by Steve Voake
Sam followed her gaze to a point a few hundred metres short of the tower. An area had been cordoned off with coloured tape beyond which Sam could make out what appeared to be the black and yellow wreckage of an enormous wasp. Its thorax was partially caved in and one of the wings was missing.
‘Bit of a shame really,’ Skipper went on. ‘I only had it serviced last week.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Sam. Once again, he had no idea what Skipper was talking about.
‘Sorry, Sam. I keep forgetting you’re new to all this.’ She looked ruefully across to where the smashed insect lay. ‘That was my wasp. I crashed it into the compound in the hope they’d lock me up in solitary. We’ve known for a while that they save the top floor of this prison for special cases while they figure out what to do with them. So we worked out that’s where you’d be too.’ She smiled. ‘Clever, eh?’
Sam was even more confused by this revelation, but before he could ask any more questions the group stopped by the entrance to a large, whitewashed building with a tangle of shiny steel pipes sprouting from its walls. There were no windows, but Sam could see clouds of steam rising steadily from vents somewhere high up in the roof. A metal door opened to reveal long strips of thick, transparent plastic hanging down across the entrance.
The guard at the front of the line spoke into a small grille and a few seconds later a man dressed in a green rubber suit pushed his way out through the plastic. He had two cylindrical tanks on his back connected to a black hose with a silver nozzle on the end of it, which he held in his right hand.
The guard pulled the first prisoner forward and the man in the rubber suit began spraying him all over with a white powder. Apparently used to this routine, the prisoner held open the neck of his boiler suit to allow himself to be sprayed inside as well as out.
‘What are they doing now?’ whispered Sam.
‘Don’t worry,’ Skipper reassured him. ‘It’s just disinfectant. They don’t want anything to happen to their precious babies, you see.’
The line shuffled forward as the first prisoner entered the building and the next stepped forward to be sprayed.
‘Babies?’ said Sam. ‘What babies?’
‘Inside are the larvae tanks,’ explained Skipper quietly. ‘This is where they breed the mosquito larvae so that they can make those things.’ She nodded towards the fields of mosquitoes in front of them. ‘Lovely, aren’t they?’
‘Seriously?’ said Sam. It sounded incredible, but then so did everything else in this strange, frightening place.
‘Cross my heart and hope to fly,’ said Skipper with a grin.
‘I used to collect mosquito larvae,’ said Sam, thinking of the tiny wriggling creatures that he used to scoop out of ponds and water butts with a jam jar. ‘I saw one hatch once. It stepped out onto the surface of the water like a little ice skater.’ He stared at the ground, remembering. ‘It was a lot smaller than the ones they’ve got here though,’ he added.
Skipper smiled. ‘It’s all relative,’ she said.
‘What about those?’ asked Sam, looking back at the horseflies that towered above the airfield.
‘The horsefly larvae are bred out in the marshes, but they bring the adults to the airbase. That way they can organise all their secret missions from here.’
Sam peered through the gloom at the gruesome features of the nearest fly.
‘Are they dead?’ asked Sam. ‘No,’ said Skipper.
‘They’re not dead. At least, not in the way you mean.’
‘Well, they don’t seem to be moving very much,’ Sam replied. ‘In fact,’ he added, ‘they’re not moving at all.’
‘That’s because at the moment they’re missing a vital component,’ explained Skipper. ‘Normally, mosquitoes are driven by their instinct to bite, drink blood and lay eggs. Horseflies are the same. They don’t really think about it – they just do it. But the insects you see here are different. In the factory their natural development is interrupted during the final stage of their life cycle so that instinct can be replaced by something else.’
Sam looked at her quizzically but remained silent, listening intently.
‘Instead of instinct,’ Skipper continued, ‘they use something that can think for itself.’
In the distance Sam could hear the sound of several vehicles approaching at speed. He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said.
At that moment a group of trucks roared onto the field and skidded to a halt in front of where the horseflies were standing. Seven or eight men leapt from the back of each truck and began running towards the flies, strapping on helmets and masks as they ran.
Skipper looked at Sam and nodded in the direction of the new arrivals. ‘I’m talking about pilots,’ she said.
Sam watched as they extended long ladders beside the huge flies and scrambled up to stand on the upper body of the insects. Several flashes of brilliant blue light followed and then the pilots disappeared from view.
Almost immediately there was a low humming sound and Sam saw that the wings of several horseflies were starting to move.
‘Get down!’ shouted Skipper.
The next moment Sam was blown off his feet by the powerful downdraught from the enormous wings and the sound of humming rose to a deafening whine. He covered his face with his hands and heard the dust and debris whipping over his head as the ground shook beneath him. Seconds later it was over, and when Sam looked up again the flies were tiny specks in the distant sky.
All around him, prisoners were picking themselves up and dusting themselves down. Sam noticed again the haunted look in their eyes and realised it was the look of hopelessness and despair. He realised that he had never heard any of them speak a single word.
A hand grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. He found himself staring at the man in the rubber suit, who was pointing the disinfectant nozzle straight at him.
‘I don’t think you need to –’ Sam began, but his words were quickly lost in a cloud of white powder which left him coughing and gasping for breath.
Rubbing his eyes, he staggered towards the doorway and looked back. He just had time to notice that the sky was growing lighter before he was pushed roughly through the plastic sheets and away from the morning sun that was beginning to rise above the far horizon.
Thirteen
In her dreams, they were closing in on her.
Sally could hear the shouts and screams from the burning village and the harsh voices of soldiers calling to one another across the marshes.
Ahead of her lay the trees: tall silhouettes of pines stretching up into the night sky. If she could make it across the last few feet of open ground then she could escape.
Taking a deep breath, she stood up and ran for the tree line.
Somewhere behind her, guns began to fire and the ground erupted, sending chunks of earth flying up against her legs, but she kept on running until at last she stumbled onto the dark floor of the forest. Bullets smacked and whined through the branches above her head but soon she had left them behind and could hear them no more.
She pushed her way deeper into the forest, moving slowly and quietly through the thick, fragrant branches, stopping at every sound in the undergrowth. She waited, as still and silent as the trees that surrounded her, and breathed in the cold scent of pine before moving on.
Presently she came upon a small clearing where the trees grew less densely and the canopy of branches opened to reveal a sky littered with stars.
Ahead of her, crouching in the darkness, she could make out the figure of a young woman. Glancing over her shoulder to see that no one was watching, the woman placed something behind the thick trunk of a large pine tree and partially covered it with bracken so that it would be hidden from view.
Sally heard voices. The soldiers were only minutes away now.
The young woman knelt by the tree and stretched out her hand. ‘Goodbye, my love,’ she whispered. Then she stood up and Sally found hers
elf looking straight into her sad blue eyes.
‘Please,’ said the woman, ‘look after her for me.’
Then, as the sound of heavy boots came crashing through the undergrowth, the woman ran away.
Sally saw dark shapes moving through the trees and the fear caught in her own throat; she ran quickly in the opposite direction, faster and faster, wanting only to get away from the terror and sadness that surrounded her in this place.
At last, exhausted, she felt her legs give way and she fell down onto the dark woodland floor.
The wind blew high in the treetops and the sound of a gunshot rang out across the forest.
Sally screamed, and then her husband’s arms were around her and she was staring at the curtains as the first light came into the bedroom.
It was morning.
As Jack held her close and told her, ‘Shhhh it was only a dream,’ she shut her eyes and listened to the beating of her heart and the sound of rain, soft against the window.
Fourteen
‘So, General.’ Odoursin stared at Hekken across the table, his eyes alert and unblinking. ‘What news?’
Hekken bowed slightly and gripped the two brown envelopes more tightly behind his back.
‘I am afraid, Your Excellency, that none of the children brought in from the marshes has been positively identified.’
Odoursin’s stare hardened. ‘I presume you have not come here to waste my time, General Hekken?’
Hekken thrust his chin forward and made sure that he was standing to attention. This was a dangerous game he was playing. He would have to proceed with caution if he was to achieve the result he intended.
‘I hope not, Your Excellency. You see, my original hunch about the boy from the train was correct. He was lying. I have just received word that the tests have proved positive. His DNA is a perfect match with samples gathered from the boy’s bedroom on Earth.’ He allowed himself a brief dramatic pause before adding: ‘We have found the Dreamwalker’s Child.’
Hekken glanced at Odoursin and saw that his withered lips had twisted themselves into something approaching a smile.
‘This is most pleasing, General Hekken. For this, you shall be rewarded.’
Hekken took a deep breath and took a step forward. It was now or never.
‘Thank you, Your Excellency. There is, however, one more thing that I think you should see.’
He produced one of the envelopes from behind his back and placed it carefully on the desk in front of Odoursin. Odoursin frowned.
‘What is this?’
‘It is classified information that has only just come to light, Your Excellency. We managed to obtain it yesterday from sources inside Vahlzi.’
Odoursin opened the envelope and pulled out a large black and white photograph. It was blurred and had obviously been enlarged several times from a poor-quality original. It showed a young woman standing alone in a kitchen.
‘This photograph was taken over a decade ago by a search-and-rescue team,’ said Hekken.
Odoursin stared at the photograph for a few moments and then looked up at him. ‘What exactly is your point, General?’
‘Please understand, Your Excellency, that I have no wish to reawaken unpleasant memories,’ said Hekken. ‘But the Council felt you should be made aware of this important development. The photograph that you are looking at now was taken many years ago, at the scene of your air crash. You see, this is the woman who killed your brother.’
Odoursin’s eyes flashed angrily, but he remained calm. ‘If this is true,’ he said bitterly, ‘then she is of no concern to us now. She will simply die with all the others.’ He stared past Hekken at the layers of grey cloud that stretched away across the city. ‘If, as you say, the Dreamwalker’s Child is in Aurobon then the prophecy will soon be fulfilled. We will rid the Earth of its human Darkness once and for all.’
Hekken waited until Odoursin had finished and then quietly placed the second envelope on the desk in front of him.
‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘but I think you should look at this too.’
Odoursin opened the envelope and pulled out another photograph. It was in colour and showed an auburn-haired woman dressed in blue dungarees, standing in the middle of a vegetable patch. She was in her early to mid-thirties and she was leaning on a garden spade.
‘We’ve had both photographs analysed by several different labs and they’ve all reached the same conclusion,’ said Hekken. ‘We are confident that they are both photographs of the same woman.’
Odoursin glared at Hekken. ‘I really do not see the relevance of this, General Hekken,’ he said angrily. ‘Why should the fact that this woman is still alive be of the slightest interest to me now?’
‘Because,’ said Hekken, ‘she is the Dreamwalker.’
Half an hour later, General Hekken sank back into the comfortable leather seat of his staff car and smiled. He watched contentedly as the driver pulled smoothly away behind the motorcycle outriders that flanked Odoursin’s armour-plated car and realised that things couldn’t really have turned out better.
It was well known that Odoursin’s hatred of humanity stemmed from his hatred of the woman who had killed his brother. Now, by convincing him that she was the Dreamwalker, Hekken had finally managed to destroy Odoursin’s belief in the Dreamwalker’s Child. The boy was not an ally: he was a dangerous threat to Vermia’s plans and therefore he would have to die.
Hekken smiled again. He had to hand it to those Intelligence boys. He’d only given them twenty-four hours to come up with something, but that black and white photograph was a stroke of genius. For a moment, they’d even got him believing it.
As the convoy took a left onto the road towards the airbase, Hekken realised how much he was looking forward to seeing all of Odoursin’s hate and bitterness unleashed on the Dreamwalker’s Child.
There was only one thing driving Odoursin now and that was revenge. By the time he’d finished with the boy, there would be nothing left of him.
Fifteen
Stepping through the door, Sam felt the warm, steamy air all around him and caught the heavy scent of decay. It reminded him of the smell of the water in a flower vase which has been left to stagnate, of apples and plums rotting at the bottom of the fruit bowl, of the dead cat he had once found in the churchyard under the shadow of a yew tree.
Guards appeared and shouted orders at the prisoners as they gathered inside the door. Sam felt his stomach lurch. More shouting came from outside and then suddenly Skipper came flying through the doorway at high speed. She lost her footing and Sam thought she would fall head first onto the concrete floor, but to his amazement she tucked her head down onto her chest, flicked her feet up behind her and executed a perfect somersault in mid-air. She landed gracefully on the balls of her feet and stretched her arms up in a Y shape, like an Olympic gymnast finishing a gold-medal performance before a panel of judges.
‘Tah-dah!’ she said, smiling. ‘Don’t you just love Monday mornings?’
In spite of everything, Sam found himself smiling too. He watched as she brushed the white powder from her hair, heard her mutter something about ‘terrible dandruff’ and remembered what she had said about the wreckage on the airfield.
‘That was my wasp…’
Surely she couldn’t mean that she had flown it? A child, the pilot of a wasp? It was ridiculous, of course. But as he looked at her standing there, so small and confident with her hands on her hips and those deep-blue eyes taking everything in, he was sure of one thing. He had never met anyone quite like her in his life.
‘You and you!’
It was Stick Boy, as Skipper had called him. He was using his stick to point at them.
‘Get over to tank thirty-seven. You’re on feeding detail.’
He turned his attention to a group of men standing behind them.
‘You four – egg maintenance. And there’d better not be any accidents this time. You know the penalty. Remember what happened to prisoner 453.’
The men shuffled off and Sam silently bet that whoever prisoner 453 was, he didn’t get ‘Employee of the Month’ award.
‘Are you two still here? Get moving!’
The guard raised his stick as if to strike them, and Skipper quickly pushed Sam towards a spiral staircase leading down to the main part of the building below ground level.
At the bottom of the steps, Sam stopped and let out a low whistle. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘Check it out!’
‘Mmm,’ said Skipper, deadpan. ‘Delightful, isn’t it? No expense spared.’
They were on the floor of a large factory. Running around the walls were a series of metal gantries on several levels which was patrolled by fearsome-looking guards. Every now and then one of them would stop and shout orders to a prisoner working below, or alert one of the guards patrolling the floor to a problem that had been spotted from above.
Overhead, huge pyramid-shaped lights glared down upon fifty or more tanks of water, each one the size of a small swimming pool. The sides of the tanks were a couple of metres high and made of a silver-coloured metal. Steam drifted upwards in ghostly wisps as the heat from the factory caused some of the surface water to evaporate, and high above a cloud of water vapour spread itself out over the lights like a grey spectre. Condensation ran down the walls and trickled into drains set into the floor.
‘Come on,’ said Skipper.
They made their way across the floor between several tanks with rafts of glistening, jelly-like spheres floating on the surface of the water. Each sphere was about the size of a football and contained a white, comma-shaped dot which every now and then would twitch and squirm.
‘Those are the eggs,’ Skipper told him. ‘They’ll be ready for transfer to the nursery tanks in a couple of days.’
‘What are the nursery tanks?’
‘That’s where we’re going,’ replied Skipper, steering him around a prisoner who was withdrawing a long probe from one of the tanks. ‘It’s where the young mosquito larvae are fed on nutrient-rich food for a few days. That gets them to the stage where they are ready to pupate. After that –’
