S.O.S (7 page)

Zack watched her. He felt something close to sympathy, but he had never felt it before and couldn't exactly place the feeling.

“That's tough,” he said.

Molly snorted. “That's one way of putting it. Others include, mad, loony, freakish, INSANE!” She shook her head. “I can hear and see dead people – how weird is that?”

Zack smiled. “I dunno. I am dead, apparently, but I'm still here. How weird is that?”

Grudgingly, Molly smiled back. She hugged her knees tighter. “I can't help thinking that they're here for a reason, you know, like they're trapped or something?” She looked at him. “I know, that's even weirder, isn't it?”

He bit his tongue and thought hard, trying to decide how much he should tell her. He settled on the truth. “I can see them too,” he said tentatively.

Molly gave him a look that suggested that she didn't quite believe him. Undeterred he pressed on, even more carefully now, suddenly aware that he was sharing more than he'd ever done before.

“I think I can see people who are dead,” he said quietly, “although I'm not quite sure. There are lots of dark shapes which blur and fade into the crowds. They give off this sort of light, like a weird glow. They scare me...”

“So, you're dead and you can see them and I'm alive and I can see them. What does that mean?”

“That we're made for each other?”

Molly laughed, but she saw his vulnerability again, in the same way she'd seen it at the door of the café earlier in the day. He was tough and sometimes mean and aggressive, but there was something underneath all that, something that she recognized in herself; loneliness and fear.

“I know I should have asked earlier, but who are you?” she said, “What's your name?”

“Zack,” Zack said, seemingly unwilling to expand any further.

“Zack what?” Molly pressed him. “What's your surname?”

Zack shrugged. “I dunno. I was adopted. It was Healey... but they gave me back, I was too much hard work, so I dunno what it is. Healey I suppose, but I don't use it.” He shrugged again and Molly could hear the edge to his voice – something hard and painful.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Don't be. I'm not.” He stood up and paced the floor again.

“Where are you from?”

“Newcastle.”

“You haven't got an accent, how long were you...?”

“What's this?” he interrupted, “Twenty questions?” He turned on her. “I got a train. I was homeless. In trouble. That's all you need to know. All right?” His voice was angry and sharp.

Molly bristled. “All right. I was only asking!” She was cross too. Here he was, in her room, at 3 am, snapping at her again. “It's polite you know, to ask people about themselves!”

“Yeah?” he challenged.

“Yeah!” she shot back.

“Well I wouldn't know about that. They didn't do polite in the home I was brought up in. They did hitting and kicking and telling you you're crap, but not polite!”

Molly stared at him. He stared back at her.

“Sorry,” she said.

He dug his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, well...” He looked away and then glanced back at her, only briefly. “Sorry too...” he mumbled. Molly sensed that the apology cost him a lot.

“Look, is it ok if I turn off the light? I should try and get some sleep,” she asked.

Zack shrugged. He wasn't used to agreeing to things, to doing what other people wanted. He didn't want Molly to go to sleep – he wanted the light on, he didn't want to be alone in the dark, but he said nothing, just scowled, with his chin down.

Molly picked up on this. She said, “How about I turn off the main lamp and leave the night light on. I think I've got one somewhere in my drawer – my mum used to have it on for me when I was sick.”

She climbed out of bed and rummaged in her chest of drawers for a minute or so. “Here!” she announced. “Here it is. I can plug this in and then it won't be dark, but I can maybe still get to sleep.”

She turned and held it up for Zack. He nodded; chin still down on his chest.

Molly plugged in the light and climbed back into bed. She turned off her bedside lamp and lay down in the darkness. Only a small glow from the night light kept the room from its ominous shadows.

“You OK?” she said quietly into the darkness.

“Yup.”

She rolled over to go to sleep. Zack was odd; lonely and annoying and she had an awful feeling that she wasn't going to get rid of him in the near future, but Molly felt an odd connection to the boy sitting on the chair opposite her bed, in the dark. Life was weird, she thought, and frightening, with Dev's theory and dark voices and shadows in the night. But the boy was there for a reason. She didn't know what it was, but she knew it was important and she knew that he hadn't come back from the dead for nothing.

*

A remote area of North Korea

The assassin moved stealthily. That was the first thing that the Colonel noted about him as he walked through the door of his office. His movements were unhurried and he gave the impression of great calm, it was almost as if he moved unnoticed. The Colonel blinked and the assassin was there, in front of him without a sound.

The Colonel offered his hand as the young man drew nearer and the assassin took it, his grip of iron suggesting an immense strength. The assassin sat down and waited for the Colonel to speak, sitting perfectly still, watching the older, and more senior man, with no deference.

The Colonel found that he couldn't meet those grey eyes for long; they were utterly expressionless, something that unnerved him greatly. Clearing his throat, he began to brief the young man on the problem that they had discovered.

“You've seen the labs?”

The young man nodded.

“This operation is one of the most important in the history of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea. We are on the brink of an exciting discovery; something that will change the world forever...”

He paused. There was no reaction; he went on.

“Our team of scientists have discovered how to manipulate dark matter and in combining it with anti-matter we are able to create an explosive force the like of which the world has never seen.”

The Colonel stopped again. He eyed the young man in front of him, trying to gauge his reaction to this astonishing and terrifying news. The assassin merely blinked; his face an unreadable mask. The Colonel, feeling robbed of his satisfaction, continued.

“This explosive force is bigger than the hydrogen bomb. The Dark Matter Bomb is our crowning moment.” Once more he stopped. He was suddenly overcome with patriotic emotion. He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders.

“The DPR of Korea finally has a weapon which will ensure our supremacy over the rest of the world, something that we will be able to achieve comprehensively. From this position of pre-eminence, The DPR of Korea will be able to lead the world into a golden age of freedom and peace.” The reality of North Korean supremacy would of course be much different, though the Colonel decided not to let the young man in on that secret. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

“However, we have encountered a problem. Forty eight hours ago, the situation changed.” The Colonel noticed that the assassin stood a little more alert at this point. He seemed to be listening with every nerve in his body.

“Two of our operatives reported seeing a strange light at precisely 11:05 while out on patrol in our no entry zone - this is a zone where we are able to accumulate dark matter via a complex anti particle storage system, the APSS– but what concerns us the most is that at this exact moment our reserves of dark matter vanished, it was annihilated. The metre reading on our machines dropped to zero and we have been unable to recover it since.”

The assassin moved across to the plate glass wall of the office that looked out onto the bunkered corridors of the operation. “And now?” he asked. His voice was cold.

“Of course we have the technology to recover more dark matter,” the Colonel went on, “but it is imperative that we find the source of the annihilation. We don't know how this happened and we don't know why. It may be a one off incident, a – how shall I say – a freak of nature, but if there is chance that this occurrence could happen again then we must find the reason for the disappearance. We are not in a position at this stage to leave anything to chance.”

The assassin turned from the glass and stared at the Colonel. Suddenly the Colonel was unnerved by the grey, impenetrable stare.

“You want me to trace the light. Is that right?”

The Colonel allowed himself a small congratulatory smile. This young man was the best; now he understood why.

“Precisely.” he said. “You have been chosen because you have a very particular set of skills. Your task is to investigate the source of this light. We will aid you in any way that you wish and you will act as you see fit. I want you to find the source of the light and eliminate it.” The Colonel glanced at his watch. “And of course anyone connected with the light.”

The last sentences were spoken with a coldness that both men recognised. The assassin nodded.

“You will report to one of our agents, they will take you through the necessary briefing on the science and technology. I have someone ready to take you down to our training centre.” The Colonel glanced behind the young man. One of their best agents was waiting just outside the room.

“We will meet again before you leave, to discuss the final details.”

The young man glanced over his shoulder at the waiting agent and then he turned back to the Colonel. The meeting was over. Another handshake was exchanged and he walked silently out of the room, his feet making no noise on the floor as he passed. The Colonel sat back in his chair and for the first time ever in his life felt a slight nervousness at the thing he had just unleashed on the world.

*

London

Molly's mum, Sandra Sharp, took a deep breath and dialled the number she had looked up earlier in the phone book. She waited nervously for someone to pick up. Molly was out and she held the book of drawings in her hand. The ringing tone went on for ages and her heart began to hammer in her chest. If Molly knew she was doing this it might ruin whatever relationship they had left. Come, come on, she thought, pick up. She didn't know when Molly would be back.

“Good afternoon, Child Adolescent Mental Health Services. How may I help?”

Sandra breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, good afternoon.” she said, her voice slightly shaky. “My name is Sandra Sharp and I'd like to speak to someone about my daughter.”

“Okay.” There was a tapping on the end of the phone as the operator inputted some information into her system. “Can I take a name, address and date of birth please?”

“What, mine or Molly's?”

“Your daughter's please?”

“Oh, yes right.” Sandra listed Molly's details.

“And what seems to be the problem?” the operator asked.

Sandra looked down at the drawings in front of her to steel herself for what she was about to say.

“A while ago my daughter began acting strangely,” she began, her voice choked and tight with emotion. “I first suspected drugs, but then I was tidying her room and found her diary open on her bed. It was full of drawings of her being tormented by shapes, each drawing slightly different but each with the same subject.” She paused then, allowing the person on the other side of the phone to take in the information. “Then I heard her talking to herself the other night, and I taped the conversation. It seemed as if she really believed she was talking to someone.” She waited with bated breath for the reply. There was a frantic tapping on the other end.

“So we've got hearing voices and disturbing drawings, is that right?”

Sandra was surprised to have it so neatly described. She wasn't sure if it was reassuring or distressing.

“And your daughter is sixteen, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And is she a danger to herself or to others at this moment?”

“No, at least I don't think so.”

“Right then; we have you in our database now and someone will contact you in the next forty eight hours. I have put down the number that you are calling from as the one to contact you on and I haven't got you down as an emergency. Are you happy with that status?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Good. Thank you for your call Mrs Sharp. Was there anything else?”

Sandra wanted to talk; she wanted someone to tell her that Molly was all right and that she wasn't going mad and that she had been right to go through her room and look at her drawings, but she wasn't going to get any of that.

“No, nothing else,” she said. “Thank you.”

She replaced the receiver and sat down on the chair in the hall.

The call had been made and Molly was now in the system. It was a start. Sandra felt more secure, safer now that was done. But Sandra had no idea that the database, stored somewhere up in the ether, with all the personal details of Molly and her voices, was now accessible to anyone with the right tools and the right skills to hack into it. Anyone...

The ferry cut through the iron grey waters of the Thames, forging a path in the miserable winter river. The rain beat down on the boat and the passengers sheltered inside, looking out at London through grime streaked windows. Tourists busied themselves with their maps and travel guides, disappointed to see the passing buildings only behind the curtain of rain.

Molly was on her way to meet Dev from work at the Greenwich Observatory. She wasn't interested in the views; she sat, head down, reading an old copy of the Metro that she'd found discarded on the seat next to her. Lazily she flicked through the paper, reading a story about benefit fraud or skimming a match report from a recent football game. Neither particularly interested her. Bored, she thumbed through to the centre pages, her green eyes scanning over them, seeking a something to capture her attention.