Crawlers (25 page)

‘Wait a second,' said Ben, confused. ‘They . . . what?'

‘Here's what we've told the press,' said the lady, shutting her file with a snap. ‘Are you ready?'

She now held the file that contained Ben's story against her chest, her arms crossed in front of it. But from where Ben was lying, propped up on his hospital bed, the logo on the front
of the file was perfectly readable: THE CORPORATION OF THE CITY OF LONDON, it said.

‘At about seven forty-five last night,' the lady began, ‘the Barbican was seized and taken over by persons unknown. Their identities remain a mystery at this time but there seems little doubt that these people were, in fact, terrorists.'

‘Terrorists?' said Ben. ‘That's the lamest excuse in the—'

‘The terrorists sealed off the building,' the lady continued, interrupting him, ‘and they then proceeded to use some means – most likely the air-conditioning – to flood the Barbican with a kind of
hallucinogen
. With the Barbican destroyed, no evidence of this mind-altering substance remains . . .'

‘Hah,' said Ben.

‘But it nonetheless seems to have been extremely potent. Civilian victims were so strongly affected that when police attempted to gain entrance to the Barbican, the civilians
attacked
them. A siege developed that lasted several hours. This, we assume, gave the terrorists time to set their explosives. Just before the bombs were detonated, however, the gas seems to have started wearing off. Emergency services were able to evacuate a large number of victims from the Barbican, including yourself and your . . . friends. But at least as many are still missing and, tragically, presumed dead. We can only assume those responsible for this atrocity were either caught in the blast . . . or they escaped.'

The lady sat back on her chair and gave Ben a smile that didn't reach her eyes. ‘Ben,' she said, ‘you seem like an intelligent young man – if a little too keen on video games, perhaps.'

Ben didn't smile back.

‘Let me ask you a question. What would
you
find easiest to believe in – terrorists? Or – what was it, again? Oh yes: an
alien queen
, who controls people's minds?'

Ben was about to speak—

‘Before you answer,' the lady interrupted again, ‘I'd like you to consider one more thing.' She gestured at the door of the room. ‘Your parents are out there in the passage. They're worried sick about you and they want to take you home. But a Corporation doctor is out there too, and he's waiting for my opinion before we decide what to do with you. Now . . .' She fixed Ben with a stare from her clear blue eyes. ‘I can either say you're fine – that you will recover from your ordeal with no ill-effects and no memory of what really happened. Or we can send your parents home while we keep you here pending a full psychiatric evaluation.

‘We can do that, you know,' she added silkily. ‘The way you've been talking, I think that you could be a danger to yourself and to others. It would be irresponsible of me to allow you to be released while you still believe in things that are not . . . sensible.' She looked at him carefully. ‘Do we understand each other?'

There was a pause.

Ben looked at the woman with the folder. He thought about the office he'd seen in the underground chamber, with the pictures on its walls of prime ministers and presidents.

‘Well, Ben?' she asked. ‘Which is it to be?'

Ben muttered something.

‘What was that?'

‘Terrorists,' said Ben.

‘Good boy.'

‘I'M TELLING YOU,'
Jasmine said into her phone, ‘something weird is definitely going on. Samantha and Lauren are going around acting
exactly the way they were before
– like nothing even happened. Then, as if that wasn't weird enough, there's Lisa: today when I passed the school gates she was in the middle of a crowd. As I went by, all the girls around her turned to look at me. They smiled – all of them, all at once. Well?' she added. ‘What does that remind you of, Ben?'

Ben's reply was hard to hear, almost drowned out as it was
by a passing group of boys behind him. Mobiles were still forbidden at his school: he was having to call Jasmine from a payphone.

Jasmine sighed. ‘I'm sorry. I know you believe me. I know you do. But I just get so
frustrated
. It's like no one who was there wants to admit what happened – like they prefer the official version, because it's less scary. And you know what the worst thing is? Sometimes . . . I feel the same way.'

Jasmine bit her lip. ‘Those squashed crawlers in the security room: we thought they were dead too,' she said. ‘What if we didn't kill her, Ben? Because if she
did
escape, if she's out there right now taking more subjects, making more surrogates,
hatching
. . . whew
.
I'm not sure I even want to think about it myself.'

Jasmine listened to what Ben had to say. She smiled.

‘Yeah,' she said softly. ‘You watch yourself, too. Speak soon.' She blew him a kiss, pressed the button to end the call, and opened the cubicle door.

‘Well, well,' said Samantha, who was standing outside. ‘What have we here?'

For a moment Jasmine was so startled she couldn't reply.

The sudden jangle of the school bell for the end of morning break gave her the second she needed to collect herself.

‘My private conversations are none of your business,' she said, and pushed past.

‘Oh yeah?' crowed Lauren. ‘And who do you think
you
are? Queen of Everything?'

Samantha and Lauren grinned at each other, then followed Jasmine out of the toilets. The door swung shut. The noise of the students in the corridor outside faded away. The only sound was the faint drip-dripping from one of the basins.

The dripping stopped. Then, with an effort, a thumbnail-sized creature pulled itself out of the tap.

It had five legs. It was not alone.

Oh, the children had hurt me, certainly. If I had not feigned death, Jasmine and the others might even have actually killed me. But once out of their sight, I was more than capable of limping to safety. Wounded but very much alive, I left the Barbican to its fate and took to the sewers.

My plan progresses well. Each hour brings fresh hatchings, and my hands now reach across this world. I control your leaders. I hide in the embraces of lovers and family; crawl into your beds and take more of you as you sleep. Soon my present need for stealth will pass, for I will rule you completely.

You, reading these words now, a question: Are you quite certain you aren't mine already?

Check yourself. Find nothing. But remember: with those who might resist me I have learned to be less . . . direct. Perhaps you only feel what I allow you to feel. Perhaps the hand you raise to the back of your neck fails to detect the royal hand already upon you.

Prepare. My rule begins.

I'd like to take this chance to thank all the amazing young people I've met and spoken to over the last three years, whether at my events in schools, libraries and bookshops or via my websites. As I hope you can see from this book, your comments, questions and suggestions have a direct and inspiring effect on my writing. Thank you.

My thanks, too, to Kelly and Ruth for their awesome editorial acuity; to Penny and Gina for keeping faith; to Simon and Jack for their trusty (and terrifying) early draft reading skills – and, as ever, to my lovely girlfriend Laura, with all my heart.

On with the sinister masterplan!

All best wishes to you,

Sam

9
^th
July 2009

The Black Tattoo

Tim, Defender of the Earth

CRAWLERS

AN RHCP DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 409 09691 7

Published in Great Britain by RHCP,

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Copyright © Sam Enthoven, 2010

First Published in Great Britain

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