Warblegrub and the Forbidden Planet (8 page)

Mouldering concrete monstrosities, the buildings were a miserable sight but the canyons between them were thick with climbing plants and alive with swarming insects. A multitude of birds fed there and, as the company clambered over a mound of rubble, 395 stopped to record the fly-catchers that darted out from the foliage, snatching insects from the air and delighting him with their aerobatics.

They pressed on into the city, scrambling over buildings that had failed the test of time and hacking through the undergrowth. Through broken doors and shattered windows they glimpsed smiling faces on faded family portraits. On shelves and mantelpieces, china animals, decorated lamps, clocks and candlesticks were all wound round with ivy and brambles, and they marvelled at the lost world their parents had mourned. But 395 was drawn into another realm, where insects and their larvae fed on ripening berries and were preyed on by spiders, all food for a carnival of birds; the battle of life was everywhere.

One particularly sad and plaintive birdsong was often repeated and he soon glimpsed the singer, hopping from one pile of rubble to another. Its red breast identified it as a robin.

“Erithacus rubecula,”
said Warblegrub, supplying its scientific name. “They always liked humans. At least they liked the worms you dug up and the scraps you left for them.”

The robin flew off and Warblegrub followed it with his eyes until it vanished into the undergrowth then he ordered the company to stop. To the Colonel’s fury, they obeyed.

“Have you considered your position, Colonel?”

“Our answer hasn’t changed!”

“Then this is far enough. If you go any further you’ll be in very grave danger!”

“Then I thank you for your concern,” replied the Colonel coldly, “but this is our planet and we’ll go where we please!”

Warblegrub looked from face to face and saw that, despite their shock and fear, they were all still resolved. “Very well,” he conceded and, with a glance at the weapons in their hands, turned his back on them and vanished through a doorway.

With Warblegrub gone, fear gripped them. Expecting an attack at any moment, they hurried on deeper into the city. The buildings rose higher and higher and soon they were gazing up at massive cliffs of concrete, glass and iron rising from a sea of rusting vehicles. They shivered in the cold, damp shadows, longing for the warmth of the sun on their faces.

As he craned his neck, 395 was reminded of his favourite childhood toy – a set of wooden shapes he had used to construct his own imaginary cities. His father had made them, blistering his hands on the hard wood in order to teach his son geometry. 395 had made mazes with them for the rats he caught (the largest species that had chosen to accompany the human race into exile). He was half expecting to see some cosmic child reach down and rearrange the city, adding a whole new dimension of fear and confusion; instead, a flock of big, black birds flew out of one skyscraper and vanished into another.

Many more such creatures were perched on the crumbling walls and rusting girders all around, and they began to croak and cackle at the passing soldiers, who felt they were being mocked. When they encountered one of the dark birds sitting on a pile of rubble, watching them with beady eyes, the whole company felt reluctant to pass.

“Corvus corone corone,”
said 395, admiring its glossy black feathers and thick, dagger-like beak.

Private 749 frowned. “
Corvus
what?”

“A carrion crow.”

“What’s
carrion?
”

“Dead meat!”

749 scowled at the bird. “Evil-looking creature!”

Despite his scientific training, 395 felt there was something unnerving about the crow; it seemed to be studying them, judging them even. When it croaked, 749 drew his sidearm and shot it.

“Dead meat!” he pronounced.

Furious, the Colonel rounded on the errant private as the shot echoed through the streets, reaching Warblegrub’s ears a fraction of a second later and Fardelbear’s a fraction after that.

The Sergeant led the company on into an alley but 395 lingered, watching the feathers floating on the breeze. “And all averred I’d killed the bird!” he muttered.

Overhearing him, the Colonel looked back. “What’s that?”

“And all averred I’d killed the bird that caused the breeze to blow,”
395 replied, catching up. “It’s an old, old poem, about a sailor who brings bad luck to his ship when he shoots a bird.”

“Poems!”
The Colonel frowned. “I thought you were the
Science
Officer!”

Blocked by dense thickets and piles of rubbish, the alley proved impassable at ground level, but the apartment blocks on either side were old-fashioned, brick buildings clad in fire escapes and balconies. Machetes made easy work of climbing plants and creepers and the company soon reached a broad, sunlit plaza. Surrounded on three sides by office blocks, shops and cafes, and by the river on the fourth and furthest side, it was now a forest of spindly trees that had forced their way up between the flagstones.

They found the river broad and fast flowing, and all that remained of a footbridge and an adjacent road bridge were the piers midstream.

“We need to cross soon,” warned 395. “The long road to the port starts on the other side and the river is only going to get wider from here.”

The Colonel removed his sunglasses and surveyed their surroundings. Storey upon shadowy storey loomed over them – hiding-places from which death might swoop down – but the buildings were set well-back from the riverbank.

“Nowhere to cross here,” he decided. “Where exactly are we, S.O.?”

“See that row of tall houses in a crescent.” 395 pointed them out, first on the tablet then on the far bank, a little way upstream, dwarfed by the skyscrapers massed behind them. “It’s part of a circus....”

“A circus?”

“Not that kind of circus – a big roundabout. It’s the beginning of the road that leads directly to the harbour.”

“How much further?”

“Three-point-four kilometres to the end of the road, another kilometre to….”

“Movement!” interrupted Private 2116, his rifle pointing at the third floor of a building across the plaza.

Following the Sergeant’s hand signals, the company quickly fanned out. Something flitted past a window on the third floor. The soldiers readied their weapons and 2116 took aim. At the next movement his shot rang out and, croaking and cackling, a pair of crows flew out of the opening.

“Corvus corone,”
chuckled the Colonel.

Late in the afternoon the shadows were growing fast. Taking point, Sarah’s keen eyes searched the dark buildings lining the riverbank. The others followed her signals as they advanced nervously, and they stopped at every movement. As they passed the entrance to a shopping centre, she froze and all eyes followed hers, scouring the shadowy recesses of the boutiques, cafes and restaurants. Smiling faces grinned idiotically on weathered advertisements and tables still stood outside the cafés, the rusted remains of parasols sticking up like dead flowers, but there was no sign of danger.

When the Colonel signalled the all clear, they lowered their weapons and wiped the sweat from their brows. The Sergeant called the roll and the soldiers answered promptly until she came to Private 207. She called his name again but still there was no answer. Eyes strained, weapons primed, they searched the riverbank until 207 appeared from a doorway, zipping up his jumpsuit as he jogged after them.

“Private 207,” barked the Colonel. “What the hell….”

As the final word echoed round the deserted streets, Fardelbear left his hiding place in a doorway behind them, snatched up a soldier and darted back into the shadows before anyone could react. The others span round in time to see the unlucky victim hauled through a department store window, scattering faceless mannequins still dressed in a selection of tattered dresses.

Hearts pounding, eyes darting in every direction, they bunched together in terror. A crow cackled at them from the rubble and they shrank from it. The Sergeant drove it off with a stone then hurried the company on, into another canyon where the river plunged over a weir. The churning waters boomed, the air was cold and thick with spray and the soldiers gasped for breath as the Colonel studied the canyon walls.

“Is there enough rope?” he asked the Sergeant.

After a quick check of the company’s packs, 236 nodded confidently then led the company on into the nearest building, a huge complex of shops and offices. The Colonel lingered a moment, his expression doubtful.

Crossing a spacious entrance hall, they passed a cafe, several boutiques and thickets of artificial plants in huge marble pots. Apart from thick curtains of cobwebs, the building looked closed for the holidays. Signs on the walls directed them upstairs past shops, a restaurant and a cinema, towards offices and apartments on the upper floors. They entered a large, open-plan office on the fourth floor and the meagre daylight revealed spiders crawling all over them.

“What the hell are they?” demanded Private 941, frantically brushing them off and stamping on them.

“Arachnids,” replied 395.

“A-what-nids?”

“Spiders to you!”

395 dangled one from his index finger and it lowered itself to the ground on its silken thread and scuttled off. He managed to rescue several more before 941 could use his boot.

On the far side of the office, the Sergeant smashed one of the windows with the butt of her gun. Crowding round, the soldiers looked down into the thundering waters and shivered. Peter pushed them aside and studied the office block on the opposite bank before attaching a coil of rope to the Redeemer and firing a harpoon that punctured the wall just above the footpath. Fastening the other end of the rope to a pillar, he tested it, then used his belt as a handle and slid swiftly across. Sergeant 236 followed next then Privates 856, 207, 312, 941, and 749.

Private 2144 started across with the ease of one who came from a settlement camp on a planet of mountains and ravines but before he was halfway, his comrades heard a rush of footsteps above their heads. Gunfire erupted from the far bank, as Fardelbear leapt from an upper storey window and sailed across the river, startling Private 2144, who let go of his belt. Fardelbear landed on the opposite side and darted into the office block, and 2144 was carried away, tossed about in the swirling waters while his comrades looked on helplessly.

The Colonel ordered them on and the next soldier crossed without incident. Alex followed safely but when another started down the rope, Fardelbear dropped from a window above the Sergeant’s company and scattered them. With the monster waiting for him at the other end of the rope, the unlucky soldier let go and followed 2144 into the torrent. Turning on the Sergeant, Fardelbear was surprised when she attacked him first, slashing at him with her machete. Before he could recover his balance, Peter fired a jet of flame that engulfed him. For an instant he was disorientated and the Sergeant struck again, launching a flying kick that sent him toppling over the low rail and into the river. With his many arms flailing, the raging waters tossed him about and carried him away.

Another crossed and another but before 395 and the Colonel could follow, drumming feet sounded once more above their heads and Fardelbear reappeared, leaping across the river again. He snatched up Alex before anyone could react and vanished into the office block. This miraculous reappearance stunned them all but only 395 noticed that this Fardelbear seemed different, appearing a paler colour than the one who had fallen in the river. Still pondering this, he made the crossing, quickly followed by the Colonel.

Hurrying along the riverbank, they found an alley that led to the circus at the start of the long road to the harbour. All that showed of a statue in the middle of the roundabout was an arm protruding from a shroud of ivy. A finger pointed down the road, into the heart of the densest cluster of skyscrapers and, as the sun set below the rooftops, they looked into the valley of shadow with quaking hearts, wondering what further horrors awaited them.

Chapter Ten

As he listened to the soldiers’ footsteps echo down the long canyon, Fardelbear remembered the city teeming with people and the automobiles they valued more than life itself. He shuddered to recall the endless babble of voices, the drone of engines and the honking horns, and was reminded of another city whose destruction he had witnessed many years before the Exile.