Eye of the Storm (16 page)

‘Is the newsreader saying anything about our fight under the city?’ Callum asked.

‘No,’ David replied, shaking his head. ‘It’s all about how important my work is and the negative impact of the rebel group on raptor society. The Imperium are painting
your group in the darkest possible light.’

‘Your
group?’ Sam asked. ‘So, after all you’ve seen and heard, you don’t feel ready to join us?’

‘I’m not sure,’ David admitted, his eyes darting nervously around the cave. He seemed to be looking everywhere and anywhere to avoid making eye contact. ‘I understand
what Claire believes, though I’m not totally convinced by her explanation of how the crossing points between worlds are formed or that they’re definitely being caused by the raptor
technology. Why does it have to be something in this world that’s causing it? From what I hear of the world you come from, the human population are doing some bad things to their environment.
I still think the crossings may be due to something that’s happening there.’

‘It’s true that our world isn’t perfect and that humans are having an impact on the weather systems there, but when we crossed, the weather was fine in our world and we arrived
in this world into the eye of a hurricane,’ Sam said firmly. ‘Everyone we’ve spoken to who has crossed appears to have arrived under similar circumstances. The evidence of those
accounts alone makes it difficult to see another reason for the crossing points. They only seem to form at the eye of powerful storms in this world – not in ours.’

‘Nevertheless,’ David said, his defiance unwavering, ‘I’m not ready to believe it yet. Until I can see it for myself, please forgive me for remaining
sceptical.’

‘So where do they keep your flying machine anyway?’ Callum asked, changing the subject. ‘I’d love to have a go at flying it.’

‘Really? Have you flown before?’ David asked, dodging the question.

‘I’ve done some gliding.’

‘Yeah,’ Sam chuckled, ‘but you should have seen him quaking in his seat when we took off out of Heathrow! Anyone would have thought it was his first time in the air.’

‘Well, it was the first time I’d been up in a jet,’ Callum said defensively. ‘There’s a world of difference between flying a glider and flying in something
that’s so big and heavy that it’s difficult to see how it can possibly get off the ground. I was surprised at just how nervous it made me to be taking off without a control column to
hold on to. Gliding’s brilliant fun. No engines, just long wings and very basic controls. I’d love to go solo, but I’m not allowed until I’m sixteen.’

‘Ah, yes! Gliding,’ David said, a spark verging on fanaticism lighting in his eyes. Suddenly, he was more animated than Sam had yet seen him. ‘I’m familiar with the
principles. What type of launch system were you using? Bungee? Winch? Aerotow?’

‘Most of my flights were winch-launched,’ Callum said. ‘Which is a pretty spectacular way to get into the air. You climb really steeply. I’ve had a couple of aerotows as
well. The club at Bicester had a tug, but it was more expensive so Dad didn’t let me do it very often.’

‘Fascinating,’ David said. ‘And did you manage to soar your machine?’

‘Yeah, quite a few times. The longest I managed to stay up was nearly two hours.’

‘Two hours of unpowered flight! Amazing!’

‘Sorry, guys,’ Sam interrupted. ‘Winch-launch? Soar? Would you mind filling me in a bit? I lost you somewhere back at the start of this conversation.’

‘Because it has no power source of its own, a glider can only fly if it is launched high enough into the air to make use of the air currents,’ Callum explained. ‘A winch-launch
system is probably the most common. The glider is attached to a long cable, the far end of which is connected to a powerful winch. When the glider is ready to get airborne, the winch operator winds
the cable on to a huge drum, pulling the glider towards it very quickly. With the speed it gains from being pulled toward the winch, the glider is able to take off and convert the speed into
height.’

Sam thought about that for a moment. ‘But surely the glider will eventually be pulled downward and crash into the winch if it’s attached by a cable,’ he observed.

Callum laughed. ‘That would ruin your day, wouldn’t it? There’s a release mechanism in the cockpit and a fail-safe release to stop that from happening,’ he explained.
‘When you can’t gain any more height, you release the cable and start looking for rising air currents called thermals. Catch one of those and you can ride it to gain more height –
which is called soaring.’

‘Really? Rising air currents are strong enough to lift an aircraft?’ Sam asked, amazed.

‘More than strong enough if the aircraft design is right,’ David explained. ‘Some updraughts, particularly around storm clouds, can be strong enough to hurl aircraft skyward
with such force that they can be torn to pieces. But my latest design is superior to any glider. It makes use of both air currents and the natural magnetic field, allowing you to use both to
generate lift and forward speed. So if there’s no rising air, you can fall back on the electromagnetic generators to drive the fan on the back, which will keep you in the air and travelling
fast enough that you can climb further if you wish.’

‘Clever,’ Callum acknowledged, pursing his lips thoughtfully and nodding. ‘From what I saw, the design looked similar to some of the microlights we have back home, but the
engine doesn’t have the same irritating whine.’

‘You say your
latest design,
’ Sam noted. ‘So how many different ones have you built?’

‘Just two so far,’ David replied. ‘The first one flew well enough, but it struggled for power with the weight of a raptor underneath it. I had designed it with a human pilot in
mind. It was only when we came to the test-flight stage that I discovered the raptor scientists had no intention of letting me pilot my flying machine.’

‘And these flying machines are both kept in the same place?’

‘Yes. In a purpose-built hangar just outside the main city wall.’

Sam looked at Callum, who looked back and nodded. ‘It would be the next logical step,’ he said.

‘What?’ David asked. ‘What next logical step?’

‘Stealing the machines of course,’ Sam explained.

‘But that’s madness! They’ll be expecting you for sure! You’d be walking straight into a trap!’

‘True,’ Sam agreed. ‘But only if they think that we’re not expecting a trap. But we
are
expecting a trap. So because we know that they know we’ll be after
the flying machines next, if we plan it well, we’ll be able to allow for them knowing and still gain the advantage of surprise.’

David’s brow furrowed as he tried to follow Sam’s logic.

‘Of course we’ll have to wait until Mum gets back before we even begin to think about doing anything. Where
are
they, I wonder? I would have thought they would be here by now.
I’m going to go and find Nipper again and see if there’s any sign of them.’

‘Sam. . .’ Callum said slowly, his eyes wide and a note of horror in his voice.

‘What?’

Callum pointed towards the back of the cave and the glowing light of the holographic projection. The colours of the moving images had a ghoulish green tinge to them, casting a sickly glow around
the back of the cavern. Sam’s breath caught in his throat as he recognised the setting. An angry mob of raptors was roaring and jostling towards the central tower at the middle of the City of
the Imperium. Were they going to attack? Had the raptors turned against their leaders? Then it dawned on him – the crowd wasn’t angry. They were roaring with wild triumph.

‘No!’ he breathed.

Three sorry-looking figures were being dragged along in the midst of the great pack of celebrating raptors. A cold chill ran through him and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick as a
snake of fear twisted inside his belly. There was no mistaking the faces of Alex, Einstein and his mother. They had been captured.

Niamh’s breath caught in her throat as she felt herself soaring through the air high above the ground. For a moment, it was as if the aircraft had vanished from around
her and she was flying through the air without it, but the perspective was wrong. She was high up, but not flying-in-an-aircraft high. A rooftop was approaching fast and there were figures poised
waiting to catch her as she raced through the air towards them. As suddenly as it had begun, so the feeling and image faded. She opened her eyes.

‘Wow!’ she breathed. ‘What was that?’

It was most certainly not a memory and she had done nothing that she could think of to trigger that sort of image. It had to be another vision through her link to Sam. What on earth was he
doing? She closed her eyes again and tried to reconnect her consciousness to Sam’s, but it was no good. The clarity had gone and the details were already slipping away from her. The moment
had passed. She glanced at her watch. They were only two hours into the flight and there was a very long way to go. She glanced out of the window and ground her teeth in frustration.

‘I don’t know what on earth you’re doing, Sam,’ she whispered. ‘But please don’t go getting yourself killed before I find you!’

For some time afterwards, Niamh tried reading a book, but found she couldn’t concentrate on it. There was nothing on the in-flight entertainment system that she fancied watching or
playing. It was going to be a long flight home to England. In the end, closing her eyes and with little expectation of success, she tried to sleep.

When she woke, her neck was stiff and her mouth was so dry that she felt sure someone must have drawn all her saliva out with tissues while she slept. The aircraft was descending. The pressure
change in her ears must have been what had woken her, she realised.

The American police officer escort had barely spoken to Niamh during the entire flight back to England. Not that she had wanted conversation with him, but after an eight-hour overnight journey,
dry mouth or not, she found she was itching to talk.

‘So what happens to me now?’ she asked him as the aircraft taxied towards the Heathrow terminal. ‘Do I get handed over to the British police?’

‘No,’ he replied, without looking at her. ‘One of your relatives is gonna meet you and take you home.’

‘Oh joy!’ she replied, piling as much sarcasm into the two words as she could manage. ‘Can’t you hand me over to the police instead?’

The policeman ignored her.

Niamh had no need to ask who would be collecting her. She didn’t have many relatives to choose from. The one grandparent she had left alive on this side of the Atlantic was Grandma Cutler,
and she didn’t drive, so that ruled her out. This left one other close relative – Aunt Agatha – or Aunt Aggie, as she preferred to be called. Agatha was her dad’s younger
sister. She was nice enough, but every time Niamh saw her, she felt as if she was being inspected and there was always something in her aunt’s expression that made Niamh feel she didn’t
meet her expectations. Her aunt’s manner was almost, but not quite, sneering. As for Aunt Aggie’s thirteen-year-old son, Archie, he was a pompous jerk of the highest order. The idea of
living in the same house as him sent a shudder down Niamh’s spine.

Agatha’s husband Edward was lovely, but he was rarely at home. He was a high-flying businessman who spent more time jetting around the world to meetings and conferences than he did at
home. Niamh didn’t know exactly what he did, but there was no mistaking that he was successful and wealthy. Aunt Aggie’s house was huge and she always seemed to be wearing the latest
designer clothes. Archie never wanted for anything.

Niamh fell quiet again as she considered the likelihood that she would have to spend the rest of the summer holidays living with her aunt and her obnoxious cousin. The more she thought about it,
the more her heart sank. Under normal circumstances, it would be unpleasant enough, but she had to continue searching for the truth about Sam and Callum’s disappearance and she knew exactly
what her aunt’s response to that idea would be. In her eyes, searching would be the job of professionals and Niamh would be forced to stay at the house and be
ladylike
. The prospect of
living with her strict aunt was unbearable. There had to be some way out of spending the rest of the summer with them. There
had
to be.

The aircraft came to a halt and before long Niamh was walking through the monstrous walkways of Heathrow, following the signs to Baggage Reclaim. She found it quietly amusing that the man from
the Monroe County Sheriff’s Office insisted she stay in front of him at all times. She had told him on several occasions that she had no intention of running away again, but it appeared she
had a reputation now and he was taking no chances.

For once, her bags were among the first to appear on the conveyor belt. She loaded them on to a baggage trolley and was then ushered through Customs to the Arrivals Lounge. Sure enough, Aunt
Aggie was there waiting.

‘Hello, Niamh.’

‘Aunt Aggie!’ she said, doing her best to sound pleased. ‘Thanks for coming to collect me.’ She gave her aunt a hug and then stood to one side to allow the policeman to
check Agatha’s identification. Once he was satisfied that everything was in order, he politely wished them a good day and left, walking off in the direction of Departures. Niamh did not envy
him the flight home. Her back was stiff and while her bottom was not exactly numb, it felt strangely lifeless after sitting for so long.