The Fury (36 page)

The security guard was getting tired, but he wasn’t slowing down. He chased after the car with that same ferocious expression, his bloody teeth bared, his fingers stretched out towards them. His feet scuffed the road, and at one point he even tripped, falling flat on his face. Chris slammed on the brakes, waiting for the man to push himself up. He teetered, looked for a second like he might be coming out of it, then caught scent of them again and stumbled forwards.

It was horrible. The guard didn’t know what he was doing, and they were going to kill him at this rate. Couldn’t they stop the car and put a sack over him, like they’d done with that other man? At least that way he couldn’t hurt himself. She didn’t suggest it, though, just in case
she
was the one who had to run out and do it.

Chris slowed as he reached the end of the road, Fursville almost directly opposite them now.

‘Left or right?’ he said, glancing at Daisy in the rear-view mirror. The guard almost caught them again, his fingers squeaking on the boot as Chris made a decision and swung left. Daisy heard the man utter a soft mewl as he scuffed his way along the road after them, his shirt hanging out over his big belly and one foot shoeless.

The poor guy. She wished there was something she could do. Surely there was a way to switch off whatever was making them so angry. If the man knew what was inside them – that it was something good – then he wouldn’t try to kill them. If Daisy was right, and the angels were here to fight the man in the storm, then they were helping people, not hurting them.

Chris pulled into the abandoned showroom across from the park, turning in a circle so they were pointing back the way they came. The man shuffled towards them in a pitiful, shambling run. He tripped, falling again, and this time Daisy heard the crack of a broken bone.

‘That’s enough!’ she said, watching the guard try to push himself up. A red nub of bone was sticking out of his forearm but there was still nothing in his narrow eyes but rage. ‘Please, Chris, he’s going to die.’

‘I don’t know what else to do,’ Chris said. ‘We can’t let him catch us, and we can’t leave him here because he’ll go back to the factory.’

The man had somehow made it back onto his feet. He stumble-ran across the forecourt, his good arm held out. He hit the window, slapping it with no real strength. Chris swore, moving the car out onto the road again.

The ambulance shot by so quickly that it made their car rock. Daisy screamed, watching in horror as the ambulance wobbled, clipping the high verge and spinning into a series of cartwheels. It disintegrated as it rolled, shedding glass and metal and plastic for what must have been fifty metres before lying still. The
engine
ignited with a soft puff, smoke drifting lazily into the flawless sky. Only the security guard was moving, still throwing weak punches at the side of the car.

‘What the hell?’ said Chris, his words drowned out by another siren. This one was a police car, catapulting past them and skidding to a halt beside the ruined ambulance. ‘Oh no, oh no, this is really bad.’

Two policemen scrambled out of the car. One of them ran towards the ambulance, the other stared at the Jaguar. He shouted something to them but the wind snatched it away. Chris spun the wheel round, accelerating to the left away from the accident. The security guard toppled over behind them, but Daisy was no longer watching him. She was gazing across the flat land towards the factory, and the flickering blue haze which surrounded it.

It wasn’t just the police. A fire engine was coming through the open barrier, its klaxon still blaring. There was already a cop car in the courtyard, and was that a bomb disposal van on the road?

Cal ducked back inside the door of the staff block.

‘We’ve had it,’ he said.

‘What happened?’ Brick asked. ‘How’d they even get here so quickly? It’s been, what, twenty minutes since we broke in?’

They looked at each other, and the answer seemed to dangle in front of them in the gloom.

‘Rilke,’ they both said together.

Brick threw his sack of food to the floor. ‘I’m going to kill her.’

At this rate he wasn’t going to get the chance. Cal could hear shouts amongst the sirens, dozens of them. Luckily nobody was close enough yet for the Fury to trigger. But it wouldn’t be long. There were already people running this way through the shimmering blue light. He gently clicked the door closed, his thoughts wheeling.

‘Is there another way out?’ he asked.

‘How would I know?’ Brick said. ‘Left the map back there, didn’t I.’

They set off, dragging their bags of food. There had to be a back exit, surely. For fires and stuff. Cal glanced up, seeing the familiar green emergency signs with the running stick man on them. He followed them inside the canteen, crashing through the double doors. It took him a second to spot the fire exit at the rear of the kitchen.

They were halfway there when they heard a voice from outside, distorted by a loudspeaker.

‘This is the police. We know you’re inside. Return to the front of the facility immediately.’

‘Man, it’s like a bank robbery or something,’ Brick said. ‘What are they worried about, that we’re going to steal a big bag of horse manure?’

‘It’s fertiliser, isn’t it,’ said Cal. ‘It’s what terrorists make bombs out of.’

‘Out of horse crap?’ said Brick as they reached the door. ‘Seriously?’

‘Shut it, Brick, we need to be quiet.’

Cal pushed the bar in the centre of the door, nudging it open. There was a soft click, then the silence of the room was torn apart by a clanging alarm.

‘Real quiet, Cal,’ said Brick, punching open the door and legging it outside. Cal ran after him, a blanket of bells sitting over the whole factory. They were in another courtyard, smaller this time, with a squat, square building dead ahead and more massive industrial vats to the right. Right behind those was the wall, five metres high and crowned with black spikes.

‘This is your last chance,’ said the loudspeaker man, muffled but still painfully clear. Cal thought he heard a bark, the sound making his skin grow cold. Ferals he could outrun. Dogs he couldn’t.

‘What now?’ he said. There were footsteps close by. He glanced over his shoulder, imagining fifty cops tearing round the corner of the staff block. Brick was moving towards the shining metal vats, each of them four, maybe five times as high as the wall. The giant silos were held in a nest of white scaffolding, and it didn’t take him long to work out what Brick was planning.

The barks were louder now, heading their way. And there was another sound too, the distant
whump-whump-whump
of a helicopter. Why the hell did it have to be a fertiliser factory? He had to force himself to start moving again, panic making his body feel twice as heavy as it actually was, filling his bones with lead. The sack didn’t help, and he nearly dropped it. But if they left here empty handed then they’d be right back where they started.

Brick was obviously thinking the same thing, because he was spinning his bag round like a hammer thrower at the Olympics. He let go of it, food spilling out in a tight circle as the sack rose up towards the top of the wall. It didn’t quite make it, bouncing off the bricks and thumping back onto the dirt. He ran to it, picking up cans and cartons and lobbing them individually over the spikes. Cal tore open his own bag and started throwing too, a barrage of food sailing over the wall. He’d thrown seven or eight items when he heard voices, much closer now.

‘That’ll do,’ he yelled, throwing over the now nearly empty sack. ‘Let’s go.’

They both ran to the nearest silo. Brick went first, jumping and grabbing one of the thick diagonal struts of the scaffolding. He grunted as he hauled himself up, his feet struggling for purchase on the smooth metal. He made it to the next one, and Cal followed. His fingers slipped on his first attempt, jarring his knee as he fell back onto the concrete. He ignored the pain, leaping up and grabbing hold just as the first policeman ran into sight.

The man started to call out, but the word never made it as the Fury took over. He threw himself across the courtyard, his mouth open too wide, his eyes black pebbles. Cal’s heart almost juddered to a halt. He reached for the next pole, clutching it and pulling his feet up as the cop slammed into the bottom of the scaffold. Fingernails raked at his ankles, the man’s mouth a dark, gnashing pit.

Cal climbed, not caring that he was overtaking Brick. They pushed against each other, their frantic movements almost knocking them both loose. Two more uniformed figures skidded past the side of the staff block, changing into ferals without missing a step. They clustered at the base of the silo, clawing upwards. A fourth appeared, slipping on a can and cracking his head open on the ground.

‘Keep going!’ Brick said, navigating his way up the side of the silo. Cal looped his arm around the next strut, almost slipping into the ocean of hands and teeth that swelled beneath him. He hung there, the terror almost too much for him, leaving him faint. He nearly fell, then Brick’s hand was on his arm. ‘Don’t you dare,’ the other boy said. ‘You’re not leaving me on my own.’

His feet found something solid and he pushed himself up to the next level. More and more police were piling into the courtyard, howling as the Fury overwhelmed them, their eyes burning into Cal. There were dogs too, their tails between their legs as they watched their masters turn into beasts.

Brick was level with the wall now. He stretched out one arm, the spikes almost close enough to touch. But it was a long drop, and certain death lay in the surging, shrieking chaos below.

‘Do it,’ Cal said. ‘You can make it.’

Brick swore, then with a choked cry he pushed off the scaffold and flapped towards the wall. He hit hard, grunting, but he managed to hook his hand over the top and pull himself up. The bass thump was louder now; a helicopter flew overhead like a bloated bluebottle. Cal could imagine the pilot’s face as he looked down, seeing his police mates baying like wolves.

‘You coming or what?’ said Brick, moving carefully to the side. Cal eased up another couple of struts, trying and failing not to look down. The courtyard was now a heaving mass of black uniforms and hate-filled faces.

He took a deep breath then threw himself at the wall, his stomach turning in wild circles as he reached out for one of the spikes. It sliced into his hand but he held on, hauling himself up until he was perched on the edge. A quick glance down the other side revealed a sheer drop into a patchy meadow, nothing but sand and sea grass and assorted items of food.

Together, they eased themselves round, hanging over the drop. The helicopter spun overhead, angling ever lower, battering them with a hurricane of wind and noise. Cal looked at Brick and smiled.

‘This is insane. If we die, I just want you to know that you’re an asshole,’ he shouted.

Brick grinned back.

‘I know.’

Then they both let go.

It was like watching a dozen different films at once on a television that flicked wildly and randomly between channels.

Rilke could make out snippets – a huge steel container that flashed brilliantly in the sun, a wall with spikes on it, a moving car, an ambulance in flames. But she couldn’t make much sense of what she saw. All she knew was that her plan was working. The others, the ones who had turned their back on her, were now at the mercy of the Fury. They would either drown in an ocean of human rage, or they would be forced to take action, to do what it was they were here to do.

They would have to fight back.

She opened her eyes. Some of the madness outside was bleeding into the restaurant. Faint sirens faded in and out with the soft lull of the sea, plus the guttering roar of a fire. There was a helicopter too. She wondered how long it would hang in the sky before its pilot was consumed by the Fury.

‘Shouldn’t we go and help them?’ whispered Jade. ‘They’ll die out there.’

‘Not if they embrace their gift,’ Rilke replied.

Schiller had been quiet for a while now, but he was starting to stir. He tilted his head up, looking at her with eyes of fire. His left arm still hung oddly, a lump beneath his skin where the joint had popped out. He didn’t seem to be in any pain, though. If anything, he was stronger than she’d ever known him to be, his gaze so intense that she had to look away.

‘But what happens when the others are caught, or killed?’ Marcus asked. ‘Won’t the police come here? Won’t they sense us?’

‘Yes,’ she said, glancing at her brother again. ‘But we’ll be ready for them. Won’t we, Schill?’

Schiller lifted his good arm, studying his hand as if he’d never seen it before. It burst into flames, soft blue tongues which caressed his skin, darting between his fingers. He pressed the burning palm against his dislocated shoulder, those playful flames spreading. With a series of ugly, wet cracks his arm slotted back into place. He held both hands in front of him, radiating cold light. He was smiling.

‘Oh yes,’ Rilke said, grinning back. ‘We’ll be ready.’

‘Turn round, Chris, we can’t leave them!’

Chris ignored her, the car accelerating hard, an invisible hand pushing her back into her seat. She cried out again, and this time he slammed on the brakes, tyres squealing as they shuddered to a halt. It wasn’t her pleas that had stopped him, though. Up ahead, blocking the road, was a police car, its blue lights flashing.

‘No!’ Chris yelled, wrestling with the gear stick and reversing. He swung the car round, gouging a chunk of dirt from the verge as he drove back the way they’d come. The police gave chase, pulling up close behind them. Daisy twisted, looking at the policewoman driver, seeing the exact moment that her face went from normal-angry to feral-angry. She let go of the wheel, reaching over it. The man next to her was doing the same, leaning forward in his seat, his cries misting up the windscreen.

With nobody steering it, the police car slammed into the angled roadside verge, flopping up then down, the windows shattering and the airbags deploying. Chris was going too fast for her to see what happened to the people inside. The burning ambulance was up ahead and Chris jerked the wheel, Daisy sliding across the leather seat into Adam as they re-entered Soapy’s car lot. Two policemen were waiting for them. One flashed past the window, too fast for the Fury to kick in. The other bounced off the bonnet, rolling over the car and hitting the floor limply.

‘Chris, no!’ Daisy wailed. ‘You’re killing them.’

He didn’t answer her, his eyes bulging in the mirror. He kept his foot down as they ploughed towards the rusty fence at the back of the forecourt. Daisy wrapped her arms around Adam – the boy still as quiet as a mouse – the impact bumping her into the air and cracking her head against the roof.

She blinked away the pain, seeing that they were in a huge, open field. The factory sat at the other end of it, its ugly bulk filling up the cracked windscreen. She bit down on another cry as the car bounced over the uneven ground, her insides feeling like they were being shaken to pieces. At least they were going in the right direction again. They might be able to find Cal and Brick.

A fresh siren, another police car pushing through the loose flap of fence and giving chase. This one was bigger, one of those giant truck things. It hardly even seemed to notice the craters and hillocks of the field, looming up behind them like a shark in the ocean.

‘Don’t!’ Daisy cried out to the policemen inside, her voice lost in the thunder of engines. ‘You’ll get hurt!’

But they had already turned feral, nothing but glinting eyes and half-moons of teeth in the darkness of the four-wheel drive. It shunted them, the back of their car jolting off the ground. The view through the windows lurched like a ship’s wheelhouse in a stormy sea. She had time to see the ditch dead ahead of them, a deep scar that ran the width of the field.

Then the car plunged into it and her world flickered off.