by Steve Voake
Suddenly there was a jolt and the train began to slow down.
Sam quickly leapt to his feet and peered out into the darkness. With a squeal of brakes the train emerged from a tunnel into a vast underground station. Waiting on the platform was a group of men dressed in black uniforms. They looked official, like police or soldiers.
Turning quickly, Sam saw that the creatures were getting closer and he realised his only hope was to try to attract the group’s attention. The train shuddered to a halt as he hammered desperately against the glass with his fists.
‘Help me!’ he shouted. ‘Somebody help me! Please!’
One of the men looked up and pointed in his direction. Instantly the whole group came sprinting across the platform towards his carriage. Sam glanced back up the corridor and saw the snarling mass bearing down upon him.
‘Hurry up!’ he screamed. ‘They’re going to kill me!’
The man who had first noticed him pulled something from his pocket and pointed it at the side of the train. With a soft hiss, a panel slid open in front of Sam and he leapt onto the platform just as the creatures clattered to a halt where he had been standing. He fell to the ground with a cry and waited for the attack. But it never came.
Raising his head from the dusty platform, he saw that the revolting dog-creatures were huddled together at the entrance to the carriage, staring and snarling at him.
Sam shivered and the pain throbbed in his shoulder wound. He was cold, frightened and exhausted and he was caked from head to toe in mud. When would this nightmare be over?
‘Stand up, you piece of filth,’ said the man. ‘Let me look at you.’ He was tall, and powerfully built, and spoke with a cold, authoritative manner. On his head he wore a shiny black peaked cap and Sam could see dark, close-cropped hair beneath the rim.
Sam got slowly to his feet and looked up at him.
The man reached out and grabbed his face, pulling Sam towards him in an iron grip. Sam’s cheeks were crushed inwards and he smelt the sweat and leather of the black glove.
‘I don’t think it’s him,’ he said at last. ‘But treat him as a high-priority suspect until we can be sure.’
One of the other soldiers twisted Sam’s arms up behind his back and pushed him roughly across the platform towards a flight of stairs.
‘Get off me!’ Sam shouted as he was dragged up the steps. ‘There’s been a terrible mistake!’
He tried to struggle free, but the hands that held him were too strong. His cries echoed around the station, rising up through the cold, still air to the high vaulted roof above and gradually becoming fainter as he was dragged away.
The man watched them go and then turned to the creatures waiting in the doorway of the train.
‘Go and find out what’s happening on the marshes. Report back to me as soon as you know anything. Oh, and one more thing.’ He raised a warning finger. ‘There will be no second chances. Understand?’
He signalled towards the front of the train and the creatures whimpered and nodded, moving back into the shadows of the carriage. The doors hissed shut and the train began to move slowly out of the station into the darkness of the tunnel.
The man adjusted his cap, turned on his heel and strode purposefully towards the stairs.
The station was empty now.
A cold wind began to blow from the mouth of the tunnel, ruffling the torn edges of a poster which had been pasted to a board on the wall. At the top of the poster, the word ‘WANTED’ was printed in capital letters.
Beneath it was a photograph of Sam.
Five
Several hundred miles away, in an airbase not far from the great city of Vahlzi, Commander Firebrand stood beneath the main control tower and watched an aircraft climb high into the violet blue of an early morning sky. He watched until it became a speck above the distant horizon and then faded to nothing.
He took a cigar from his top pocket and lit it, the end glowing deep red as the first rays of sunlight began to show above the mountains.
Firebrand’s brilliant leadership of the air squadrons during the war had successfully driven Odoursin’s armies out of Vahlzi. The President had rewarded Firebrand by giving him overall command of Vahlzian forces and things had remained relatively peaceful in the years since then. But Firebrand knew that although the war between Vahlzi and Vermia had officially ended a decade ago, the uneasy truce between the two states couldn’t last for very much longer.
All the evidence pointed to the fact that Vermia was developing some terrible new weapon to use against the people of Earth. The President of Vahlzi had informed Firebrand at a recent briefing that as soon as there was enough proof, he would give his permission to launch a pre-emptive strike against Vermia. But until that time, Firebrand would have to make sure that any missions against Vermian forces were carried out in secret.
There was, however, another more pressing issue.
It seemed almost certain now that Vermian forces had somehow managed to kidnap the boy and bring him back into this world. If the intelligence was correct and Hekken’s mob really had got hold of him, then Firebrand would have to move fast. And to his mind there was no one better than Skipper for such a dangerous assignment.
There had been a lot of talk about her age and lack of experience, but she had already shown that she had the skill of pilots twice her age. More than that: she had a gift, something that no amount of training could provide.
She was a natural flier.
He thought back to the spring afternoon three years ago when she had first arrived at the airbase.
He had been up in the control tower co-ordinating a sortie of twelve aircraft over the marshes and had just cleared the last group to land when he happened to look out through the window.
Standing outside the fence that surrounded the compound he saw a small, blonde-haired girl. She was staring up at him through the gaps in the wire, not waving or moving.
Just standing there, all alone, with the breeze in her hair and a hundred miles of wasteland behind her.
Firebrand had watched her for a minute or two and then made a call to security.
‘We have a visitor,’ he said to the duty officer, hearing him tap hesitantly on the open door before entering the room. He gestured towards the window. ‘Down there.’
The duty officer looked down at the tiny figure and nodded. ‘Yes, sir, I know. She arrived late last night. Said she wanted to see you.’
Firebrand raised an eyebrow. ‘To see me?’
‘Yes, sir. She said that she wanted to speak to whoever was in charge.’
‘Hmm. And what did you tell her?’
‘I told her that this was a top-security base and that she wasn’t going to be seeing anyone, sir.’
‘I see. And what did she say to that?’
The duty officer began to look distinctly uncomfortable. ‘Well, sir, she said… she said in that case she would just wait right there until such time as you saw fit to see her, sir.’
‘Did she indeed?’
Firebrand turned back to the window once more and the duty officer allowed himself a surreptitious glance at his superior’s face. As usual, the square jaw was set firm and the serious brown eyes gave little clue as to the thoughts that lay behind them, indicating only the strength and determination that had brought their owner to such a position of power. Anyone less familiar with the Commander’s fearsome reputation might have been forgiven at that moment for thinking that they saw the faintest hint of a smile cross his lips.
But of course they would have been mistaken, and the duty officer knew better than to think such a thing.
‘Do we know where she’s from?’
‘Hard to say, sir. Looking at her clothes, you’d have to guess she’s from one of the tree tribes in the eastern forests, but the colouring’s all wrong.’
Firebrand looked down at the small girl, who remained standing quite still, staring up through the fence at the control tower. She wore the thick, roughly woven natura
l fibres of green and brown that were common to the forest people. But the pale skin and blonde hair marked her out as someone from the lowlands, an area which had been laid to waste by Odoursin’s retreating army a decade before. Even at this distance, he was struck by the blueness of her eyes.
‘You’d better send her up,’ he said.
‘But, sir,’ the duty officer protested, ‘she could be a security threat.’
Firebrand looked disdainfully back at him. ‘Sergeant,’ he said, ‘I hope you aren’t suggesting that I am unable to defend myself against a small girl.’
She’d stood there with her hands on her hips, staring him straight in the eye and acting for all the world as though she owned the place.
‘You need me,’ she told him in a small, clear voice. ‘You don’t know it yet, but I can help you. Just train me, give me a chance. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it. I’m going to be the best pilot you ever had.’
Ridiculous though it was, there was something about her that touched him in ways that he couldn’t define. It was like catching sight of something through the rain, a glimpse of sunlight on a faraway mountain top.
When he had asked why she had come, why she wanted this so badly, her answer had been equally surprising. ‘Because,’ she replied simply, ‘I’ve got nothing to lose.’
And now, only a few years later, that same strength of spirit had left him no choice but to reluctantly agree to this dangerous mission. As she’d pointed out, they both knew she was the best, and if anyone could pull this thing off then it was her. He couldn’t argue with that.
But what Firebrand hadn’t realised, what he hadn’t seen right up until the very second that he watched her aircraft disappear over the horizon, was that you never really know how much something means to you until you have to let it go.
Six
The cell was dark, dingy and damp. The only light filtered through a small window set into the wall about six feet up. Three iron bars blocked the opening and through the gaps between them Sam could see that the morning sky was dull and overcast.
He flicked a small stone at the rusty steel door and was rewarded with a metallic clang as the stone struck and bounced off.
‘He shoots, he scores,’ Sam said quietly into the darkness. Picking up a stale crust that had been thrown into his cell, he pulled off a patch of fluffy green mould and then hungrily swallowed the rest of the bread before draining the last drops of water from a chipped, enamel mug.
The wall felt cold and damp against his back and he stood up, stretched and began to pace around the small, square cell. Trying to sleep on the freezing stone floor had left him tired and sore all over. Blood from his shoulder wound had seeped into the grey prison uniform they had given him and the muscle around the bite was purple and swollen. It felt raw and tender, as though someone had stuck a knife into him. Sam rubbed his wrists and felt the dull ache that remained after having them wrenched up behind his back.
This is crazy, Sam thought. One minute I’m riding my bike and the next I’m arrested and locked in a prison cell. He was exhausted, lost and confused. If this was a nightmare, then it was one heck of a long one.
He put his face against the brickwork and felt its rough surface, cold against his cheek. Scratching at the wall with his toenail, he watched tiny pieces of masonry crumble onto the wet floor. It was then that he saw the tiny ball of crumpled paper lying next to a small hole in the base of the wall. Frowning, he picked it up and opened it out. Written on the paper in tiny writing were the words:
Do not tell them who you are.
‘What is going on?’ he said in a baffled voice, his breath forming small clouds of mist in the cool, damp air. ‘What is happening to me?’
He screwed up the piece of paper and flicked it away into the corner. Walking over to the door, he felt the wet, slimy floor beneath his feet where green algae had started to grow on the surface of the damp stone. He put his hands on his hips and peered up at the small window. It was set high into the opposite wall, which made it impossible to see anything except a small patch of sky. Perhaps if he could get up there he would be able to work out where he was. Or perhaps – even better – he would wake up to find himself in his own room again.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘You can do this.’
He pushed himself off from the door and ran the short distance to the far wall, leaping at the last moment to plant one foot halfway up and gain the extra height he needed. As he reached the highest point of his leap, he made a desperate grab for one of the bars and wrapped his fingers around it. The pain in his shoulder made him cry out in agony, but as he felt the cold iron against his palm he quickly grabbed onto another bar with his free hand and pulled himself up so that his head was level with the window.
‘Yes!’ he shouted triumphantly. He hooked his arms around the bars and looked out, half hoping to find himself waking up and staring at the ceiling of his own bedroom.
But instead the sight that met his eyes made him gasp in astonishment.
He was several hundred feet above the ground, seemingly on the top floor of a huge, bleak building that curved in a semicircle around a vast stone courtyard. Far below, tiny figures scurried back and forth, all dressed in the same black uniforms he had seen at the station.
The grey, imposing walls rose high into the cool morning air and Sam could see hundreds of small windows cut into the thick, ancient stone. He appeared to be in some sort of prison. Again his mind spun with confusion. What was he doing here? And where was here exactly? The man at the station had spoken English and yet… everything felt different somehow. As for those creatures on the train… Sam shuddered. He needed to find some answers. But how?
Down to his left was a steel gate set into a security fence. Several empty trucks were parked in a siding near a group of wooden huts and outside the huts were long trestle tables piled high with items of clothing and personal possessions. He recognised it as the place where he had been forced to stand the previous night with other new arrivals as they were processed and stripped of their belongings. He could hear dogs barking somewhere behind the huts and what sounded like a woman crying. There was a loud scream, followed by a brief silence. Then there were more shouts and the dogs began barking again. Sam’s stomach tensed with fear and he gripped the bars more tightly as he looked around.
Two security fences had been erected around the prison complex, each three or four metres high and strung with horizontal and vertical barbed wire. The fences were a couple of metres apart and the area in between them was covered with thick coils of razor wire. A few metres back from the inner fence – inside the prison compound – was a double strand of barbed wire with warning notices fixed at intervals along it. Tall wooden watch towers manned by security guards stood in the corners of the main compound and there were regular patrols around the perimeter.
On the other side of the fence Sam could see a muddy track leading into a dense wood of evergreens. Beyond these trees he could make out a complex of buildings surrounded by what appeared to be rows and rows of aircraft, but they were too far away to be seen clearly.
To the left of the wood was some kind of industrial settlement. Steel chimneys pumping out thick black smoke jostled with huge rectangular blocks of concrete. These were interspersed with more complex structures of intricately latticed metal with spaghetti-like pipework running around the outside.
Away in the distance to the right he could make out the tall, closely grouped structures and buildings of the city that he had first observed from the marshes. Rising above the city was a construction quite unlike any of the others. It was a colossal cylindrical tower, stretching so high into the clouds that the top of it was concealed from view. It was metallic green in colour and so highly polished that – although the day was overcast – it glittered and shone like a precious emerald.
The ache in Sam’s shoulder had become too painful now. He let go of the bars and dropped to the floor Looking around at the cold, dark walls of his cell, the ho
pelessness of his situation began to sink in.
This wasn’t a nightmare that he was about to wake up from.
This was reality.
He wanted his parents so badly – longed to see them, to touch them and know that the life he had once had was real. But he could no longer be sure. His parents were gone, and so was everything else that he had known and loved. All that remained were these four walls and an unknown future.
It was more than he could bear. Fear and panic rose within him and, rushing across to the steel door, he began to kick at it furiously, his shouts of frustration echoing through the dusty silence of the prison corridors.
‘Let me out!’ he cried. ‘I’m innocent! I haven’t done anything!’
A door slammed. Heavy boots stamped over stone steps, the footsteps growing louder until they stopped suddenly outside his door.
Sam listened nervously, wondering what would happen next.
A bunch of keys jangled as the lock was turned and then, with a loud crash, the door was kicked open by a black leather boot.
Sam leapt backwards to avoid being struck by it and looked up to see a tall, blond-haired man in a black leather coat standing in the doorway. Behind him stood two other men, burly and unsmiling in their dark uniforms.
‘Is this him? The one from the train?’
‘Yes, General Hekken,’ answered one of the men. ‘He was brought in last night.’
The man referred to as Hekken removed his cap and began to tap it impatiently against the leather palm of his glove. He wore an exasperated expression which suggested that he really didn’t have time for all this. But there was something else there too: a ruthlessness, a barely concealed threat of violence which suddenly made Sam feel very afraid.
‘So,’ he said, ‘the boy from the marshes.’ He continued to beat the cap gently against his hand. ‘Tell me. What were you doing on my train?’
Sam watched as Hekken looked around in the manner of a prospective buyer interested in purchasing a new apartment. He felt ice creep into the pit of his stomach. ‘I was lost,’ he said. ‘I needed to get out of the storm.’
