The Fury (29 page)

Daisy walked to the table with the candles and sat down, putting her trembling hands between her knees so that Rilke wouldn’t notice she was scared. She had lied to Cal, she didn’t know if Rilke was going to hurt her or not. But she had to do something to get some food or they’d all starve. She glanced around as innocently as she could, but she couldn’t see the carrier bags anywhere.

‘I’ve put them somewhere safe,’ said Rilke, her eyes gleaming. She walked over, placing the gun in the middle of the table before sitting opposite Daisy. Her face had the same crazy look as yesterday. It was dangerous. ‘Just until we’ve had a little talk.’

‘About what?’ said Daisy, shivering. It was colder than ever in here, Schiller entombed in ice on the sofa.

‘You
know
what,’ said Rilke, planting her elbows and stretching her hands across the table. The way her forearms uncurled made Daisy think of a praying mantis. She didn’t offer her own hands. ‘About this, about everything.’

‘But I don’t know anything,’ said Daisy. Where would the food be? In a corner, somewhere. Or under a table.

‘I think you do,’ said Rilke, her face splitting into a grin, her eyes burning. ‘I think it’s all there, in your head, you just don’t know how to read it.’

Daisy didn’t answer. Maybe Rilke was right. There had been all kinds of things happening in her brain that she couldn’t make any sense of. The ice cubes, rattling and clinking around, showing her things she couldn’t possibly know. They were doing it right now, but they were moving too fast, the way they seemed to do when she was frightened.

‘I don’t want you to be scared of me, Daisy,’ said Rilke, gentler now. ‘We’re the same, you and I.’

Except I don’t murder people
, she thought but didn’t say.

‘I had no choice,’ Rilke went on. ‘You know how dangerous the ferals are. You can’t have forgotten what happened to you already?’

Daisy shook her head, thinking of the ambulance man and his horse’s teeth.

‘Things are changing, Daisy. The world is changing. You felt it too, didn’t you? Yesterday evening. All I want is to know what it was. Because I think something is trying to tell us what to do. It’s trying to guide us, only we don’t know how to listen.’

That made a strange kind of sense. It did feel a bit like when she was at school sometimes and she didn’t really understand what the teacher was saying.

Rilke stretched her hands out a bit further, opening them to Daisy.

‘I know things have been really bad. I’ve lost people too, I’m worried I’m going to lose my brother. The whole world has turned against us, we have to be there for each other. We’re different now, different to the rest of them, all of us – me, you, Schill, Cal, Brick and the others. We’re a family, we have to trust each other.’

Daisy liked the idea of a family. Cal already felt like her brother. In fact it was as if she’d been friends with all of them forever, even the new boy Marcus who, she knew without being told, liked loud music and hated football – she hoped Cal wouldn’t mind this last fact. Rilke, too, was not a stranger. She never had been. She relaxed a little, her hands creeping towards Rilke’s.

‘Do you trust me?’ Rilke asked. Daisy chewed her lip, then nodded. Rilke’s smile widened even further, revealing a row of perfect, small teeth. ‘Then take my hands.’

This time, Daisy didn’t hesitate. She threaded her fingers through Rilke’s, the girl’s skin as cold as marble. Rilke held her tight – not so hard that it was painful, though. The contact felt nice. She smiled back at her, forgetting why she’d been so worried before.

‘You’re a special girl, Daisy,’ said Rilke, her voice barely louder than the flutter of the candles. ‘You can do amazing things. I think we all can. Not yet, maybe, but soon. I think we all have a gift.’

‘What kind of gift?’ Daisy asked. Her ice cubes didn’t feel anything like a Christmas present. She wasn’t sure she even wanted them when they made her feel sad and frightened. Rilke squeezed her.

‘Think about it, Daisy. Why would the whole world turn against us? Why would they try to kill us?’

‘Because they hate us, I suppose,’ Daisy replied, shrugging. Rilke shook her head.

‘
Think
, why would they hate us? What would make them behave that way?’

Daisy frowned, wishing that Rilke would just tell her. She hated being asked questions that she didn’t know the answer to. Then, out of nowhere, she said:

‘Because they’re
scared
of us.’

Rilke nodded, obviously delighted, and Daisy felt some of the stress drain from her chest. It made a certain kind of sense, she realised. People did do silly things when they were really scared. Even so, they didn’t usually start trying to pull your arms and legs and head off. They—

Don’t they?
said Rilke, interrupting her thoughts, and Daisy couldn’t tell whether the other girl had spoken or not. ‘It’s happened before, throughout history. The ones that are different, who rise above just being human. People get scared of them, they kill them. What if they are supposed to be scared of us, Daisy? What if they’re
right
to be scared of us?’

‘Why?’ Daisy said, struggling. Rilke eased her grip, but she didn’t let go.

‘Don’t be frightened. I’m not going to hurt you. I could never hurt you. Don’t you see? Don’t you remember that feeling from yesterday?’

Daisy shivered just thinking about it, that wave of utter sadness that had washed over her when she was standing outside. No, it hadn’t been sadness exactly, it had been worse than that. It had been as if all emotion had gone, as if there was nothing left. She couldn’t explain it, only that it had felt like standing alone in an endless dark room and knowing that there was nobody else anywhere in the whole universe.

‘It’s a sign,’ Rilke said. ‘A sign that everything is going to change.’

‘But why?’ Daisy asked, feeling her throat tighten. ‘People will get hurt, I don’t want that. People are nice.’

‘Are they, Daisy?’ Rilke said. ‘Think about it,
really
think about it.’

She didn’t want to but she did – thoughts of the times she’d been bullied, back in her old school when she’d had eczema on her arms and everyone had called her names; the little boy in her town who’d been murdered by the creep who’d delivered leaflets, whose body had never been found; all the riots on telly, people beating each other up for stupid things they didn’t even need; and even her own mum, when the cancer had been bad, when it had made her say things that were really cruel. There was another memory too, but this one was Rilke’s, a man with rough fingers and long, dirty nails and breath that smelled of coffee and alcohol, his huge face looming in. Daisy squirmed, pushing the thoughts away, so sick of having other people’s hate and fear and confusion inside her head, ready to scream,
Leave me alone!

‘No,’ she said instead, choking on the word. ‘People are good, Rilke, they’re nice, most of them. I don’t want things to change.’

Rilke’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of sympathy and compassion that was heart-breaking.

‘It’s too late. I’m sorry, Daisy, but it is. What’s happening to the world . . . It has already begun.’

‘But what
is
happening?’ Daisy asked, catching her breath. Rilke squeezed her hands, pulling them closer to her.

‘
We
are,’ she said. ‘We’re happening. Don’t you see? Isn’t it clear what we have to do? We’ve been sent here to make things different. To clean things up. Look inside your head, Daisy, and tell me I’m wrong.’

She didn’t want to, not again. If she peered into those ice cubes then who knew what she might see? It would be bad, though, and there would be fire.

‘Please, Daisy,’ Rilke said. ‘I can’t do this without you. I need you, Schiller needs you, we all do. Just see for yourself.’

Daisy glanced again at the boy in the corner. He would be so hungry now, and thirsty. He might die if they couldn’t wake him up. As horrible as it might be, what if she could help? She tightened her grip on Rilke’s hands, grateful at least that she wasn’t on her own. Then she closed her eyes and let the images float to the surface . . .

It was like taking off a big coat in the middle of winter, one that was drenched with snow and water and which weighed a ton. She became as light as the dust that rose in the candlelight, free of everything and anything that could hold her down.

Even with her eyes closed she could see the others as if they were all standing in the same room. Only they weren’t, they were scattered over the park – Adam and Chris and the new boy Marcus, still sleeping (they were sharing a dream, she realised, one involving tortoises), Jade sitting on the log flume thinking about a boy who had tried to kill her, Brick still mending the fence, his thoughts full of revenge, and Cal just outside the restaurant door, his ear against it, shivering as he tried to work out what was happening.

There were loads more, boys and girls she didn’t yet know but who she seemed to recognise. They were everywhere, maybe twenty of them, more even, and they were all flowing this way. The sight of them – although it wasn’t quite sight, it was more than that, a
vision
– was dizzying, but it was comforting. These were members of her family. They were all welcome.

The same feeling from yesterday was there too, though, and this was certainly not welcome. It tainted everything, the way the world turns the colour of old bruises when a storm is about to start, and it made her feel like crying even though it had been so good to soar through her thoughts. She wanted to be away from this thing, whatever it was, and she fought to claw her way back into her body.

It’s okay, nothing can hurt us here
. The voice was Rilke’s, emanating from everywhere.
Just a little longer, Daisy. Just so we can see it.

Why did she want to see it? It was horrid. But Rilke was right, it couldn’t hurt them. Even though it felt like she was a million miles away in a million different places she knew she was still inside the restaurant in the little park by the sea. She focused on the dark cloud, trying to work out what it was and why it felt so unkind.

A picture began to emerge: a wide road, with fields on either side of it. There were several big black cars there, and men in suits holding guns. Some of those men were shrieking, others were pointing at . . .

What
was
that?

It was a man, but he was floating inside a whirlwind of chaos, and his mouth . . . Daisy groaned.
It isn’t real, it isn’t real
, she told herself. But it was; this was the thing they had all sensed last night, the lord of absence. She tried to close her eyes but the pictures were in her head, the sounds coming from inside her. She could smell blood, and burning meat, and smoke, she could taste the thick, oily air on her tongue. None of it mattered, though, because the man in the storm had left her empty. There was nothing left of her. She had never, ever felt this alone.

I want to go
, she said, feeling Rilke’s hands over her own.
Please, Rilke, I want to—

A blast of light, like an old-fashioned photographer’s flash, then a raging fire bit into her skin, making her scream. It was as if the floor had given way, her stomach lurching up into her throat. She opened her eyes and the air was full of flames, flickering blue and yellow and red. Just as quickly they were extinguished, leaving the same wide road as before, only this time it was completely and utterly real. Rilke was there, her mouth open in a rictus of shock, her hair billowing around her shoulders. Both of them were standing now, their hands linked together, the wind roaring past them like a train. Hundreds of bright embers had been caught up in the gale, all being pulled in the same direction.

Daisy watched them go, seeing them dragged towards the man in the storm. He was raised over the ground like he’d been crucified, his eyes blazing black light, his face like a drain, sucking in clouds of darkness. The noise was terrible, an inward howl like someone with asthma taking their last, desperate breath. It went on forever. All around him the air was in upheaval, like a tornado, like the one in the Wizard of Oz film.
He’s a sorcerer
, she had time to think.
Or something worse
.

One of the cars was in the air, and Daisy looked through the windows to see five men inside, two of them dead, speared by a shaft of metal, the rest screaming. One – the man sitting in the middle of the back seat – glanced at her, and she could read the horror in his bulging eyes, his bared teeth.

I’m sorry,
she said to him.
I can’t save you.
And somewhere in the chaos she realised that although she was here, actually
here
on this road, these events had already happened. She could almost hear the vast, groaning weight of broken time.

The man in the storm hurled out another whip-crack of black lightning, more of the world disintegrating. The car exploded into a million pieces, the bodies inside turning into sand and spiralling into the corpse’s mouth.