The Fury (35 page)

By the time Daisy had finally managed to clip in her seat belt they were already slowing down.

The factory loomed up from the horizon, a cluster of black buildings and half a dozen towering chimneys which pierced the brilliant blue sky. It looked like a dead fly with its legs in the air, Daisy thought. There was nothing else nearby apart from a sign on the side of the road that said ‘Thank you for visiting Hemmingway and Fursville – Please Drive Safely!’ The same bug-eyed squirrel grinned at them from it. Fursville itself now lay half a mile behind them.

‘See anything?’ Cal asked. The factory entrance was set just off the road, up a short, wide driveway. There was no gate, just a barrier. On either side of that were big walls topped with mean-looking spikes. There was a booth there too, a little one with a door and a window, attached to the main building.

‘There’s somebody in there,’ Daisy said, seeing a blurred shape behind the sun-drenched glass. ‘I think we should turn round.’

‘It might just be one person,’ Chris said, letting the engine idle.

‘And he might have fifty mates out the back,’ Brick said. ‘A hundred.’

Daisy felt her stomach complain. It was partly fear but mostly hunger. She wished they could just phone the factory people and ask them to bring out some food. Wouldn’t they do that for a car full of kids?

‘Yeah, we should call them,’ said Cal, scooping the thought out of her brain. ‘Look, it’s right there, Cavendish-Harbreit. We could one-one-eight it.’

‘And say what?’ Brick asked. ‘Hi there, we’re just wondering if there’s anyone in today because we’d like to break in and steal some stuff?’

‘No, idiot, we could just see if anyone answers.’

Chris tapped a button in the centre of the dashboard and a keypad appeared on the touch-screen there.

‘Nice,’ said Cal. ‘Does it have a signal?’

‘Let’s find out,’ he said, typing in 118 118. There was a hum, then a flurry of numbers, and a voice sounded from the car’s speakers. Daisy tuned it out, gazing through the window and back towards Fursville. The whole park looked tiny, and shimmered in the baking heat. It didn’t seem real, as though any minute now the view would just flicker and switch off. It was a crazy thought, but surely not anywhere near as crazy as having creatures
inside
them.

Angels.

And yet it felt so right, what Rilke had said. Well,
most
of what she’d said. What lived in them wasn’t really angels, she didn’t think. These weren’t the same things her mum had pictures of in the house, the ones she’d become obsessed with when she was ill. Those had smiling faces and rosy cheeks and sat on fluffy clouds.

These . . . They were different. Daisy didn’t have the right words to explain how, only that they weren’t alive in the same sense that people were. They couldn’t live here, in this world. That’s why they’d chosen her and Cal and Brick and the others. They needed a body to ride around in, the same way that humans needed cars to get places.

Only these angels couldn’t control you like a person controlled a car. It was more like they just rode around with you, giving you strength – fire, like Schiller’s – but waiting for you to make the right decisions.

Was that right? Daisy wasn’t sure.

They were good, though, these things. Not like nice people, more like a friendly animal, like a dog or a tiger. They wouldn’t speak, but they would look after you. That’s where the ice cubes in her head came from, those little glimpses of other people’s lives. Only other people with angels in them, though, she realised. That’s how they talked to each other.

‘Shall I put you straight through?’ said the voice.

‘Yes, thanks,’ said Chris. There was a soft click then more ringing.

The big question was why the angels were here. There was no way that angels would make them murder people. Rilke was wrong,
really
wrong. Daisy didn’t blame her. It wasn’t like they’d all been given a big instruction book or anything. None of them had any idea what they were supposed to do. But they
weren
’t here to hurt people, Daisy was sure of it.

‘Nobody’s answering,’ said Brick as the ring tone continued to fill the car.

‘Really?’ said Cal. ‘I thought somebody had picked up and was just making phone impressions.’

Brick had his mouth open to reply when a voice blasted out of the speakers.

‘Welcome to Cavendish-Harbreit Agricultural Technologies. Our office hours are nine a.m. to five p.m., Monday to Friday. If you require emergency assistance or product advice outside office hours, please hold.’

Music, something classical that reminded Daisy of her drama class. The memory of it was like somebody had slapped her around the face. The play! They would have done it by now. Emily Horton would have played Juliet, she would have kissed Fred. It should have been
her
. The hunger in her tummy turned into something much worse, like she was being crushed. Tears ran down her cheek but she wiped them away before anyone could notice, taking a couple of deep, shuddering breaths until the weight lifted.

She couldn’t worry about the play now. There were more important things. There had better be, anyway. There had to be a reason for this, something that made it all okay, otherwise she’d have lost everything –
everything
– for nothing.

It’s the thing you saw
, she thought.
The man in the storm. He’s the reason you’re here. You have to fight him
. And even though the memory of that creature was terrifying, the thought settled her.

They were here to stop him. Before he could eat the whole world.

That’s what he wants to do. He wants to eat everything, until there’s nothing left but darkness
.

‘Hello?’ said a voice through the speakers, making Daisy jump.

‘Oh, yeah, hello,’ said Chris, looking urgently at the others and mouthing,
What do I say?
‘Um . . . How are you?’

Cal was pointing at the booth, and they all squinted through the glass to see that the person inside was on the phone.

‘This is an emergency number,’ the voice said. ‘We’re closed. If you just want a chat, call back tomorrow.’

‘Wait,’ said Cal, leaning between the front seats. ‘We need to speak with somebody urgently.’

‘Is it an emergency?’

‘Yeah,’ Cal went on. ‘Er, we’re outside and we think someone might be trying to break in.’

‘
What?
’ hissed Brick. ‘You trying to get us caught?’

‘Who is this?’ the man repeated.

‘Outside, on the road, a gang in a silver car. They look suspicious.’

There was a clunk, a squeak, shuffling noises, then the door of the booth opened. Daisy ducked down, peeking as a man in a security guard’s uniform appeared. He cupped a hand over his forehead, looking towards the Jag.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Brick said.

‘Trust me,’ said Cal. ‘He’s going to come over. Chris, as soon as he gets close enough, move off, okay? Drive slowly, make him follow you back up to Fursville. There are plenty of places to turn round up there, just make sure you keep him hooked. And lock the doors, yeah?’

‘Sure,’ said Chris, his voice a tremor. ‘No probs.’

The guard reached into his booth for a cap, putting it on then walking out into the sun. Daisy could hear his footsteps crunching on the sandy track as he approached the road. He wasn’t far away. Any second now he’d sense them. She took Adam’s hand, squeezing it.

‘If he gets too close then you just floor it,’ Cal went on, doing his best to smile at Daisy. ‘Keep them safe, whatever happens.’

He popped open his door, the car rocking as he got out.

‘Come on, Brick, you’re up.’

‘No way, man, I’m staying in here,’ Brick said, snorting a laugh. ‘Why doesn’t Chris go?’

‘Can you drive?’ Cal asked. The guard was walking fast, shouting something at them. Brick swore, slamming a hand down on the glove box. ‘Come on, mate, this is your chance to be a hero.’

Brick grabbed the handle and shouldered open the door, almost knocking Cal over.

‘Hey, stay where you are,’ the guard yelled. He was jogging now, a big belly swinging beneath his tight, grey shirt.

‘Good luck,’ said Daisy, putting her hand on the window. Cal pressed his against the other side as Brick slammed the door shut. ‘Be safe, Cal, please be safe.’

‘You too,’ he said. ‘We’ll meet you at Soapy’s, yeah?’

‘Gotcha,’ said Chris, pressing a button to make the doors lock. ‘Good luck.’

‘Who arrrrrrr ooooo?’ the guard’s mouth was drooping out of shape, his eyes filling with a depthless rage. Daisy pushed herself away from the door as his steps became lurches, then bounds, propelling him down the last section of path.

‘Go!’ yelled Cal, running into the ocean of sea grass that grew by the side of the road. Brick followed him, both boys ducking out of sight as the guard careened towards the car.

‘Oh crap, should have thought about this,’ said Chris. He spun the wheel, trying to turn round. The back of the Jaguar slammed against the verge as he reversed and the engine almost stalled. Daisy screamed as the guard threw himself against the window, thumping the glass. He butted his head against it, his nose bending at a weird angle. Blood gushed past his yellow teeth but he didn’t notice. He didn’t know anything now except the Fury.

Chris revved hard. The front of the car scuffed the verge at the other side of the road, bumping up and down, then they were clear. Remembering what he was supposed to be doing, he eased on the brakes. Daisy looked through the back window to see the guard tearing after them, his face a mask of cruelty and anger. Behind him, sneaking from their hiding place, Cal and Brick jogged across the road towards the factory.

‘Be safe,’ Daisy said to them. ‘Good luck.’

But she had an awful feeling that luck wasn’t going to be enough.

Brick reached the booth first, running through the open door so hard that he almost ripped it off its hinges. Cal skidded to a halt outside, casting a look back up the road. He could just about make out the glinting roof of the Jag, the guard’s guttural shouts drifting back on the wind. His pulse was so fast and so hard in his throat that he felt like there were fingers there, squeezing.

‘Cal, come on!’ Brick was at the door, furiously waving his hand. Cal pushed past him into the small room. It was empty, just a desk, a control panel, a couple of security monitors and a phone with the receiver out of the cradle. He lifted it to hear the roar of a car.

‘Hello? Chris, you still there?’

‘Cal?’ Chris’s voice was laced with panic.

‘Yeah, we just got in. There’s nobody else here. You guys alright?’

A pause, then Daisy’s voice:

‘He’s catching up!’

‘We’re okay,’ Chris said. ‘Go on, get it done.’

Cal dropped the phone back on the desk, keeping the line open. Brick was focusing on the monitors, clicking a switch that changed which camera was being shown.

‘Looks dead,’ he said.

Cal walked across the booth to the other door, opening it a crack to see a short corridor. He stepped through, stopping when he heard Brick’s voice.

‘This might come in handy,’ the other boy said, pulling a sheet of paper from the wall and handing it to Cal. It was a plan of the factory, made up of fine lines and even smaller print. Cal recognised the booth in which they stood and, close by, a big rectangle marked ‘Staff’.

‘Gotta be it,’ he said, pointing. ‘Right?’

‘One way to find out.’

They walked through the door, Brick doubling back to pick up a giant Maglite torch from the desk. He held it like a rounders bat as they ran down the corridor, past a big reception room and a toilet. There was another door at the far end, and Cal opened it up onto a sunlit courtyard. Two jeeps with the factory’s logo sat there alongside a dented blue Rover. Cal glanced at the map, getting his bearings.

‘That way,’ he said, setting off. They jogged past the cars, their ragged breathing the only sound in the entire place. The factory loomed over them, giant chimneys casting finger-like shadows over the open ground. He increased his speed, making for a squat, low building dead ahead.

They’d almost reached it when another security guard appeared, a short woman who strolled out from between two huge, gleaming silos about thirty metres away, swinging a set of keys around her finger. She was whistling, the tune cutting out when she saw them. Cal skidded to a halt against the wall, Brick running into him, and for a second all three of them stood like statues.

‘You Roger’s kids?’ the woman asked, dropping the keys into her pocket and reaching for her radio. ‘You can’t be playing back here.’

She walked briskly towards them, speaking into her handset. Her words dropped into a low, wet groan, the whine of a dying dog. Then she was running, her hat flying off. Cal ripped open the door, but Brick held his ground.

The woman reached him, her fingers hooked like talons, her teeth gnashing. Brick didn’t hesitate, swinging the Maglite. It struck her in the jaw, the crack echoing between the buildings. The woman dropped, a gout of blood spurting from her broken mouth. She twitched, then lay still. Brick stumbled away, throwing the torch on top of her like it was a poisonous snake.

‘Get her radio,’ Cal yelled. Brick snatched it up from the ground, running to the door.

‘Oh Christ,’ he muttered. ‘I didn’t mean to hit her so hard.’

‘She’ll be okay,’ said Cal, grabbing the walkie-talkie from Brick’s trembling fingers. ‘You didn’t have a choice.’

They were in another corridor, this one longer and darker. The only light was coming from a door up ahead on the left. Cal lifted the radio and pressed the button.

‘Is anyone there?’ he whispered. There was only static. He repeated the question, still no response. ‘If there were more guards here then someone would answer, wouldn’t they?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Brick. He was as white as a sheet, staring at his hands. Cal grabbed his arm, dragging him towards the door. A glance inside revealed a big room lined with lockers and empty coat hooks. They jogged a little further, past another toilet and a room packed with sofas.
Come on
, Cal thought. They were running out of corridor.
It has to be here
.

It was. The last door they reached led into a canteen with dozens of tables and chairs and a big silver counter. Cal ran past it, through a set of double doors, and he was grinning by the time Brick caught up.

‘Whoa,’ said Brick.

‘Whoa indeed.’

They were in a kitchen similar to the one in Fursville, only this place was spotless. There was food everywhere, shelf after shelf of cans and jars and packets and tubs and bottles. Brick angled straight for a crate of bread, ripping open a wholemeal loaf and wolfing down three slices. Cal was tempted to do the same, a pressure in his gut almost dragging him towards the mountain of crisp boxes in the corner. But they might not have long. They had to take what they could.

‘Bags,’ he said, dropping the radio on the floor and pointing towards a pile of sacks. He upturned one, releasing an avalanche of potatoes. Brick did the same, both of them working in silence as they looted. Cal stopped when he could barely lift what he had, spinning the sack round to seal up the top. He dragged it towards the door. ‘You nearly done?’

‘Nearly,’ Brick spat through a mouthful of something. He dropped a tin of spaghetti hoops into his sack then spun it closed, hefting it over his shoulder.

They were running out of the kitchen when the radio bleeped. The sound almost stopped Cal’s heart dead and he lost his grip on the sack, a box of coconut wafers dropping to the floor. There was a burst of static, then a man’s voice.

‘Roger? Claire? You there?’

They tore through the double doors into the canteen, but even from here they could hear the radio bleep again, the amplified voice chasing them back out into the corridor:

‘Guys, what’s going on? The police are here.’