by Stephen Laws
He reckoned they’d be out for several hours at least.
So he had lots of time to do what he had to do.
With the solemn grace of a ritual, he laid Jay and Juliet on the sofa in the communal room. Gordon and the kid on chairs facing each other. The dykes on their own bed in their own room. He heaved Alex up the stairs and laid him on the bed in their room. Returning, he carried Candy up and placed her next to him. He placed their hands over their chests, as if they’d been laid out for a funeral.
He stood over them, remembering.
Then, taking off his own clothes, he raped Candy.
That was okay. It was allowed.
He stared into Alex’s face throughout, until he’d finished.
Afterwards, he left them there, driving the dump truck out into the park. He stopped next to the charred remains of the bonfire, remembering the nights they’d spent there while the Vorla flowed all around them. How could he have known that the thing he’d feared so much was going to be the thing that would release him from all his fears, show him a New Life? He had to do something else; something that hadn’t been requested of him. Just to show that he really was worthy.
Unlocking the gate, Damon had taken one of the petrol bombs, lit the rag fuse and pitched it hard into one of the crates. The fire had taken hold quickly. He backed off, laughing in glee as the fire engulfed the dump truck. Minutes later, when it exploded in a great fireball, he whooped with delight. Liquid fire dropped to the grass all around.
This was good.
Turning then, he’d made his way to the cliff-edge, and to the newcomers.
Sitting on the boulder, he watched in awe as the tower grew.
He was elated, knowing that he’d passed the Test.
He couldn’t wait until the newcomers reached this side.
He trembled with excitement, wondering what they’d do to the others back at the Rendezvous. Whatever it was, he knew they’d let him join in.
And then he really would have got his own back on Jay fucking O’Connor.
Chapter Ten
Gordon Dreams
Something was wrong.
Gordon had found a really safe place; a comfortable, warm sleeping place. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. In this place there was no New Edmonville, no Vorla, no dead people and no pain. He would stay here for ever, with those things remaining on the outside where they couldn’t touch him.
But something was trying to drag him out of the safe place; trying to bring him back to the nightmares.
“No…” Gordon tried to raise an arm in protest. It felt as heavy as iron.
But there they were again. Small hands on his arm, on his shirt front, tugging at his trouser legs.
“Leave…alone…just…sleep…”
Something hissed angrily in his face, so close that he could feel the breath on his cheek. He didn’t care. He wanted only to sleep.
Something shook him again, so that his head flopped back and forth in the chair. It didn’t matter. None of this had anything to do with him. There was an angry chittering sound in the room; like agitated birds. Was that it? Were there somehow birds in the room? Gordon tried to slap out again, but couldn’t raise his arm.
Something had that arm; even now he was being pulled from his chair.
“Stop it…”
Gordon was pulled to the floor. He rolled on the carpet, arms flopping. Now both his arms were being held by small, sharp fingers that pinched his flesh. There was pain there, but too remote and distant to have anything to do with him. He tried to raise his head, and saw a curious thing.
He could see Juliet and Jay, sprawled on the sofa. And he was floating away from them on his back, across the carpet. His heels caught in the rug; he began to drag it along with him. Again came the angry chittering sound. Now he was being pulled to the side, as if the carpet were impeding his progress and whoever was dragging him out of the communal room were trying to free his feet. Something off to his right and out of sight gave off a jangling sound. His guitar.
“What…what’s…?”
Gordon bumped against another chair, then was pulled around it. Hanging over the arm of the chair, he could see the head and shoulders of the boy, Robin. Like Jay and Juliet, he was asleep; his pink face scrunched up against the arm of the chair, his curled hair flat against the sweat of his forehead. His head moved. Was he waking up? No, his eyes were half open, the way that kids in deep sleep sometimes looked. Was he going to fall off the chair? No, because now, as Robin’s head slumped out of sight, Gordon could hear the chittering sound again; like birds discussing what they were going to do next.
The same somethings that were pulling Gordon out of the communal room were also pulling Robin out of his chair. There was a thump as the boy fell to the carpet out of sight. Now Gordon was pulled around the chair and into the corridor that led to the front door. He watched the walls on either side slide by.
This was okay. It had nothing to do with him. It was a dream in a dream.
Gordon’s guitar gave another jangle as it was dragged along somewhere behind him. He heard another bump as Robin was pulled along after him.
Was the safe sleeping place that Gordon had found the same safe place where Robin had been for all that time? If it was, he didn’t mind staying here for a long time.
“Okay,” said Gordon. “That’s okay…”
The chittering came again as he was dragged out through the front door and into the garden. Now all he could see was the great grey sky overhead.
“Good…”
And then there was only the grey, and the safety of this place without bad dreams.
Chapter Eleven
The Crossing
Damon watched the tower rise, watched the ragged figures crawling and swinging all over the structure as detritus from the ruins was methodically carried to the base. He sat on his boulder and watched as ironwork, railings and wood spars were bound and tied, then heaved up by ropes to the top of the structure and secured there.
He was hypnotised by the organisation of it all.
All the effort was being put into building the tower, and no one was fucking about. He scrutinised the kids’ faces as they worked, in the hope that he might recognise someone. But the stuff they’d painted on their cheeks and foreheads made it impossible. He reckoned that the oldest among them were about his own age. Why no adults, apart from the Big Man? No doubt there would be time for answers.
Suddenly he realised that the sky was darkening.
He stood up, agitated.
He moved to the cliff-edge and looked down. It was usually possible to see down several hundred feet before everything disappeared into darkness. But now the shadows were almost at his feet. This was the time when the Vorla usually made its appearance, and in the past he’d always been indoors with the others, protected by the light.
Surely he didn’t need any protection now? He’d done what Wayne said, what the Vorla wanted. He’d stopped them from trying to destroy the tower, had laid them all out there back at the Rendezvous just ready to be taken. And he hadn’t touched the women—apart from Candy, that was. And that was okay, he knew. So there was no need for him to be agitated, was there? Even if the Vorla came up from the Chasm, he’d be okay. It wouldn’t touch him. Would it?
Damon began to pace nervously along the cliff-edge.
Beyond and above, the tribe continued its feverish work on the tower. They appeared to have forgotten that he existed over here, and the darkening of the sky made no difference to them. Damon kept glancing from them to the sky to the Chasm. They’d worked right through the night, hadn’t they? They’d had no problems with the Vorla. How could they, when they had been sent by the Vorla?
Damon was on their side now.
Wasn’t he?
“I’m…” Damon tried to shout over, but his voice dried. He paced again.
“Look, I’m…I’m just going back! Back to the Rendezvous again!”
The tribe continued
its work, climbing and hammering and strapping.
Damon looked down into the darkness of the Chasm, and began slowly to back away. “I’m just going back, okay? I’ll…I’ll wait for you over there. You know where it is. The guy in the microlight, he knows where it is, doesn’t he?”
There was no response from the other side. Now the shadows were lying all around Damon.
“So…I’ll just go…and I’ll see you all there. Okay?”
Damon didn’t avert his gaze from them as he continued to back away.
“Okay,” he said finally. He turned and began hurrying for the rubble mound.
“Stay where you are!” commanded a booming voice from the other side.
Damon froze.
Slowly, he turned back to look.
The Big Man had reappeared on the far cliff-edge, and was staring intently in his direction. All work on the tower had stopped at the sound of his voice.
“Come HERE!”
Damon sheepishly made his way back to the cliff-edge. He wanted to say something, anything. But nothing would come out. A great terror of the cliff-edge on his side and of the Chasm below had overcome him. Night had fallen impossibly fast. Twenty feet from the edge, he stopped.
“Closer,” said the Big Man.
“I did everything I was asked to do,” moaned Damon. “And more. I burned the dump truck.”
“Closer.”
Damon reached the edge, and could not look down.
“Look at me.”
Damon tried to regain his cool. Somehow, he just couldn’t find it when faced by the cold, unblinking stare of the man on the other side.
“If I told you to jump off the edge,” said the Big Man, “then you’d do it. Wouldn’t you?”
“I did everything…”
“You would jump off. Wouldn’t you?”
“Wayne told me what the Vorla wanted. I did it all…”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Oh Christ…”
“What if I told you that it was the last part of the Test? What if I told you that even if you had done everything you’ve been told, there was still that last thing to do? All you’d have to do would be to step over. The Vorla wouldn’t let you fall. It would rise up to meet you, would cushion your fall. Bring you right back up again. Safe and sound, all in one piece.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ…”
“Step to the edge.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ…”
Damon collapsed to his knees on the cliff-edge, hung his head and began to sob.
The Big Man burst into laughter, throwing back his head.
At the sound of his voice, the tribe all around him burst into mocking laughter too.
Wretched and terrified, Damon listened to it go on for ever.
And then the Big Man turned away, waved his arms in the air, and work recommenced on the tower, even more feverishly than before.
One hour later, sitting on the same boulder, Damon turned his attention from the cliff-edge to the tower. He had remained there with anxiety gnawing at his guts as darkness had fallen, waiting for the Vorla to come flowing up over the rim towards him in a glinting black flood. But there had been no sign of it, and the tribe had continued with its work uninterrupted.
But then Damon had heard excited laughter and shouting from the figures working on the tower. Something was going on. Those figures hanging on the frame were beginning to climb down. Others at the base were hurrying out of sight into the rubble. It was now so dark that he could see no details of the figures, only silhouettes. When the silhouette of the Big Man appeared over them, and strode out to the tower’s base, Damon knew that their work was completed.
The tower stood at least two hundred feet tall.
The Big Man walked around it, looking up, as if surveying their handiwork. He moved to the edge, looked down, then across to where Damon was sitting. Damon stood up quickly, to attention. The Big Man stood looking at him. Terror overwhelmed Damon again lest he should be told to walk back to the cliff-edge. It was impossible to see any expression on the Big Man’s face in the darkness.
Then the Big Man moved to one of the cables by the cliff-edge. He grabbed it, and looked up at the tower once more. Walking to the other nearside cable, he repeated the action. The same with the two cables at the rear.
If he said something to the tribe, Damon didn’t hear it. But he must have.
Because the next moment the whooping and yelling began again all around him as he strode through a milling throng and vanished from sight into the darkened ruins behind.
Damon backed off involuntarily as the figures swarmed around the base of the tower and the cables. He struggled to see what the frenzied activity on the nearside of the tower could be, but there was too much darkness, too many squirming silhouettes.
Something clanged at the base of the tower. Figures were suddenly dodging aside, running and scampering in the darkness as Damon heard something slither and slice invisibly through the air. It sounded like the cable on a suspension bridge snapping. He ducked instinctively, and saw one of the nearside cables that had been holding the tower aloft whiplash madly around the tower itself, severed from its moorings.
Now Damon knew that there were going to be no last-minute checks. No tests. No final measurements. The work was done.
The patchwork tower was coming over.
Damon stumbled further back into the darkness as there was another resounding clang followed by the whiplash slithering sound. The tribe were yelling and shouting and cheering as they ran from the tower frontage. Damon saw more squirming activity, felt his heart beating in his chest and didn’t know now whether he was terrified or elated as the rear cables were also severed from their moorings in the ground. Something else seemed to have been built behind the tower, out of sight from where Damon had been sitting or standing. The silhouettes were crowding behind the tower, and now Damon heard their yells of effort as whatever makeshift pulley-and-lever system they’d built there was put into use at last.
That groaning of human voices gradually became the groaning of stretching wood and stressed metalwork.
Damon couldn’t take his eyes off the tower.
Something inside it screeched; a hollow, nerve-jangling sound.
Wood splintered and cracked.
The groaning became the sounds of a giant oak tree being felled in a forest.
Screeching, roaring; the rushing of branches crashing towards earth.
The tower began to topple forward, across the abyss.
Damon was well out of danger, but he turned and ran anyway as the great rending and crashing enveloped him. It sounded like the grumbling roar of an approaching avalanche.
He whirled back to look.
Just as the tower smashed down on to the cliff-edge at his side.
Damon felt the impact in the ground beneath his feet. He saw wooden struts shatter and explode; heard and saw the rending of metal scaffolding as a great chunk was gouged out of the cliff-side. It shuddered and crumbled where he had once been standing. But the tower was at least twenty feet higher than the fissure was wide. It embedded itself in the earth, tilted and rolled…and stuck fast.
The tower had become a bridge.
On the other side, the tribe yelled and whooped, danced and ran.
The Big Man did not appear.
Nor did the tribe seem to need an order to begin the crossing. Damon could only stand and watch in awe as the first of the youngsters began to scramble out across the patchwork tower bridge, using the ragged frames and criss-cross scaffolding for handholds as they moved on all fours. There was no time taken to test the safety of their craftsmanship. In an instant, they were scrambling over the abyss.
Damon hesitated.
Should he run to the edge and cheer them on? Show them that he was one of them? Had the Big Man told them all that he was on their side? That last thing, about stepping off the cliff-edge, that was surely just to show Damon who was the boss. Wasn’t it?
A silhou
ette that looked the size and shape of a twelve-year-old boy missed his handhold. He struggled to grab something else. But the wooden frame that he fastened on was not secure. It snapped, and he fell sideways from the tower, screaming. Damon froze in horror as the twisting figure vanished from sight.
But the others came on, unheeding and uncaring of their companion’s fate. It was as if it had never happened.
Damon walked forward then, hesitantly. He was trying to find something to say as the first of the figures began to near his side. At last, he hurried forward and held on to the tower’s top frame; just to show them that he was working to keep the tower in place and help them come over. Anxiously, he scanned the other cliff-side, but there was still no sign of the Big Man.
The first figure jumped down on to the edge. A girl? Sixteen, seventeen years old? Then another teenager. A boy? Now they were clambering and yelling wordless sounds as they clambered down all around Damon. He clung tight to the frame, and began yelling the same sounds as more and more of the tribe made it over to his side.
The whooping and yelling were all around him.
The crossing seemed to take for ever.
How many of them were there?
Damon turned back once, aware of the gathering crowd that seethed and jostled and bumped behind him in their triumphant conquerors’ dance.
One of the silhouettes stepped towards him, holding out a hand. Was that figure a teenage boy or a girl? Was he or she smiling? It was impossible to tell, in the darkness. Grinning, trying to keep anxiety at bay, Damon let go of the frame and took the welcoming hand.
The figure jerked him roughly forward.
Sparks exploded behind his eyes when the figure head-butted him. Damon fell, pole-axed.
Whooping, the wild figures fell on him.
