The Buried Ark

by James Bradley

  There was another flash of lightning.

  ‘Matt,’ I sobbed. ‘He was here. I saw him.’

  His eyes widened and he looked around. Then he pulled me to my feet. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We can’t stay here.’

  6

  The next morning I woke to the cries of Changed birds. I was exhausted and my face ached from crying. Last night I had sobbed for hours. Everything rational in me told me it couldn’t have been Matt, that I must have been dreaming, or mistaken, yet some other part of me was certain it had been him.

  Lying in my bed I’d fought to reconcile the two, slipping into fantasies about finding him or curing him even as I grappled with the certainty that if he was here, if I had seen him, he was lost all over again, absorbed into the Change just like Gracie. In the morning light my despair faded, replaced by a grim determination to know the truth.

  My father watched as I pulled on my shoes.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

  ‘Out,’ I said.

  ‘That’s not a good idea,’ he said. ‘The Change seems to have become aware of you and your presence. Until we know what that means you can’t risk it finding you.’

  I picked up my backpack and headed toward the door. ‘If the Change is aware of me it already knows where I am, so I’m no safer with you than I will be out there.’

  He stepped toward me as if he meant to stop me but then seemed to think better of it. ‘That’s not true. And anyway, we need to understand what’s happening to you first. What it is the Change wants.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ I said. ‘If Matt’s out there I have to find him.’

  I began by retracing my steps from the night before. I didn’t know what I was looking for – some indication that what I had seen was not my imagination, perhaps – but it seemed as good a place to start as any. In the glare of the sun there was nothing to be seen, and neither was there when I circled back to where I had seen the girl on the first morning. Over the next few hours I searched the streets and pathways around the lab, as well as inside the buildings that were still intact, and found nothing.

  By midmorning I was hot and discouraged. My determination was giving way to anger and frustration. Down by the river I stood in the shade of a tree and stared at the greenery toward the towers of the city centre. It was then I remembered my father’s observation that the Changed gathered into groups. For a minute or two I stood, thinking. I knew what I was considering could be dangerous, but I needed to know the truth.

  As I crossed the river and made my way into the silent city, signs of the panicked days of the evacuation and the flight south were everywhere. Cars stood abandoned or overturned on the footpaths, refuse scattered around them. On one corner I found a plastic riot shield, and a little further on a baton tangled in a mat of Changed plants; on one of the main roads was a troop carrier, its rusted sides burned out, its interior choked with greenery.

  But there were other reminders as well. At one point, a line of wire fences blocked my way, their sides still covered in rotting plastic. Pushing past them I found myself in a square, the sandstone shape of the post office rising at its end. In its middle there were vast mounds covered in twisting vines. It was not until I approached them and knelt down that I realised they were not earth or refuse but bones, blackened and burned almost beyond recognition.

  I stared in horror. How many people had died here? Several hundred? A thousand? More? Glancing up at the silent windows of the buildings, I pushed back through the fence and hurried on.

  Despite the silence, I knew I was not alone, yet other than the occasional Changed bird or insect, I had seen no one. Slumping down in a doorway I took my bottle out of my backpack and drank. But as I replaced the cap I felt a prickle on the back of my neck and looked up. The Changed child I had seen at the university was standing on the far side of the street.

  For several seconds neither of us moved. I was again powerfully aware I was being observed by something inhuman. I slowly slipped my bottle back into my bag and got to my feet, my body tensed, whether for flight or attack I didn’t know.

  ‘Are you looking for me?’ I said, my voice loud in the silence of the street. But the child didn’t answer. I stepped forward, but as I did she turned and ran, her movements quicker, more fluid than those of a human child.

  ‘Hey! Stop!’ I shouted, then grabbed my bag and took off after her. At the corner she paused and looked back, as if to make sure I was following, then darted away out of sight.

  I sprinted after her. As I reached the corner I had time to see her turn left and disappear again. Determined not to let her get away, I raced on, emerging on a main street beside a pair of burnt-out cars. Skidding to a halt, I stared around wildly, only to catch a glimpse of her up ahead. I took off again, vaulting roots and branches as I hurtled up the street, almost losing my footing as I cannoned around a corner into a narrow lane to find her waiting for me.

  I stopped, trying to recover my balance. She was standing five or ten metres ahead of me, her arms at her side, staring back at me. She seemed unbothered by her exertions, her face watchful, predatory.

  I took a breath. ‘Please,’ I said as steadily as I could. ‘Don’t run. I’m not going to hurt you.’

  She didn’t reply.

  I took another step toward her. ‘The other day, at the university. That was you, right?’

  When she didn’t answer I unbuckled my backpack and took another step closer.

  ‘Why are you following me?’ I asked, but just then I heard a sound behind me and turned.

  I froze, unable to move or speak. There was no question it was him this time. I knew his high-boned face as well as I knew my own. Yet despite that he was different, his skin lit by the phosphor of the Change, his eyes opaline blank and cat-like.

  ‘Matt?’

  He smiled, revealing teeth of preternatural whiteness and, somehow, unusual sharpness.

  ‘Hello, Callie,’ he said, taking a step forward. Although he wore dark jeans and a faded T-shirt I didn’t recognise, his feet were bare.

  I glanced at the girl. Her eyes were fixed on me as well.

  ‘Is it really you?’ I asked weakly.

  He smiled again. ‘Of course. Who else would I be?’

  As he spoke I heard the same flatness in his voice I had heard in Gracie’s in the days before I lost her.

  ‘But how?’ I stammered. ‘You died. I heard it happen.’

  ‘Why would that matter?’

  I heard a noise behind me. The girl had begun to circle around. I took a step back, trying to keep both of them in sight.

  ‘What do you want?’ I asked.

  The girl laughed. ‘We want to understand.’

  I spun around to look at her. All trace of the child had vanished from her face. In its place something devious, desirous was watching me.

  ‘Understand what?’

  ‘You are like them but not. Different.’

  On the other side of me Matt was drawing closer.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We can feel you. But you are not part of us.’

  Matt was right in front of me now. He smiled, and for a moment he looked like his old self. ‘Please, Callie,’ he said, his tone changing, growing gentle, solicitous. ‘There’s no need to be afraid.’

  I felt myself weaken. But at the last instant I saw a flash of the same hunger I had seen in the child and, almost without thinking, lifted my pack and struck him in the chest.

  He hissed, the sound horrible and inhuman, and stumbled backwards. One hand clutched at my T-shirt, but I twisted away and ran.

  I headed for the shelter of the nearest alley in the hope I might lose them, but at the corner I glanced back to see them racing across the leaf litter and branches after me. Frantically I shot down the alley and out into the next street, emerging into what once must have be
en a square or park but was now overgrown with Changed plants. I skidded to a halt. The street was choked with cars, their shapes half hidden behind a mass of vegetation, but on the far side of the park stood the burnt-out shell of an old sandstone building, stairs leading up to an arched entrance. I hesitated. Behind me there was a rattling hiss; realising they were almost on me, I ran toward the stairs and bounded up them.

  Inside it was dim, the only light the Changed plants that glimmered on the walls. Ahead of me a colonnaded space rose up, its sides lined with what once must have been shops or cafes. Aware I would still be exposed if I headed that way, I made for a downward sloping corridor that led off to one side and flattened myself against the wall.

  At first all I could hear was the soft rattle of the Changed plants, a distant drip of water. But then I heard footsteps outside, a low hiss. Careful not to make a sound I edged along the wall into the passage. Although its walls were covered with scorch marks and clumps of Changed plants, it was obvious it had been an arcade of some sort: old shops were visible beneath the plants, signs advertising burgers and holidays, insurance and medicine. At one point I passed a sign pointing to the metro and I realised I was in a train station.

  The further I descended the thicker the Change grew on everything, plants and fungi carpeting the walls and ceiling, thick snake-like roots twining across the floor. The plants down here were different from those above: stranger, fleshier, their bodies pulsing and shifting like organs. As I went lower I began to hear other noises, low rustles and chirrups, like the sounds of bats or rats but deeper, as if they came from larger organisms, their rhythm underscored by the whispering I seemed to hear inside me of the Change itself.

  Finally the arcade reached a junction, passages heading off in different directions. Leaning back against the wall, I held my breath, listening for any sound from above, then slipped across the corridor and around to the right, but as I did so, something moved against my leg. I jerked sideways but my foot caught on a root, pitching me forward onto my knee.

  All at once the whispering stopped, the sound replaced by a silence that was, if anything, more horrible. Unable to move, even to breathe, I remained where I was. The silence stretched on for what seemed like forever. Then the whispering began again, louder than before.

  I scrambled to my feet and darted down the corridor. I could see the plants shifting around me, straining into the dark as if they knew I was there, but I ignored them and charged on. I rounded a corner, and then another, and then all at once I emerged onto a platform. It was darker here, the light more diffuse. Hurrying along the platform I searched for another exit, trying not to think about the black mouth of the tunnel at the far end of the platform, the damp smell of rot in the air. The whispering was growing louder, the sound not words but rapid chirps like bats or insects. Then, all of a sudden, something moved in the darkness in front of me and I stopped dead.

  For a few seconds I saw nothing. But then it moved again, and I realised it was one of the Changed, standing with its back to me in the dark. It didn’t seem to have noticed me so I took a step back, but then I realised there were others, not just a few of them but dozens, hundreds even, lying sprawled on the platform or leaning against the walls.

  I stood motionless, barely breathing, but none of them moved. Realising they had not noticed me I began to back away, retreating the way I had come. But then I heard footsteps, and turned to see a group of the Changed emerge onto the platform behind me. Without thinking I sprang sideways and dropped down onto the tracks.

  I landed with a soft crunch and fell back against the side of the platform. As my eyes adjusted I realised I was not alone: dozens of the Changed were seated in a long line on the other side of the tracks, their backs against the opposite platform, heads bowed, sunk in what looked like sleep. For now none of them were moving, but I knew it was only a matter of time until one of them woke up or noticed me. I stared at the dark mouth of the tunnel. The thought of entering it filled me with dread but I also realised there was no way of going back, so steeling myself I began to creep toward it.

  It was warmer and wetter inside. Roots or branches ran up the walls, light shining softly within them, and there were what seemed to be mounds on the floor, bulky things almost two metres long like seed pods or, I suddenly realised, cocoons. I knelt down beside the nearest one and, extending my hand warily, touched it. The surface was soft, distended with veins like a leaf, but something pulsed within it. I slid my hands along until I reached a sort of seam, as though one leaf folded down over the other. I slipped my hand beneath the fold and began to pull, drawing the leaf back to expose a layer of a jelly-like substance. And then, beneath the jelly, I saw a face.

  I should have stopped, but I couldn’t. So much was mysterious that I needed to see what lay inside. Leaning closer I saw the face was human although the features were smooth and half formed, as if not yet fully developed.

  I started back, horrified. It seemed to be asleep, its eyes closed, its face covered in a transparent film. I thought about the children I had seen, and my father’s reluctance to explain them. Maybe they were one of these . . . these things, grown whole in one of these pods. And if they were, how many of the other Changed were as well?

  My mind reeling, I looked up, taking in the dozens of pods that lay in the darkness around me. How many other places like this were there? And what were these things? Some kind of young, something bred like a baby, with a mother and father? Or simply copies, duplicates grown from the originals like a plant sending out a runner?

  But before I could complete this last thought, something moved beneath my fingers. The creature in the pod had opened its eyes and was looking at me. I gasped and jumped back. Beneath the translucent skin of the sheath it was writhing and twisting its head from side to side, its mouth opening and closing as if it were trying to form words. It seemed to be searching for something but its eyes were blank, its movements random, like some blind thing pulled blinking into the light.

  Fighting the urge to run, I forced myself to approach it again. Beneath the film the markings of the Change were visible on the soft skin, and where the hair grew it was thick and black. I held my hand above it and it turned clumsily toward me, straining upward, yet sightlessly, or almost sightlessly.

  I went to the next pod and, still trembling, pulled apart the folds. Inside was the same film, but the thing within was less formed, its face almost blank, the eyes black beneath transparent lids, the nose little more than a ridge. Through the translucent flesh of its lips and cheeks, the white nubs of its teeth were visible in the pale bone of its jaw. Like the first one it moved and shifted, but less violently, as if it were only dimly aware of my presence.

  The next one was smaller, perhaps only half as long, but as I drew the shell back I gasped, for inside there was a child, almost fully formed. With her black hair and Asian features she looked perfect, like a doll, but when she opened her eyes and looked at me I knew at once that, unlike the others, she could see me. She began to writhe and twist, a rapid, high-pitched chittering coming from her mouth. I stumbled back in shock, but as I did I heard movement behind me. In the dim glow from the walls I could see a dozen or maybe more of the Changed approaching.

  I began to back away again, but then I saw more of them coming from the other direction. As they drew nearer some knelt beside the pods while the rest continued toward me. I backed toward the wall of the tunnel, five of them closing in on me in a loose semi-circle.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t going to hurt them.’

  The one closest to me was a middle-aged woman. She had a wide face and dark hair, and the stained floral dress she wore looked as if it had been expensive once.

  ‘Please,’ I said as I pressed myself against the wall, the five of them encircling me. In the dimness their eyes were dark, inhuman. On one side of me a young man in a ragged suit hissed and reached out toward me, but then there was a c
ry and somebody collided with him, sending him sprawling. It took me a moment to realise it was my father.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ he said, grabbing the woman in the floral dress and shoving her aside. The woman shrieked horribly. Behind them the other Changed crouching by the pods swivelled their heads toward us.

  ‘Run, Callie,’ he said. ‘Run!’ He grabbed my arm and dragged me after him, elbowing the woman in the face and slamming another aside.

  I took off after him, dodging past my would-be captors before they could recover. The other Changed had begun to hiss and chitter, but I leapt over the pods and past them. As we came out of the tunnel my father pushed me ahead of him, urging me upward, onto the platform and through the corridor to the arcade. More of the Changed were appearing, emerging from the old shops and stairwells, but we didn’t slow down. A moment later we were outside in bright sunlight again. My father pointed along the street. ‘That way,’ he said, shoving me around a corner and into a side street.

  As soon as we were safe he grabbed my arms and turned me to face him.

  ‘What did you think you were doing? You can’t go in there!’

  ‘What was that place?’ I said, my breath coming in ragged gasps. ‘And what were those . . . those things?’

  ‘That doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘Not right now. What matters is that we get you away from here.’

  ‘No!’ I said. ‘First you tell me what that was down there. And what’s going on. How is Matt here? How are you here?’

  He hesitated – not for long, but long enough – and suddenly I felt a horrible realisation begin to creep over me. ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘Callie . . .’ he began, reaching out to me, but I wrenched my arm away.

  ‘Your scar. Why don’t you have the scar any more?’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘Please, I can explain . . .’ he began.

  I stepped back, swaying with shock. ‘You, you were in one of those . . . those things. Matt as well. What does that mean? You’re some kind of copy? Is that what you’ve been hiding from me? All those things you told me, about the Change, about it being a hive – are you part of it?’