Web of Fire Bind-up (10 page)

In her dreams, they were closing in on her.

Sally could hear the shouts and screams from the burning village and the harsh voices of soldiers calling to one another across the marshes.

Ahead of her lay the trees: tall silhouettes of pines stretching up into the night sky. If she could make it across the last few feet of open ground then she could escape.

Taking a deep breath, she stood up and ran for the tree line.

Somewhere behind her, guns began to fire and the ground erupted, sending chunks of earth flying up against her legs, but she kept on running until at last she stumbled onto the dark floor of the forest. Bullets smacked and whined through the branches above her head but soon she had left them behind and could hear them no more.

She pushed her way deeper into the forest, moving slowly and quietly through the thick, fragrant branches,
stopping at every sound in the undergrowth. She waited, as still and silent as the trees that surrounded her, and breathed in the cold scent of pine before moving on.

Presently she came upon a small clearing where the trees grew less densely and the canopy of branches opened to reveal a sky littered with stars.

Ahead of her, crouching in the darkness, she could make out the figure of a young woman. Glancing over her shoulder to see that no one was watching, the woman placed something behind the thick trunk of a large pine tree and partially covered it with bracken so that it would be hidden from view.

Sally heard voices. The soldiers were only minutes away now.

The young woman knelt by the tree and stretched out her hand. ‘Goodbye, my love,' she whispered. Then she stood up and Sally found herself looking straight into her sad blue eyes.

‘Please,' said the woman, ‘look after her for me.'

Then, as the sound of heavy boots came crashing through the undergrowth, the woman ran away.

Sally saw dark shapes moving through the trees and the fear caught in her own throat; she ran quickly in the opposite direction, faster and faster, wanting only to get away from the terror and sadness that surrounded her in this place.

At last, exhausted, she felt her legs give way and she fell down onto the dark woodland floor.

The wind blew high in the treetops and the sound of a gunshot rang out across the forest.

Sally screamed, and then her husband's arms were around her and she was staring at the curtains as the first light came into the bedroom.

It was morning.

As Jack held her close and told her, ‘Shhhh it was only a dream,' she shut her eyes and listened to the beating of her heart and the sound of rain, soft against the window.

‘So, General.' Odoursin stared at Hekken across the table, his eyes alert and unblinking. ‘What news?'

Hekken bowed slightly and gripped the two brown envelopes more tightly behind his back.

‘I am afraid, Your Excellency, that none of the children brought in from the marshes has been positively identified.'

Odoursin's stare hardened. ‘I presume you have not come here to waste my time, General Hekken?'

Hekken thrust his chin forward and made sure that he was standing to attention. This was a dangerous game he was playing. He would have to proceed with caution if he was to achieve the result he intended.

‘I hope not, Your Excellency. You see, my original hunch about the boy from the train was correct. He was lying. I have just received word that the tests have proved positive. His DNA is a perfect match with samples gathered from the boy's bedroom on Earth.' He allowed
himself a brief dramatic pause before adding: ‘We have found the Dreamwalker's Child.'

Hekken glanced at Odoursin and saw that his withered lips had twisted themselves into something approaching a smile.

‘This is most pleasing, General Hekken. For this, you shall be rewarded.'

Hekken took a deep breath and took a step forward. It was now or never.

‘Thank you, Your Excellency. There is, however, one more thing that I think you should see.'

He produced one of the envelopes from behind his back and placed it carefully on the desk in front of Odoursin. Odoursin frowned.

‘What is this?'

‘It is classified information that has only just come to light, Your Excellency. We managed to obtain it yesterday from sources inside Vahlzi.'

Odoursin opened the envelope and pulled out a large black and white photograph. It was blurred and had obviously been enlarged several times from a poor-quality original. It showed a young woman standing alone in a kitchen.

‘This photograph was taken over a decade ago by a search-and-rescue team,' said Hekken.

Odoursin stared at the photograph for a few moments and then looked up at him. ‘What exactly is your point, General?'

‘Please understand, Your Excellency, that I have no wish
to reawaken unpleasant memories,' said Hekken. ‘But the Council felt you should be made aware of this important development. The photograph that you are looking at now was taken many years ago, at the scene of your air crash. You see, this is the woman who killed your brother.'

Odoursin's eyes flashed angrily, but he remained calm. ‘If this is true,' he said bitterly, ‘then she is of no concern to us now. She will simply die with all the others.' He stared past Hekken at the layers of grey cloud that stretched away across the city. ‘If, as you say, the Dreamwalker's Child is in Aurobon then the prophecy will soon be fulfilled. We will rid the Earth of its human Darkness once and for all.'

Hekken waited until Odoursin had finished and then quietly placed the second envelope on the desk in front of him.

‘Forgive me,' he said, ‘but I think you should look at this too.'

Odoursin opened the envelope and pulled out another photograph. It was in colour and showed an auburn-haired woman dressed in blue dungarees, standing in the middle of a vegetable patch. She was in her early to mid-thirties and she was leaning on a garden spade.

‘We've had both photographs analysed by several different labs and they've all reached the same conclusion,' said Hekken. ‘We are confident that they are both photographs of the same woman.'

Odoursin glared at Hekken. ‘I really do not see the relevance of this, General Hekken,' he said angrily.
‘Why should the fact that this woman is still alive be of the slightest interest to me now?'

‘Because,' said Hekken, ‘she is the Dreamwalker.'

Half an hour later, General Hekken sank back into the comfortable leather seat of his staff car and smiled. He watched contentedly as the driver pulled smoothly away behind the motorcycle outriders that flanked Odoursin's armour-plated car and realised that things couldn't really have turned out better.

It was well known that Odoursin's hatred of humanity stemmed from his hatred of the woman who had killed his brother. Now, by convincing him that she was the Dreamwalker, Hekken had finally managed to destroy Odoursin's belief in the Dreamwalker's Child. The boy was not an ally: he was a dangerous threat to Vermia's plans and therefore he would have to die.

Hekken smiled again. He had to hand it to those Intelligence boys. He'd only given them twenty-four hours to come up with something, but that black and white photograph was a stroke of genius. For a moment, they'd even got him believing it.

As the convoy took a left onto the road towards the airbase, Hekken realised how much he was looking forward to seeing all of Odoursin's hate and bitterness unleashed on the Dreamwalker's Child.

There was only one thing driving Odoursin now and that was revenge. By the time he'd finished with the boy, there would be nothing left of him.

Stepping through the door, Sam felt the warm, steamy air all around him and caught the heavy scent of decay. It reminded him of the smell of the water in a flower vase which has been left to stagnate, of apples and plums rotting at the bottom of the fruit bowl, of the dead cat he had once found in the churchyard under the shadow of a yew tree.

Guards appeared and shouted orders at the prisoners as they gathered inside the door. Sam felt his stomach lurch. More shouting came from outside and then suddenly Skipper came flying through the doorway at high speed. She lost her footing and Sam thought she would fall head first onto the concrete floor, but to his amazement she tucked her head down onto her chest, flicked her feet up behind her and executed a perfect somersault in mid-air. She landed gracefully on the balls of her feet and stretched her arms up in a Y shape, like an Olympic gymnast finishing a gold-medal performance before a panel of judges.

‘Tah-dah!' she said, smiling. ‘Don't you just
love
Monday mornings?'

In spite of everything, Sam found himself smiling too. He watched as she brushed the white powder from her hair, heard her mutter something about ‘terrible dandruff' and remembered what she had said about the wreckage on the airfield.

‘That was my wasp…'

Surely she couldn't mean that she had flown it? A child, the pilot of a
wasp
? It was ridiculous, of course. But as he looked at her standing there, so small and confident with her hands on her hips and those deep-blue eyes taking everything in, he was sure of one thing. He had never met anyone quite like her in his life.

‘You and you!'

It was Stick Boy, as Skipper had called him. He was using his stick to point at them.

‘Get over to tank thirty-seven. You're on feeding detail.'

He turned his attention to a group of men standing behind them.

‘You four – egg maintenance. And there'd better not be any accidents this time. You know the penalty. Remember what happened to prisoner 453.'

The men shuffled off and Sam silently bet that whoever prisoner 453 was, he didn't get ‘Employee of the Month' award.

‘Are you two still here? Get moving!'

The guard raised his stick as if to strike them, and Skipper quickly pushed Sam towards a spiral staircase
leading down to the main part of the building below ground level.

At the bottom of the steps, Sam stopped and let out a low whistle. ‘Wow,' he said. ‘Check it
out
!'

‘Mmm,' said Skipper, deadpan. ‘Delightful, isn't it? No expense spared.'

They were on the floor of a large factory. Running around the walls were a series of metal gantries on several levels which was patrolled by fearsome-looking guards. Every now and then one of them would stop and shout orders to a prisoner working below, or alert one of the guards patrolling the floor to a problem that had been spotted from above.

Overhead, huge pyramid-shaped lights glared down upon fifty or more tanks of water, each one the size of a small swimming pool. The sides of the tanks were a couple of metres high and made of a silver-coloured metal. Steam drifted upwards in ghostly wisps as the heat from the factory caused some of the surface water to evaporate, and high above a cloud of water vapour spread itself out over the lights like a grey spectre. Condensation ran down the walls and trickled into drains set into the floor.

‘Come on,' said Skipper.

They made their way across the floor between several tanks with rafts of glistening, jelly-like spheres floating on the surface of the water. Each sphere was about the size of a football and contained a white, comma-shaped dot which every now and then would twitch and squirm.

‘Those are the eggs,' Skipper told him. ‘They'll be ready for transfer to the nursery tanks in a couple of days.'

‘What are the nursery tanks?'

‘That's where we're going,' replied Skipper, steering him around a prisoner who was withdrawing a long probe from one of the tanks. ‘It's where the young mosquito larvae are fed on nutrient-rich food for a few days. That gets them to the stage where they are ready to pupate. After that –'

‘Let me guess,' said Sam. ‘They take them to the pupation tanks?'

‘Very good, Sam,' said Skipper. ‘Are you sure you're not in the mosquito-breeding business?'

They stopped next to a large pile of white, granular powder with the consistency of sand. The pile was twice as high as Sam and several metres wide. Two large spades were stuck into it.

Skipper slapped the side of a tank underneath a square plaque with the number 37 printed on it.

‘This is us. Tank thirty-seven.'

A guard with a shaven, egg-shaped head leant over the railings of the gantry above the tank and glared down at them.

‘Get to work down there!' he shouted. ‘This ain't a holiday camp!'

‘Here,' said Skipper, handing Sam a spade. ‘Get shovelling, quick.'

She picked up the other one, dug into the pile and in one smooth movement threw a spadeful of the stuff into
the tank. There was a
ffflump
as it hit the water and the next moment the surface erupted, bubbling and boiling as the larvae went into a feeding frenzy, their tails thrashing against the tank and sending waves splashing over the sides.

Sam, who had been standing right next to the tank, was drenched in warm water as it slopped onto his head. He shook himself and plunged his own spade into the pile of what he now realised was larvae food, throwing it quickly over the side into the churning waters.

The two of them carried on in silence for a few minutes. The combination of hard manual work, heat and humidity meant that Sam's face was soon running with perspiration. He was breathing heavily too, and when he saw after a while that the guard had walked along the gantry in the opposite direction, he stopped, leant on his spade and wiped his brow with a damp sleeve.

‘How long do we have to do this for?' he asked.

Skipper stopped work for a moment and looked at him. ‘All day and every day,' she said. ‘These things eat like pigs, and when they're finished they just move a new batch up. It's never-ending.'