Crawlers Page 6

  ‘Less of the “you”, please,’ growled the voice from the speakers. ‘I’m not one of your subjects and I’m not going to be. May I remind you that we are in this as equals: you need me, my Queen, and don’t you forget it.’

  ‘A slip of the tongue,’ I assured him. ‘Please let me continue.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘I can control my subjects directly if I choose, of course. But the simplest and most efficient way to rule is to allow them to rule themselves – to let their own natures limit and shape them to my purpose.’

  ‘And what exactly do you mean by that?’

  ‘When my hand is upon someone I know everything about them. I see what they see. I experience the world as they do. But I also know the contents of their minds – the deepest secrets of their lives. One of those secrets is this: the vast majority want to be ruled. They may pretend independence but in fact they crave acceptance, approval, the comfort of the herd. They want their decisions made for them. They long to be directed by a higher power . . .’ I paused. ‘By us.’

  ‘You are . . . persuasive, my Queen,’ said Steadman. ‘But I’d be more confident you can keep your end of our bargain if those schoolchildren weren’t still on the loose.’

  ‘I told you, Steadman,’ I said patiently. ‘They didn’t escape – and I can prove it. Would you like to hear a secret from one

  of the youngsters right now?’

  ‘You can do that?’ said Steadman.

  Concentrating, I picked one.

  ‘It is a memory of school,’ I told him. ‘All tonight’s adult subjects, too, have strong school memories: those years seem strangely significant to your kind. But this memory is particularly potent, being recent.

  ‘It concerns a note passed during a lesson. The note is folded many times; its paper is soft and faintly greasy from the touch of many fingers. I unfold it carefully and find that the note has been signed, not just by one person, but by the whole class: twenty-two of my peers have put their name to what it says. When I read the message, my skin goes hot and tight and I tingle all over.’

  I paused, intrigued. The memory was harsh and bitter. I felt the squirming sensation in my subject’s guts. I noticed how, in the memory, the background sounds of the class and the other details of the moment seemed to fade and shrink, until four words were all that was left.

  ‘Well?’ asked Steadman. ‘What does it say?’

  ‘The signed note says,’ I told Steadman, ‘We all hate you.’

  For a moment Steadman was silent. ‘Kids,’ he said – but the amusement in his voice was false. I suspected that he had similar secrets from his own school years. I looked forward to discovering them.

  ‘Am I to understand, then,’ he asked quickly, ‘that someone in that room is already under your control?’

  ‘Correct. I have already begun to undermine the most effective members of the group, and the others got this far only by luck. These children are no threat. Soon, if I keep them where they are, they will neutralize themselves.

  ‘So,’ I told him, ‘send more adults for me to rule.’

  9:34 PM.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ said Ben, getting up. ‘We can’t just sit here. There’s got to be something we can do. Something else we can figure out about this situation – or some way to get word to the outside.’

  ‘Like I said before, mate,’ said Josh, looking at his fingernails, ‘I’m open to suggestions. If you’ve got something to say I’m sure we’d all be happy to hear it. But if you don’t, I’d just as soon you sit down and keep quiet, if you don’t mind.’ He smiled – or at least, the corners of his mouth lifted: the smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Help will be here soon enough. No sense rocking the boat.’

  ‘I want to have a look at those monitors,’ said Ben, advancing towards the door.

  ‘Be my guest,’ said Josh. ‘I’m sure Hugo could use a break, anyhow.’

  ‘Why, thank you, Josh,’ said Ben, but he didn’t wait to see if Josh caught the sarcasm. ‘Hugo,’ he said, closing the door to the monitor room behind him, ‘what’s going on?’

  Hugo looked up from the screens and blinked. ‘What? Oh . . . nothing.’ He gestured. ‘See for yourself.’

  On all the screens except one, the scenes the cameras were looking at were empty: empty passageways; empty stairwells; empty rooms – no people at all. But on the screen showing the view in the passage outside . . .

  This was the first time Ben had seen what was waiting for them, guarding their only exit. These had been ordinary adults on a night out: they were now standing absolutely still, like mannequins.

  ‘How many of them are out there?’ he asked, stifling a shudder.

  ‘Twenty-seven of them that you can see there,’ said Hugo. ‘There are probably more behind, but I counted all the ones I could. Three times, actually.’

  ‘Not much else to do in here, huh?’ said Ben.

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ said Hugo drily.

  ‘That’s not all of them out there, though, is it?’ asked Ben.

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘You think all of the bitten people are out there in the passageway? What about the ones who went out to meet the police? Were they from out there?’

  ‘Not that I saw,’ Hugo answered. ‘If they did come from the crowd outside, it wasn’t from the front row. No one’s twitched a muscle in that lot since they stopped trying to break the door down.’ He made a face. ‘It’s freaking me out, frankly.’

  ‘So maybe,’ said Ben, ‘not everybody who’s been bitten is there.’

  Hugo shrugged. ‘Stands to reason, I guess.’

  ‘Well, if they’re not out there,’ Ben wondered, looking at the empty screens, ‘where are they all?’

  ‘Beats me,’ said Hugo. ‘I just work here.’

  Ben looked down at the desk at which Hugo was sitting. As well as the congealed remains of a mug of milky coffee and an impressive (and obviously long-lived) collection of empty sweet wrappers left by its usual occupants, the desk contained a black angled console covered in numbered, grey rubber buttons with, at its centre, a small joystick.

  ‘This looks like it controls the cameras,’ said Ben, reaching for the buttons. ‘Why don’t we take a look?’

  ‘Now hold on a second,’ said Hugo, turning on his chair and putting himself in between Ben and the console. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

  ‘What? Why not?’

  Hugo pursed his lips. Ben could tell that he didn’t like being put in the position of having to stop him – but Ben didn’t care.

  ‘Come on, Hugo,’ he said. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘All right,’ said Hugo, ‘I’ll tell you: right now, we’ve got a good combination. There’ – he pointed – ‘are the two screens showing the main entrance, and we’ve got this camera showing us what’s happening out there in the passage. If we start pressing buttons, we might lose that picture. Then we’d have no idea what they’re up to. We’d be defenceless.’

  ‘Cobblers,’ said Ben. ‘I’m sure it’s not complicated. If that happens we just keep pressing the buttons until the picture comes back.’

  ‘But what if they attack again while we can’t see them?’

  ‘They won’t! They’ve been standing out there doing nothing for, like, an hour. Besides, what difference would it make? They’d still be out there and we’d still be stuck in here.’ Ben tried to reach past him, but—

  ‘No, I’m sorry.’ Hugo shook his head. ‘There’s no way I’m letting you do it. It’s too risky.’

  ‘But . . .’ Ben stared at him, amazed. ‘Isn’t it sort of worth the risk? I mean . . . those screens are the only advantage we’ve got. Apart from a couple of squashed crawlers, they’re the only thing that might give us an idea of what’s really going on in this place. And you’re seriously telling me you won’t even take a look?’

  Hugo blinked rapidly. ‘What did you call them?’ Then he collected himself. ‘I mean, no. No changing the camer
as. Or not without Josh’s say-so anyhow.’ He folded his arms, doing his best to look decisive.

  ‘You’re kidding,’ said Ben. ‘You need Josh’s permission? You won’t even press a button without Josh holding your hand?’

  ‘It’s not that,’ Hugo blustered. ‘I just don’t think it’s a good idea, that’s all.’

  Ben was going to say exactly what he thought about that, but was interrupted.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Josh asked, closing the door behind him.

  ‘Ben wants to change what’s on the monitors,’ said Hugo promptly.

  ‘Why?’ asked Josh. ‘You can’t get the Sci-Fi channel on here, you know.’ He smirked at Hugo. ‘I mean, honestly, Ben: crawlers?’ Josh shook his head in mock despair, then gave Ben another smile – a smile that was no smile at all.

  ‘We should try and see what else is going on in the rest of the building,’ said Ben, keeping his voice level. How he hated having to explain himself! Especially to Josh. And he might not even have had to, if Hugo’d had the gumption to think for himself. ‘We might get some clues about what to do.’

  Josh sighed. ‘But we know what to do, don’t we? We’re going to wait here until help comes. We decided.’

  ‘I didn’t decide,’ said Ben.

  Josh narrowed his eyes. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I said, I didn’t decide. I don’t remember it being put to a vote or anything. In fact,’ Ben added, ‘nobody’s really asked anybody’s opinion at all – and certainly not mine. But it seems to me that somehow we’ve ended up doing whatever you tell us to do, Josh. Why is that, exactly?’

  ‘What’s the matter, Ben?’ asked Josh softly. ‘You don’t like the way I run things?’

  Surprised, Ben didn’t reply.

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Josh. ‘Really – it’s fine. In school circumstances, I’d be happy to listen to any problems you might have. You know I’d always have time for you, mate.’

  ‘But—’ said Ben.

  ‘But this isn’t school circumstances, is it?’ asked Josh, interrupting him again. ‘This is something else. Something bad. Something,’ he added, ‘for which we all have to pull together.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know what I’m talking about,’ said Josh, leaning back against the door to make sure it was closed behind him. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t. I’m talking about those plebs out there.’

  There it was again. That word.

  ‘Someone has to get them through this.’ Josh spoke low and quickly now. ‘Someone has to lead them. They’ll bitch and moan, of course. But they want to be told what to do. They’re plebs. They’re happiest that way. One thing, though: there can’t be more than one leader.’ He paused. ‘You see, it’s like the army.’

  Hugo nodded vigorously.

  ‘There has to be a clear chain of command,’ said Josh. ‘One person has authority in a crisis situation: the buck stops with them, their word goes. That’s how it should be. It can’t be any other way. Because in a crisis situation if there’s any hesitation, any questioning orders, people die.

  ‘Here’s the thing, mate: this group needs a leader. No offence, but I don’t think you or anyone else out there is up to the job. So it’s time for you to make a choice. You can carry on like you always do – keeping yourself apart, sneering at us all from the sidelines. Or you can do the right thing for once, stand shoulder to shoulder with the rest of us, and back me up a little.’ Josh smiled. ‘That’s all I’m asking.’

  Ben frowned. ‘And all I’m asking,’ he said, ‘is to have a go on the cameras. Why are you being such a knob about this?’

  Josh’s smile vanished. His lips tightened into a hard white line. ‘All right,’ he told Ben slowly. ‘I’ve given you your warning. Now all bets are off. From now on, I’m watching you.’

  ‘Really,’ said Ben.

  ‘You’re a bad apple, Freeman,’ said Josh. ‘By crossing me, you put the whole group in danger. So, cross me again? You’ll be history.’

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ said Ben. ‘You’re not going to let me use the cameras?’

  ‘Get out of here,’ said Josh. ‘Before I lose my temper.’

  ‘Oh, we wouldn’t want that,’ said Ben, pushing past him. ‘Knob.’

  9:39 PM.

  Ben emerged from the monitor room with his face feeling hot and red. He was annoyed with Josh, sure, but he was also annoyed at himself. Why couldn’t he keep his cool with him? Whenever Ben spoke to Josh he got a twisting feeling in his stomach and then all of a sudden the conversation would be out of control. He hadn’t meant to call Josh a knob. Well all right, he had meant to – Josh unquestionably was one, after all. But the sensible thing in the circumstances would’ve been to try reasoning with him some more, before reaching for the insults.

  Yeah, he told himself bitterly, like that would’ve worked.

  They just hated each other. That was all there was to it. Or rather, he hated Josh; most of the time Josh probably didn’t even think about him. Josh was too busy being top of the school heap, giving orders and having everybody do as he said.

  He looked up. Despite being stuck together for the best part of two hours now, the group had spectacularly failed to mix. Robert and Ben himself were on the side of the room nearest the monitor-room door. The girls – Jasmine, Samantha, Lauren and the mousey-haired one, Ben couldn’t think of her name for a moment . . . Lisa – were all sitting on chairs or the floor on the opposite side of the room. The room was divided down the middle, by both school and gender.

  Deliberately not pausing to think about it too much – but feeling a flare of nerves anyway – Ben walked over and sat down on the floor next to Jasmine.

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  Jasmine stopped prodding at the dead crawlers. Setting the notice board and its grisly contents down beside her, she looked at him.

  ‘Anything happening on the screens?’ she asked, all business.

  ‘Er . . . no,’ said Ben, surprised.

  He thought of saying something about the argument with Josh and Hugo, but hesitated: he might have sounded like he was telling tales, and – annoyingly – there was something of Josh’s words about ‘pulling together’ in his thoughts too. Ben felt powerfully attracted to Jasmine: she seemed the only other person in this mad situation who was making any effort to find out what was really happening and, yes, she was gorgeous. But he wasn’t quite ready to say what he thought of Josh just yet. Also, by the time he realized that this was what he was feeling, the moment had gone.

  ‘Oh well,’ said Jasmine. ‘Then I guess we really do just have to sit and wait.’

  ‘I’m Ben,’ Ben blurted.

  Jasmine gave him a quizzical look. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I know.’

  ‘You’re Jasmine – right?’ said Ben. But Jasmine’s expression did not change. In fact, from the silence of the room around him Ben imagined that everybody else was looking at him now too. He hoped his face wasn’t still red, but he reckoned it probably was.

  ‘It’s just . . . nobody’s talking,’ he plunged on when Jasmine didn’t answer. Brilliant, he thought. What’s that, three obvious things in a row? ‘We’re all just sitting here.’ Four. ‘We don’t know how long for.’ Five. ‘So I thought, er, maybe we should try and get to know each other a bit.’ Oh, great, now it probably sounds like I’m trying to chat her up! ‘Just to pass the time, yeah?’ he added quickly. ‘So, you know’ – he shrugged – ‘hi.’

  ‘Hi yourself,’ said Jasmine.

  It was probably only because she thought Ben was a fool – how could she think otherwise, after the lamest introduction in world history? – but at least now she was smiling. She had a tiny dimple in her left cheek, and the tip of her nose had lifted a little: Jasmine’s whole face moved when she smiled.

  She has a nice smile, Ben decided.

  ‘Kind of a weird way to meet,’ he tried, brilliantly.

  ‘Yes, you could say that,’ was the judicious reply.

  ‘I mean, I don�
��t think anything like this has ever happened to me before,’ said Ben, grinning himself now. ‘You?’

  If Jasmine had a type of boy she liked – and she wasn’t sure she did – Ben shouldn’t have been it. He was white, for a start. That by itself wasn’t necessarily a problem, but Jasmine had never thought about a white person in a romantic way before. Especially one with freckles, and floppy dark hair, and sparkling grey-blue eyes, and a cute grin, and—

  Now hold on a second. She blinked.

  ‘No,’ she said aloud, ‘I think I can safely say that nothing like this has ever happened to me, either.’

  ‘When we get out of this,’ said Ben, trying to make light of it, ‘we can sell this story to the papers. We’ll make a fortune.’

  ‘Yes – when we get out of this,’ Jasmine echoed.

  ‘What’s up?’ Ben asked quietly.

  Jasmine cast a quick glance at the three dead crawlers, which were still lying on the notice board on the floor beside her, their rubbery legs in the air. Then she looked at him.

  ‘Did you see the monitors?’ she asked. ‘The people outside?’

  ‘Yes . . .’ said Ben, the intense way she’d asked the question making him feel uncertain.

  ‘What do they look like they’re doing?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Ben. ‘Standing there, I guess. Waiting. Guarding, like Josh said.’

  ‘But why? Why did they stop attacking? And why did the crawlers go away?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You said you saw thousands of them,’ Jasmine reminded him, ‘before, in the foyer.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ben, ‘but—’

  ‘Then there should have been more in the vent when they attacked us. A notice board wouldn’t have stopped them. The room should have been full of them. But instead . . .’ She paused. ‘Instead, they just left. And we’re being kept here. What I want to know is, why?’