Crawlers (22 page)

It's just you now
, he told himself.
You're the only one left. Whatever you do, don't pass out. Mustn't pass out . . .

The Queen paused. Lauren's brow creased into a distracted frown.

‘Casualties,' said her mouth. The voice sounded surprised. ‘I am fast running out of hands. But the battle in the Barbican foyer has served its purpose: that situation is about to be rectified.' Lauren's eyes stared into Jasmine's again. ‘I have something else to show you.'

Just ahead of where the Queen had stopped, a long white
object was lying on the tunnel's brick floor. It was another of the mysterious cocoon-things Jasmine had seen in the Main Theatre.

‘Allow me to satisfy your scientific curiosity, Jasmine,' said the Queen, extending her tentacle-tongue. Lauren's hands reached out and started to dig and tear at one of the object's rounded ends.

Jasmine heard a gooey
snap
, then the Queen pulled Lauren back. Lauren's expression was pleased.

‘We are just in time,' said her mouth. ‘Take a look.'

Jasmine didn't want to, but her feet shuffled obediently forward. Inside the cocoon was a man. Lauren's hands had just revealed his face.

‘This is Mr Steadman,' said the Queen. ‘Until tonight, he was the Corporation's leader.' Lauren's eyes glanced down at him. ‘How are you feeling, Mr Steadman?'

The man's skin was grey and waxy-looking. Jasmine had been certain he was dead. That was bad enough, but what she felt now was even worse: Mr Steadman stirred. His eyes sprang open. His mouth split into a blissful grin and in a guttural, bubbling voice he said:

‘Wonderful, my Queen. I feel
wonderful
.'

‘The Corporation kept me all these years because they wanted my power for themselves,' the Queen explained. ‘Steadman's predecessors never quite managed to bring
themselves to risk releasing me, but Steadman did. Even though he did so because he thought he could control me, I feel I should thank him.' Lauren looked down at the man. ‘Thank you, Steadman,' the Queen told him.

He did not reply.

‘Naturally,' the Queen added, making Lauren smile, ‘such a service deserves its reward. So I have granted Steadman one of the highest honours I can bestow upon my subjects.' Lauren's eyes looked into Jasmine's again. ‘Like those you saw in the theatre, he has become my
surrogate
. He has offered up his body to me, as both sustenance and incubation place. And now,' she announced, ‘he's ready to hatch.'

Jasmine began to be aware of a faint sort of sizzling sound. Her mind crawling with horror, she hoped at first that the sound's origin was the ever-running stream of sewage.

‘How are the little ones, Steadman?' asked the Queen, through Lauren's mouth.

‘They're . . . tickling, my Queen,' said Mr Steadman. ‘I can feel them, all the way through me. They're like champagne bubbles, rising. They're . . . they're . . . oh, my Queen!'

The sound, which was like fat sizzling in a pan, was getting louder. The shape in the cocoon began to struggle and thrash. Jasmine wanted to turn away, to close her eyes – anything to avoid seeing what was about to happen – but she was helpless. She saw it all.

Mr Steadman went rigid, his face transfixed with a terrible delight. There was a series of clattering sounds like bursting bubble-wrap; then the cocoon was suddenly alive with movement, glittering as if its now-translucent sheath had turned into shimmering liquid. But it wasn't liquid. It was hundreds of thousands of tiny, wriggling bodies.

Baby crawlers were popping out all over Mr Steadman's torso and legs. They were burrowing out of their cocoon – and out of him. As Jasmine watched, one of the creatures climbed out of Steadman's right nostril and dropped to the brick floor. Including its five legs the newborn crawler was about the size of Jasmine's thumbnail. With a definite sense of purpose it made straight for the sewer channel, jumped in and was carried away by the stream. Before long its hundreds of thousands of siblings followed, a drifting trail of little floating bodies that stretched away from Mr Steadman's shrinking remains, as far as Jasmine's eyes could see.

Steadman's eyes had rolled back in his head: only the whites were now showing and his mouth hung slack. Jasmine stared down at his face. Even without the Queen's control, she would have found herself unable not to: apart from Steadman's head, some rags of clothes and some skin and bones, there was nothing left of him.

‘There,' said the Queen, with quiet pride. ‘Soon my hands will be in this city's water supply: when the theatre's hatchlings
come and I make my escape, I will use it to spread through the whole population. I will choose more surrogates; there will be more hatchings. Within days there will be a “crawler”, as you call them, for every living human on this planet – and here is where it started. Which, Jasmine,' the Queen added silkily, ‘brings us back to you.

‘I want a companion with whom to share my triumph. I offered the chance to Steadman, but he was . . . foolish. So, Jasmine,' the Queen told her, ‘I have chosen you.

‘Of all our subjects so far, you are undoubtedly the best candidate. You are young: your thinking is not yet stunted by the short-sighted concerns of the adults of your kind. Indeed, while your peers had already begun to succumb to trivialities, you, alone among them, kept your vision. You
care
about this world, Jasmine. That makes you the perfect person to help rule it.

‘If I had succeeded in sixteen sixty-six, your world would be a very different place. It was never my intention to allow your species to cause so much harm to this planet. Think, Jasmine, of those billions of your kind who now consume and pollute with no thought but for themselves. You know they will not stop willingly – they love their comforts too much. Someone has to
make them
. That is what I offer you. As you've seen, most of my subjects do my bidding gladly. With your guidance and counsel to help direct them we could make this world
blossom as never before. I, as Queen, would desire nothing more. The Earth must become a worthy seat from which to rule my empire.'

Lauren's mouth smiled. ‘My hand is upon you, Jasmine. We see what is in your mind. You may respond.'

After all the Queen's long speeches, the silence that came then was sudden and strange.

How much of Jasmine's thoughts did the Queen have access to? Jasmine realized that she had no way of knowing.

The seconds ticked by. The Queen was waiting.

Stamping on everything else she was feeling as best she could, Jasmine concentrated, trying to form the only answer she could think of:

Choice
, she thought.

Lauren's eyes blinked. ‘What was that?'

Give me a choice.

‘Why?' asked Lauren's mouth.

Because otherwise
, thought Jasmine fiercely,
all I'll be to you is a
pet
, not a companion.

‘Ah,' said Lauren's mouth, with a shifty twitch. ‘Yes, I suppose that is true.'

Jasmine concentrated again.
Take your hand off me
, she thought.
Otherwise no choice.
Then she waited.

From across the trench, Lauren's eyes gave Jasmine a searching look.

Jasmine squashed her feelings. She put a lid on all her other thoughts, blanking out everything except her request. What she was asking was fair, wasn't it? If the Queen really wanted a companion, not a slave, then Jasmine had to have a choice.

‘You are implacable, Jasmine,' said the Queen, sounding amused. ‘And I would not have you any other way. Very well.'

Jasmine felt a disgusting internal shifting sensation as the probosces were withdrawn from the inside of her skull. The movement was deliberate, careful, to prevent her from losing consciousness. The fingers at her neck loosened their grip, then the crawler that had held her dropped to the floor.

Jasmine sank to her knees. Released, her mind's responses to her situation poured out all over her body in a rush. Her heartbeat skyrocketed. She felt sick to her stomach. Cold waves of shock ran down her arms and the backs of her legs. But then, breathing hard, adrenaline pumping, she got up. Forcing her eyes away from Steadman's remains and the sewer-trench's wriggling contents, she stared up into Lauren's face.

‘Well?' the Queen asked. ‘As I believe I mentioned, this place is no longer safe. In just a few minutes now the building above us will be destroyed, together with everything and everyone in it. It is time to make your choice. Come rule with me, or you will die here. Which is it to be?'

Jasmine's crawler waited, crouching on the brickwork next to her right shoe. She stamped down on it, hard.

‘I'd rather die,' she said.

Then she turned and ran.

Voices. A dull ache at the back of his neck; a terrible sticky taste in his mouth. Then: pain. Ben's face was throbbing. His skin felt tight from swelling: every pulse of his blood made him feel like his head was going to split. But his ears worked fine, so for a while he just lay there and listened.

‘Get up,' said one of the voices.

‘I
can't
. . .' sobbed the other.

‘Can't or won't? Come on, Josh, he only hit you once.'

‘What do you want from me? Just leave me alone!'

‘If all you're going to do is roll around on the floor crying, maybe I should.' Then, more kindly, Robert's voice added: ‘Please, Josh. I can't do this on my own.'

Coughing, gasping, Ben rolled onto his back and sat up. He was still on the stairs. A couple of metres away he saw Robert kneeling next to Josh, who was curled up in a foetal position on the Barbican carpet.

Now Robert and Josh were staring at him. And that was when Ben remembered what had happened. His hands tingled
with the memory of being clamped around Robert's throat.

‘He's getting up again!' Josh gibbered, sitting up and pointing at him. ‘He's coming back! He's going to get us! He's . . . he's . . .
keep him away from me!
'

‘Pull yourself together, Josh,' said Robert mildly. ‘Ben doesn't mean us any harm, not any more. Do you?'

Ben felt sick. ‘Robert,' he said, ‘I . . . I don't know what to say. I nearly . . .'

‘I know,' said Robert, touching the livid marks on his neck and giving Ben a rueful look. ‘I was there, remember?'

‘You nearly took my head off!' said Josh. ‘If I've got
whiplash
because of you, I swear I'll—'

‘Shut up, Josh,' said Robert. Then, to Ben: ‘The point is, you resisted. I saw it in your eyes.'

Unable to meet Robert's, Ben looked down.

There was a short silence.

‘All right,' said Robert, getting to his feet. ‘Let's go.'

‘Go where?' asked Josh.

‘The Pit,' said Robert, pointing at the theatre doors. ‘You saw where they went, on the monitors.'

‘And why should we follow them?' asked Josh, not moving.

Following Robert's example Ben stood up, trying to ignore the way his muscles grated and shrieked as he did so.

‘Because we've got to help Jasmine,' he said.

‘We've got to find out what's going on here and stop it,' said Robert.

‘We're going to find the Queen,' said Ben. Robert looked at him enquiringly, but Ben just nodded to himself. ‘And when I find her,' he added, ‘I'm going to kick her arse.'

‘Splendid,' said Josh, from the floor. ‘You two go ahead and do whatever you like.'

‘Get up, Josh,' said Ben. ‘You're coming too.'

‘Or what? You're going to hit me again?'

‘No,' said Ben, cracking another smile that hurt like hell but was worth it. ‘But if you don't get up and by any chance we
do
get out of this, then we'll be sure to tell the whole school what a snivelling little weasel you really are.' Ben looked at Robert. ‘Right?'

Robert smiled back.

I watched the girl as she ran back up the tunnel.

‘Don't turn your back on me, Jasmine,' I called. ‘Jasmine! I'm warning you!'

She ran on.

‘
Where do you think you'll go?
' I asked as her footsteps echoed around me. ‘Wherever you run, I will find you. And when I do, I'm going to
make you suffer
!'

At the vault door Jasmine paused, shoes skidding on the brickwork. She glanced back at me, then vanished from sight, back into the pit chamber.

I considered for a moment. Five minutes remained until Steadman's bombs were due to detonate.

My primary objective was complete. The Barbican had served its purpose. My subjects inside it had maintained a safe perimeter while my drones matured; the subjects had then continued to defend the building until those whom the drones had made surrogates reached the hatching stage. With the hatching accomplished, all I needed my remaining humans in this building to do was hold off intruders for long enough to cover my escape.

I was free. I had enough hands to rule the whole city. I was also safe, protected in these tunnels from the coming explosion by the weight of ancient London clay around and above me. I could leave – and in perfect secrecy. As Steadman had said, the bombs would eradicate all evidence of my existence. And yet . . .

Jasmine had
rejected
me.

I had never been rejected before. Admittedly, I had never allowed the possibility before. Why would I? Your kind are my subjects. I am your Queen. It is not your right to choose otherwise.

So why
, I demanded of myself,
had I granted exactly that
right to Jasmine?

I hurt; I fumed. Then I decided.

Jasmine's insult could not be suffered to stand. The girl would pay for her insolence.