The Storm (19 page)

Brick followed Daisy, using his wings to propel himself out of the forest. He studied his hands as he went, expecting to see blood there, as if he had crushed Rilke’s head with his own fingers. The anger was gone, submerged inside a sea of calm, but it had left a bitter taste in his mouth, like vomit. He hadn’t meant to hurt her like that. He’d almost killed her.

He burst from the canopy, the sky opening up around him, vertigo gripping his stomach in an iron fist. He’d never been fond of heights, and now here he was hovering a hundred metres up with nothing to stop him falling except a pair of flaming wings. The thought was so absurd, so terrifying, that he laughed – an insane, screeching giggle that lasted less than a second before he looked to the horizon and saw the city disappear.

It came apart like a sandcastle, the tower blocks vanishing first, then the hills – solid mounds of rock – dissolving into puddles. The ground had become an ocean, a vast whirlpool that churned in a slow circle. The actual ocean was so white that it could have been made of snow, groaning as it was sucked into the vortex. Brick saw a bridge – a huge, great red thing – snap apart as if it was made of matchsticks, pulled into the flow. The edge of the whirlpool was spreading out from the city with unbearable speed, everything crumbling into dust and smoke. The earth seemed to cry out, a scream of pure anguish that made Brick’s ears hurt.

It’s him,
said Daisy from his side, her voice full of grief.
Oh, Brick, he’s killed them all.

How many people? A hundred thousand? A million? They wouldn’t have even known about it, sucked into his gullet so fast they’d have been dead before they could draw breath.
It can’t be real, can’t be real,
and yet it was, he could smell the stench of atomised concrete and spilt blood and smoke, so much smoke; could feel the force of the wind that rushed in towards the abyss, trying to pull him along with it.

We have to fight him,
Daisy went on. Howie had risen to her side, his angel form so similar to hers that they could have been twins.
Where is he? I don’t understand.

It was different from London. There was no storm, for one. Back there he had hung in the air, sucking everything into that pit of a mouth, the skies full of darkness. Here there was no sign of him, just the drowning city.

He’s underground,
he said, suddenly comprehending.

The epicentre of the destruction was now nothing but a gaping hole, a mile wide and growing fast. Land and sea alike poured into the pit, throwing rainbows against the cloudless sky, the effect dizzying. Something else was happening, too, vast, snaking cracks radiating out from the destruction, pulling the earth to pieces. One was making its way up towards the wooded hill beneath them, carving a trench through the streets, through houses. Everything was falling apart.

Wait,
Brick said.
Where are we? Didn’t that man say it had reappeared in San Francisco?

I think so,
Daisy replied.
Why?

Because of the fault,
Howie answered before Brick had a chance.
The San Andreas line.

The what?
Daisy asked, looking at Brick with her burning eyes.

It’s . . .
he started, pausing as an entire hill, pockmarked with houses and tower blocks, sank into the disintegrating ground, the noise like nothing Brick had heard in his life.
It’s a crack in the earth, a weak spot.

It was as though the man in the storm was ripping out the foundations, the skeleton that held the earth together. Break enough bones and the whole continent would collapse.

So what do we do?
Daisy asked.
How do we get down there?

Brick looked at her, at Howie, knowing the answer but refusing to say it – because saying it would make it real. Not that there was any point hiding things any more, Daisy could see inside his head as easily as if it were her own.

We go down there,
she said.

Brick shook his head. The only thing he wanted to do was turn around and get the hell away from here. That’s what he did best, he hid from things, pretended they weren’t there. That’s why he had loved Fursville so much, because nobody could get to him there. He was safe. The thought of the place, of the times he had gone out there alone and escaped the arguments, the stress, the endless crap that had been his life, made the same bubbling stew of anger rise up in his stomach. Screw them, why the hell should he be the one to fight? It wasn’t his battle. It wasn’t his bravery either, he knew. It was the angel, messing with his mind, making him think things that he had no business thinking. No, better to bail out now, while he still could, find another Hemmingway, survive.

Until the man in the storm finds you,
Daisy said.
Because he will. You think he’s going to stop here? He’s going to ruin everything, Brick, the whole world. He’s going to swallow it up. Don’t you get it? There will be nothing left.

He turned away from the roaring void to a horizon bathed in gold.
Just go, just go, just go, they can do this by themselves.

But we can’t.

He could fly now, he could go anywhere he wanted with just a thought, could leave them here to sort it. It wasn’t like they were his friends, he’d never see them again after this, even if they did live through it. He’d never have to look them in the eye.

Brick, don’t.

So much better than being swallowed up by the man in the storm.

Please,
Daisy said, reaching out to him, the flames of her hand curling around his own, interlocking like fingers, trying to root him in place. He pulled away, flapping his wings once, carving a path through the sky, flexing them again, the madness and chaos shrinking, Daisy’s pleas growing fainter, the rumble of the ruined city fading behind the rush of air as he soared, so good to be moving, moving, always moving.

The ground was shaking so much he couldn’t stand up. Every time he tried the soil beneath him would pitch like a ship in a storm, sending him sprawling. He held on to Adam with everything he had, his hand clenched around the little boy’s T-shirt. It was too dark to see anything, the trees collapsing all around him, cutting out the sun.

‘Daisy!’ he cried, the air full of the stench of pine. There was no way she could hear him over the rumble of the earth, the crack and creak of the trees, but she didn’t need her ears, she would
sense
him.

The ground lurched downwards, so fast that for a moment Cal was suspended in mid-air. He landed on his back, winded. Adam rolled next to him, the kid not making the slightest sound, his eyes liquid with panic. Cal grabbed him, hugged him hard. A shaft of light cut through the branches, revealing a cliff face that hadn’t been there before. Tree roots poked from the mud like earthworms, an avalanche of soil drumming against the ground. He waited for another quake, waited for the world to open up beneath him and finish the job, but there was nothing but quiet.

Relative quiet, that was. He could still hear the distant groan, the noise of some monstrous leviathan in the deep. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was but he could hazard a guess: the man in the storm, hanging over some city, swallowing it whole. He pushed himself up on his elbows, waiting for the agony of a broken bone or sprained limb, finding nothing but bruises.

‘You okay?’ he asked Adam. The boy nodded, putting his hand to his cheek. There were two dozen pine needles lodged in his skin, making him look like a hedgehog. Cal gently plucked them free. ‘It’ll burn for a while,’ he said, feeling the heat of needles in his own body. ‘But they won’t kill you. Come on, we need to find the others.’

He stood, the sloping ground making him feel drunk as he hoisted Adam to his feet. He’d lost all sense of direction, other than up and down. He glanced through the branches, seeing the glare of the sun – or maybe an angel, he couldn’t be sure.

‘Daisy!’ he yelled again, his voice making Adam jump. ‘Where are you?’

‘Cal?’

He recognised Marcus, the sound coming from above him. He wondered if the other boy had transformed, was hovering in the air, then he spotted his skinny face peeking over the top of the cliff. He was grinning.

‘Man, good to see you, I thought you might be . . . y’know. How’d you get down there?’

‘How’d you get up there?’ Cal replied.

‘Earthquake,’ said Marcus. ‘But not an
earthquake
earthquake, this has to be
him
.’

‘You see Daisy anywhere?’ Cal asked. ‘Brick or the other guy?’

Marcus glanced behind him and shrugged. ‘Nah, they must have gone off to fight. Nice of them to help us, though.’

Cal nodded absently, trying to see a way up the cliff face. The earth was still trembling, the tremors vibrating up through his shoes and making the bones in his legs ache. He’d always trusted solid ground, but now he couldn’t help but think about how thin the crust of the planet was, how fragile, and the bottomless ocean of molten rock that it floated on. This would be so much easier if one of them had turned, they could just spread their wings and fly the hell out of here. But there was no sign that his angel was anywhere near to hatching. Typical, he got the lazy one. He snorted a humourless laugh.

‘You see a path – anything?’ he asked. Marcus shook his head.

‘Like this as far as I can see; on the other side, too. I can’t budge, gonna have to wait for a lift. You might be able to get out that way, though,’ he pointed to his right. ‘Could be a break in the trees there.’

‘I’ll go take a look,’ Cal said, setting off. Progress was slow because the ground was broken up by smaller cracks, his feet sinking into the soil. Every time he took a step he gritted his teeth, waiting for a pothole to open, for darkness to take him. Twice Adam shook free, because Cal was holding the boy’s hand too hard. ‘Sorry, mate, maybe you’d be better off staying here.’ Adam shook his head, gripping Cal’s fingers just as hard. They pressed on, pushing through clumps of broken branches, sticky with sap. There was no sign of a break in the trees, as Marcus had said, but after what had to be five minutes Cal heard something. He stopped and cocked his head, listening to what could have been the grunts of a wild animal. For the first time he wondered where exactly they were, and what kinds of things might live in the woods.

He squeezed between two trees, scanning the gloom ahead, eventually seeing a shape there. Two huge, white eyes sat bodiless in the shadows, ghost eyes. Then the shape shuffled round and he realised it was Rilke. Her face was so drenched in blood that it was almost invisible. She was muttering something in between those guttural breaths, although Cal was too far away to make out words. He pulled Adam through the trees, dropping on to a knee by the girl’s side.

‘Rilke?’ he said. He didn’t ask her if she was okay. This close he could see the hole in her forehead, the one Brick had made. It was the size of a fifty pence coin, and blood still dripped from it. Through the tattered strips of skin he could make out bone, and something else a darker shade of pink that bulged from the hole as if trying to escape. How the hell could she still be alive?

Rilke was still mumbling, occasional flashes of white teeth brilliantly bright against the red. Cal leaned in closer, his pulse drumming in his ears.

‘. . . my fault, wasn’t my fault he put it in the cellar, painted it gold, painted it bright and it wasn’t there, can’t help it, can I, Schill? Not if it’s there, not if it’s gold . . .’

‘Rilke,’ he said again. ‘Can you hear me?’

She spoke a few more words, words that made absolutely no sense, then frowned. Other than the wound her forehead was almost completely free of blood, making her look as though she was wearing a veil.

‘Schill, is that you?’ Her voice was an old woman’s, broken into a million pieces. ‘Little brother? I can’t see you.’

‘It’s Cal,’ he said. He waved a hand in front of her face but she showed no sign of seeing it. What had Brick done to her? He swore under his breath, looking at Adam, then at the forest. She needed a hospital, but even if she lived long enough to get to one the doctors would tear her to pieces as soon as she walked in the door.

‘I broke the doll, broke it, Schill?’ Rilke said, blood dripping from the corner of her lips. ‘I broke it, the doll, I’m sorry I blamed you. Broken doll, broken . . . I’m broken, you broke me, don’t tell Mother, I love you.’

She began to shake, as though she was having a fit. What was he supposed to do? Adam lay down beside Rilke, taking her head in his hand, smoothing clumps of matted hair away from her eyes. He held her tight, pressing his cheek against hers, until her tremors stopped. Cal felt his eyes burn, nothing to do with the pine needles now. He had to smudge an arm over his face to scrub away the tears. He reached out and took Rilke’s hand, her skin so cold, interlacing his fingers with hers.

‘It’s gonna be okay,’ he said. ‘We’ll stay with you, until . . .’

He didn’t finish, unsure what they were waiting for. Rilke began to shake again, her whole body spasming, almost lifting itself off the ground. In the distance the world was ending, he could hear the terrible grinding roar of it, the sound of earth and sea and sky being swallowed whole. In contrast the clearing was almost peaceful. There was even a bird singing, somewhere, the same sound he had listened to that very morning –
how could it be the same day? It felt like a million years ago
– defiant right up until the end. Maybe he and Adam and Rilke and that little bird could just wait here, in their nest of pine, in the dark and quiet, until it ended. They’d probably never even know it was coming, just a sudden roar then game over.

The clearing brightened, just for a split second, then fell dark again. Cal scrabbled back as a wave of fire washed over Rilke, quietly guttering out. It happened again, the flames squeezed from her pores, trying to get hold, burning themselves out in a heartbeat. Rilke was oblivious to it, still muttering nonsense words, her eyes big and white and blind.

‘Adam, come away,’ Cal said, holding out his hand to the boy. He shook his head, holding on to Rilke even more tightly. The girl erupted again, flames curling up from her torso, flickering over her neck and face then dying away. This time Rilke seemed to feel them, her lips freezing mid-word. She placed a hand to her chest, snatching in a weak, wet breath. Tongues of fire licked between her fingers, stronger now.

‘Broken?’ she said. ‘Broken doll, Schill, can you hear me? Can you fix me? Fix me before she finds out, she’ll never know, she’ll never know. I’ll keep you safe, little brother, I’m here for you.’

The flames were holding, burning up from her chest, spreading out to her limbs, the chill coming off them unbelievable. That same thrumming purr rose up in the air, growing louder then dimming, an engine trying to ignite. It faded, then came back with a vengeance, the flames burning up so violently that this time Adam shuffled away. It didn’t look like what had happened to Brick, to Daisy. This was different, the fire more urgent, raging from head to toe, as if it was attacking her. It roared like a thousand gas hobs burning at full strength, fighting to stay alive, to catch. Cal could almost see it there, the angel, the shape of it writhing inside the flames. He understood that it didn’t want to die – no,
die
was the wrong word. It didn’t want to go back to wherever it had come from. It screamed, a weak noise like a baby bird, a chick that has hatched too soon.

‘Come on,’ Cal said, holding out his hand to Adam. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. Rilke was blasting out cold air as the angel sucked in the heat of the forest, that noise rising in pitch, as though she was going to blow. Even if she didn’t, even if she transformed, her mind was broken into pieces. She wouldn’t be able to control her power, she’d end up being as dangerous as the man in the storm. For a fleeting second Cal thought about grabbing a branch, staving her head in before she could turn. But her angel seemed to read his mind, thrashing harder, the noise of its heart like a physical force pushing Cal back.

The inferno blazed, jetting from her eyes and from the hole in her head, as if there was a furnace inside her skull. Cal covered his eyes with his arm. When he looked again Rilke was airborne, a single, half-formed wing propelling her upwards at an angle. It vanished and she plummeted, then fired up again, both wings curling out, pulling her into the sky where she faded into the glare of the sun.

Cal turned away, blinking the spots of light from his vision. He took Adam’s hand, leading him through the trees, hoping that there was enough of Rilke left to remember what to do, enough of her left to know how to fight, but not so much that she remembered what Brick had done to her.