grabbed her legs. They pulled in opposite directions, lifting her up off the ground and stretching her over a block. The executioner lifted up his axe, then swung it down. It wedged itself into her neck. The axe man put his foot on her body and yanked the weapon free. The axe swung down again – missing, and digging deep into her upper back. Each action happened in a void, all sound lost under the noise of the crowd.

  Zack moved sideways. He needed to get around the pitch. He kept his eyes on the grass, avoiding the faces in the stands – staying on the perimeter and slowly coming all the way around. He approached the line of children, before walking alongside them, down the tunnel and into another white-walled corridor. Some of the children were crying. Some looked lost. Some curious.

  The line passed around a bend and continued on. Zack walked fast – afraid to run.

  “Zack!”

  Her voice rang out. Barely audible over the noise, but unmistakable to him. His eyes darted further down, moving over the children’s faces and then locking with hers – covered in blue paint like the others. He walked towards her quickly. She was tied to a man, who was casting him confused looks. Zack fought the urge to go in for a hug.

  “I’m… a high priest… the girl has to come with me,” said Zack, moving to untie her ropes. He could feel everyone’s eyes burning into him.

  “Wait you can’t,” the escort pulled his hand off. Zack looked at the man. A pale, oval face, with wispy, balding hair – slightly taller than him, but not that strong-looking.

  “There’s… I have to… she’s not ready yet. There’s still something we gotta do to her.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a very important thing we missed.”

  “You can’t untie me. We must remain together until the sacrifice,” said the man. He grabbed Zack’s wrist with a cold, clammy grip and yanked his hand away.

  “But… no… there’s one more thing. It’s okay. I’m a high priest. It’s… just one last thing. She’s not ready yet.”

  “I was told by a gold priest that we can’t be untied.”

  Something sank inside Zack.

  “What is it that needs to be done? I said that she needed more paint,” the man continued.

  “… Yes… More paint. That’s something… er, why don’t you come with me. You can stay together. I have some paint b-back this way.”

  “Yes,” said the escort.

  Zack began to lead them down the hall past the line of children and escorts, his heart racing. He searched for somewhere to go, eventually reaching a split. The line moved right; he moved left, entering another stretch of clean white wall tiles.

  He kept walking, praying that he would think of something. Praying that the escort wouldn’t say anything. Zack made another turn. He had to think. He couldn’t just keep walking. He had to come up with something.

  He came to a few doors. Two on the left. Two on the right. He looked through a glass panel, seeing a dark room full of cardboard boxes. He looked down the corridor, back the way he had come, then opened the door.

  “In here,” he said.

  They all entered. The automatic lights flickered to life. Zack let the door close.

  “Is there paint in these boxes?” said the man.

  Zack’s heartbeat had moved into his ears, into his skull. He looked at the man, staring at him with a slight confusion. In the fluorescent glow of the room, the man looked inhuman – like a puffy, bloated sack of liquid. Zack took out his knife and stepped forward. The man’s expression remained blank. His eyes watched Zack. Watched as Zack came to him. Watched as Zack stabbed him without knowing where, without knowing how many times. All Zack knew was the man’s eyes and his arm stabbing, stabbing, stabbing. Zack pushed him over, he fell on his back. Zack climbed on top – searching for the right place to put the blade – the man’s whole body beneath him. Zack stabbed into the chest. His wrist twisted and the knife escaped his grip. He picked it up again and put his hand over the man’s face. The man didn’t resist. Zack stabbed him in the throat. Something shot into his eyes.

  Blood.

  His hands moved to his face. He felt himself being pushed back. He wiped it away to see the man standing and staring down at him, his hand over his throat, lines of red spraying out from the cracks in his fingers, his eyes wide and white.

  Macy’s small hands grabbed the man’s arm. He stumbled and fell on her. Zack moved forwards, pushing him onto his back and kneeling on his chest. The man put both hands over his throat to protect it. Zack stabbed him in the stomach. Again. Again. Again. A shudder passed through the man – then he was still. Zack moved to the rope, sawing frantically with the knife. A stuttering gagging rose from the body as the blade cut
all the way through.

  Zack stood with Macy and looked at the door. He glanced back at the escort, lying in an explosion of blood.

  He could think of nothing. No idea or plan rose before him.

  Then he saw it – a small pile of blue football shirts on top of a stack of boxes. They were covered with blood. He moved them aside and opened the box underneath, finding more. He hissed some words at Macy – jumbled, in the wrong order. But she understood him. He threw a t-shirt at her.

  Everything became a race. He searched through the boxes. T-shirts, T-shirts – more T-shirts. He pulled back the flaps of yet another box, finally coming upon carefully folded shorts. He grabbed a pair and threw them to Macy.

  Zack pulled off his jumper, wiping his face with it and throwing it away. He removed his shirt and replaced it. He took off his shoes and socks. He took off his trousers and put on the shorts. He moved over to Macy, grabbed her and put her on a box. Already, she had the blue football shirt on. He undid her shoes, took off her socks, and pulled off her trousers. He grabbed the shorts and put them on her, then he lifted her up, carrying her around the blood, trying not to step in it.

  He put her down. How was he going to get out of the stadium? With the same trick as before? Would they let him through with Macy? He looked at the body, no longer still, squirming on the floor.

  “We’ve gotta hide,” he said to Macy.

  They left the room, coming back into the white corridor. Square ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights passed over head as Zack and Macy marched on. Doors passed on both sides.

  Zack stopped. This wasn’t right. If they found the body… Fuck, the man wasn’t even dead. He turned back around. He came back to the door and opened it. The man locked eyes with him from the floor. Zack let the door close.