by Steve Voake
‘Oh yes!’ shouted Skipper triumphantly. ‘It’s Dragonfly Squadron! The cavalry have arrived! Way to go, fellas!’ She jumped out of her seat, clapping and cheering, then threw her arms around Sam and kissed him, making him blush a deep crimson.
Over Skipper’s shoulder, Sam suddenly became aware of a grey shape floating up from beneath the leaves in front of them.
‘Hang on,’ said Sam. ‘Look over there. Is that what I think it is?’
Skipper turned round in time to see the unmistakable shape of a mosquito rising from the shadows and flying across the lawn towards the building at the far end.
‘I don’t get it,’ she said. ‘Why haven’t they destroyed it?’
As he flew the mosquito out of the shadows, Hekken felt a cold, clinical pride. This was it: the moment he had waited for all his life. Soon the deed would be done and the future would be theirs. He smiled bitterly as he thought of tonight’s surprise attack. He had to hand it to them, it was a brilliant operation. They had blown up the base, destroyed his mosquito squadron and now they believed they had won. What they didn’t know, of course, was that Odoursin and the Council had long planned for such an eventuality. If this was war, then they had plenty of options up their sleeves. It would be a temporary setback, nothing more. And he, General Hekken, would keep the faith. The essence of the Dreamwalker’s Child had been destroyed and now – the irony of it was beautiful – its earthly body would become the poisoned chalice from which the rest of mankind would be forced to drink.
He pulled back hard on the joystick and the mosquito climbed sharply towards the top of the building. As the ground dropped away below him he was buzzed several times by huge dragonflies which flew in to investigate, but after a brief inspection they disappeared off again.
‘That’s right,’ he whispered as another one flew past. ‘Keep checking. Keep him safe. Make sure nothing happens to your precious child.’
Hekken thought of the soldier he had discovered trying to steal his mosquito and how the man had tried desperately to hide the disc before Hekken had killed him. Now it lay on the seat where it had fallen and Hekken smiled to himself as its coloured lights twinkled in the darkness. Oh, they were clever all right. But not clever enough.
And now they were going to pay for it.
Pulling back gently on the joystick, he flew the mosquito quickly and quietly through the open window of the hospital.
‘Maybe the mosquito is being flown by one of our pilots,’ said Sam, pulling the stick back and trying desperately to ignore the dragonfly which hovered in front of them, grinding its jaws together in a threatening manner.
‘No way,’ said Skipper as, much to Sam’s relief, the dragonfly flew off again. ‘If it was one of ours he would have ditched it by now and the ant squadron would have picked him up.’
She suddenly became more animated. ‘Look, Sam, he’s going into the hospital! Come on – we have to stop him!’
Sam opened the throttle and the whine of the mosquito’s wings filled the cockpit.
‘Hospital?’ said Sam in surprise. ‘Why would he want to go in there?’
Before Skipper could answer, they flew through the window. The room was dark except for a small nightlight next to a bed in the centre of the room. As Sam scanned the shadows for the other mosquito he saw that the bed was occupied by a young boy. There was an oxygen mask over his face and a tube leading up from his arm to a drip suspended from a metal stand. The boy had some bruising around his face but, apart from that, he looked quite peaceful. So why did Sam feel so uneasy?
‘There it is!’ shouted Skipper. ‘On his wrist!’
Sam looked across to where Skipper was pointing and saw that the mosquito had landed, settling on the boy’s arm, with its swollen red abdomen raised diagonally into the air. There was something in the way it held itself, a terrible, graceful arrogance in its bearing, which suggested it somehow knew the awful significance of its evil cargo, and Sam felt a cold anger rise within his heart.
Hekken flicked the switch which activated the mosquito’s feeding system and was rewarded by a quiet hum as the tubes of the proboscis slid out towards the boy’s skin.
He leant forward and pressed another button, turning on the pump which would bring infected blood up to the salivary glands for transferral to the boy’s bloodstream. That done, he flicked a switch and heard the sharp blades of the mouthparts begin to slide against one another, ready to slice the surface of the skin open.
He licked his lips in anticipation. Just a few more seconds and the mosquito’s feeding tubes would probe the rivers of blood that lay hidden beneath the skin. And into those rivers would float the seeds of destruction.
Sam felt as though every nerve in his body was firing at once, bringing together every sensation and emotion – past, present and future – all telescoping down into this one moment of time, screaming at him that this awful thing, this terrible act that was about to take place, must be stopped, whatever the cost.
‘No!’ he shouted, his face twisting with anger and fury ‘No, no no!’ And, slamming the stick forward, he opened the throttle and sent the mosquito plummeting into a steep dive towards the deadly grey insect below.
Hekken paused. What the hell was that whining?
He looked up just in time to see the iridescent green of the mosquito’s eyes as it raced towards him. He threw himself to the floor at the same moment that the attacking insect thrust its proboscis into the cockpit and punctured the seat where he had been sitting. There was a huge crash as part of the screen fell in and Hekken scrabbled frantically across bright green shards of shattered eye, cutting himself in his desperation to escape.
‘Get away from me!’ he screamed as the sharp proboscis plunged into the cockpit again and again, spearing the instrument panel and stabbing viciously through the air around him. ‘What the hell are you doing, you fool? It’s me, Hekken!’
At that moment, through the broken canopy, he caught a glimpse of the figures in the other cockpit and for a second he froze, unable to take his eyes from the faces he saw within.
‘No,’ he cried. ‘No, it can’t be – you’re dead! It isn’t possible!’
Then, as the sharp, scissor-like jaws cut through the top of the head and peeled it back like a tin can, he threw himself in a blind panic through the splintered screen, just as the broken mosquito slipped finally from its perch and tumbled uselessly to the hospital floor below.
Sam slumped in his seat, his head in his hands. For the first time, it all seemed too much and he felt lost, like a ship slipped from its moorings with nothing but grey sea stretching to every horizon. Skipper had taken over the controls and as he watched her guide the mosquito up into the air again he began to shake uncontrollably and his limbs felt like lead.
‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me,’ he said weakly. ‘I just … I don’t think I can do this any more. This place, this feeling I have.’ He struggled to find the words to explain. ‘I just feel so heavy and tired, like I’m being dragged under. Do you feel like that?’
‘No,’ said Skipper softly, ‘but that’s probably because I’m already in the place that I’m supposed to be.’ She pulled back on the stick and the mosquito climbed higher.
‘Shouldn’t we be getting back now?’ Sam asked.
There was a pause and then Skipper said gently, ‘Not this time, Sam.’
‘What do you mean?’ Sam was taken aback by her reply. He noticed how unhappy she seemed, and pushed himself groggily up into a sitting position. ‘What is it, Skipper? What’s the matter?’
Skipper shook her head sadly. ‘That night on the mountain,’ she said, ‘I made a promise.’
Sam was puzzled. ‘What kind of promise?’
‘I promised that I would take you back,’ she said.
Sam shrugged. ‘OK. Good. Let’s go then.’
Skipper shook her head. ‘No, Sam. Not back to Aurobon. Back there.’
Sam stared out of the cockpit window at the boy lying in t
he hospital bed and was suddenly hit by a terrible shock of recognition. He bit his lip and was silent for a while, unable to take his eyes off the figure below. He felt drawn to it, as though invisible forces were pulling him downward and reeling him in.
‘Oh, Skipper,’ he said at last, ‘it’s me, isn’t it?’ He leant his head wearily against the glass. ‘It’s me.’
Skipper nodded. ‘Yes, Sam,’ she said. ‘It’s you. You’re going home.’
Sam looked into the sky-blue eyes that had always burned with such life and hope and was shocked to discover that they were full of tears.
‘I don’t want to go,’ he said simply.
Skipper stared straight ahead through the screen and used the back of her hand to brush away the tears that were forming.
‘Why does it have to be like this?’ she whispered. ‘Why does everything have to be so hard?’ She leant forward to check the fuel gauge and, as she did so, a hand reached out from the darkness behind her and grabbed her by the throat.
‘You think this is hard?’ hissed the voice in her ear. ‘Let me show you what hard really is.’
Skipper gasped for breath and smelt the leather of the black glove that held her by the throat. She knew immediately that it was Hekken, knew that he must have jumped clear of the falling mosquito and used his CRB to get into this one.
Sam reached across and tried to pull Hekken’s hand away, but he was growing weaker by the second and Hekken shook him off easily. ‘Touch me again and I’ll tear her throat out,’ he hissed.
Sam slumped back into his seat and felt the last of his strength slipping away. He could only watch helplessly as Hekken tightened his grip on Skipper’s neck.
‘Thought you had it all worked out, didn’t you?’ Hekken sneered. ‘Thought you’d get your little friend back to where he belonged, be a hero and save the world – was that it?’
With his other hand, Hekken held a glass bottle in front of Skipper’s eyes and waved it around. It was full of red liquid.
‘Guess what?’ he said. ‘Bet you can’t.’
But Skipper didn’t need to guess. She knew what was in it.
‘No? Give up? Well, let me give you a clue. There’s enough in here to kill your little friend and, ooh, let me see now, oh yes, everyone else on the planet. I’ll just put it into the feeding tubes and let nature take its course. And here’s the fun bit. Are you ready?’
Hekken took his hand away from her throat and grabbed her by the hair. ‘You’re the one who’s going to deliver it. Personally.’
Skipper shook her head in an effort to break free, but Hekken’s grip was too strong.
‘Ow, let go. You’re hurting me!’
‘Oh please,’ spat Hekken, ‘I haven’t even started yet. Now turn this thing around and let’s get it over with.’
Skipper looked about frantically for a way out.
At that moment, through the screen, they saw the door of the room open and a man walk in. Hekken immediately became edgy. ‘Quickly, fly under the bed,’ he hissed. ‘Fly somewhere dark until he’s gone.’
Skipper hesitated.
‘Do it now!’ Hekken screamed in her ear and in that moment Skipper knew what she must do. Her heart felt curiously light as she turned the mosquito around and pulled the throttle back as far as it would go. Hekken would not win and that was enough. It would have to be enough.
‘What are you doing?’ shrieked Hekken as the mosquito continued its climb towards the man’s face. Skipper could see into the man’s eyes now. They were sad eyes, full of sorrow, but there was kindness in there too. That was good.
The man looked at them and lifted his hands.
Hekken screamed.
Then there was only blackness and a forgetting.
Sam’s father walked across to the sink and washed the remains of the mosquito from his hands. That was the trouble with having the windows open on these hot summer nights, the bugs always found a way in. But it was nothing any more; just little fragments of inert material washed away with the rest of the day’s dirt and dust.
He dried his hands on a faded green towel and as he did so a small sound behind him made him stop and listen. It seemed to be coming from the direction of the bed: a tiny sound, like a whimper or a cry.
Turning quickly around, he saw to his shock and amazement that his son was beginning to move. He watched in silent disbelief as Sam’s arms rose softly from the bed and then, unable to contain himself any longer, he ran through the double doors and out into the long, echoing corridor.
‘Sally,’ he shouted, ‘come quickly!’
Back in the silence of the room Sam’s arms continued to rise, slowly stretching upwards and outwards as though reaching in vain for something precious that had been lost.
Thirty-four
As the weeks went by, Sam grew stronger. At first he was able to take only a few faltering steps, but every day that passed saw him walk a little further until, finally, he was allowed to go home.
Summer was almost over; already the green leaves on the trees were beginning to fade and the nights were drawing in. A cool wind blew in from the east, carrying drifts of dandelion seeds across the fields and hedgerows to the places where they would lie still and silent through the winter, waiting for the first whispers of spring to awaken them.
Sally Palmer lay in bed, listening to the wind in the eaves.
‘Do you think he’s all right?’ she asked as Jack turned off the light. ‘He seems so sad sometimes.’
‘It’s bound to take time, love,’ said Jack. ‘He’s been through such a lot these past few weeks.’
‘I know,’ said Sally. ‘I just want him to be happy, that’s all. Maybe when he starts school again he’ll make some new friends.’
‘Course he will,’ said Jack. He reached across and patted the mound of her belly under the duvet. ‘And when this little one arrives, he’ll be able to play the big brother.’
‘Yeah,’ said Sally. ‘We’ll make sure he’s involved, eh?’
‘Definitely.’ They were silent for a while, and then Jack said: ‘You know, I thought he was lost for ever. I thought we’d never get him back.’
Sally stroked his cheek in the darkness. ‘I know, love. But he found his way home, didn’t he? He found his way home.’
That night she had the dream again.
She was running barefoot through the forest. Behind her, shouts and screams rose from the burning houses and she heard the harsh voices of soldiers calling to one another across the marshes. Heavy boots crashed through the undergrowth and she saw dark shapes moving through the trees. The fear caught in her throat and she ran faster, faster, hearing the sound of her own breathless sobs as the footsteps came closer.
Reaching the edge of the forest, she jumped across a ditch and stumbled exhausted into a field. In the distance, flames danced in the darkness above the village.
She heard the sound of voices, floating on the night air towards her. Raising her head, she saw the soldiers walk calmly across the field towards a young woman who had fallen to her knees.
Sally took a deep breath and felt the wet grass beneath her, and the cool breeze, and the lifeblood dancing around her veins.
A gunshot.
Voices fading to nothing.
When at last she opened her eyes again, she saw that the young woman was standing in front of her. A gentle breeze ruffled her blonde hair and Sally saw that she was beautiful. The woman reached out her hand and touched Sally’s cheek.
‘I knew that you would come back,’ she said softly. Sally took the woman’s hand in hers and felt how cold it was.
‘I promise that I will take care of her,’ said Sally. ‘I will love her as you have done.’
The woman squeezed Sally’s hand for a moment before letting it go.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
Then she turned and walked away into the darkness.
From all around there came the beating of wings and Sally felt herself swept high above the fields and
trees, up into the cool sweet air beyond. She saw the little mound of earth all covered in daisies and her heart ached, but then the world fell away beneath her and as she flew up to the stars she saw how small everything really was, and all the pain and fear in her heart subsided.
She was in a clearing in a forest. Above her the night sky was littered with stars.
Walking slowly towards the base of a tall tree, she knelt softly on a bed of pine needles and moved the branches aside. She smiled and reached into the basket.
Awake in the quiet darkness, Sally squeezed her husband’s hand. ‘Jack,’ she whispered, ‘I think the baby’s coming.’
It was early afternoon when Sam walked with his father through the double doors and into the ward where his mother lay propped up on her pillows, holding a small white bundle in her arms.
‘Hello, love,’ she said. ‘Come and say hello to your baby sister.’
Sam smiled. ‘Can I hold her?’
‘Of course, love. She belongs to you too, you know.’
Sam took the tiny bundle and cradled her in his arms, feeling an inexplicable wave of happiness wash over him.
He pushed back the little crocheted blanket and looked down at his new baby sister. She was so warm and tiny and alive, he thought.
She was beautiful.
For a moment she lay quite still, lost in milk-white dreams. Then, as Sam moved slightly, she stirred and the weak afternoon sunlight warmed her face. With a yawn, she opened her eyes and looked up at him.
She had quite the bluest eyes he had ever seen.
Acknowledgements
My grateful thanks to:
Norman and Betty Voake, Jon Voake and Kim ‘Horsefly’ Green for suggestions and help with early drafts; everyone at Faber and Faber, but especially Julia Wells for superb editing; Tim and Daisy Voake for laughs and inspiration; Phil Burner, Neil Sinclair, Rob Hawkins, Dave Hayward, Chris McFarlane, Dave Cahill, Marc Lebeau and all at Kilmersdon for friendship and enthusiasm; Sam North for film fun; Clare Conville for mugs of bubbly; Patrick Walsh for fridge expertise and Tory Voake for everything.
