Sarah thought she could slip away, but Simon snatched her by the forearm. He held her effortlessly. Despite the pain in her shoulder, she pulled away, not only with her desire to be free but with revulsion.
“This is our last chance,” she said. “Let me go.”
“This isn't the way,” Simon said.
“I've got to try,” she said. “Someone's got to do something.”
Simon sighed. He seemed to change his mind and as if illustrating his decision, he released his sister. She had been pulling so hard that she slammed into the driver door.
She didn't waste time saying goodbye. She threw open the door and swung her legs out.
Firdy offered her his hand.
“Out,” he said.
He had removed his glasses and Sarah saw his eyes clearly; one large and brown, the other nothing but a milky slit with a grey dot in the centre.
She slid down to the ground. Like sewage.
Layer by layer, she succumbed to the cold.
Without an exchange of words, Simon hopped out of the van on the passenger side, took Sarah by the wrist and they joined Firdy at the rear. Simon gripped her so tightly that he was restricting the blood to her hand. She knew that he wouldn't loosen his grip unless she stopped trying to pull away, but she couldn't help herself.
Firdy unlocked the rear doors and pulled one open. The smell of piss. Sweat. Meat. Vomit.
“Out,” he said.
One by one, his cargo clambered out of the van, Zak first, blinking and rubbing his face. He had his hood up and was doing his best to appear calm, but he was clearly terrified. Firdy thought that he was impressionable, but easy enough to control. He'd let the Cat do something to one of them and then he'd be no trouble at all, like his father, who came next, shambolic and dishevelled, hair unkempt now as he climbed down from the van. His trousers were wet with piss and he stank accordingly.
“You're a fucking disgrace,” Firdy wanted to say, but his jeans hadn't reached this hour unsullied either; he swallowed bile and told him to keep moving.
Jonathan stepped out next, in polished shoes and a crisp business suit. There had been no chasing him from town to town. Firdy had sent him a message and he had replied to say he would be waiting. In his office, he would have fit like a knife into a block, but now his brushed hair and immaculate attire couldn't have been more out of place.
It didn't matter. It was what was under the clothes that counted.
The man moved slowly and apparently without fear, in the manner of a remorseless serial killer being prepared for his execution.
That's what he is, Sarah thought. They're serial killers. They're Simons.
Effectively, Ian Moody was the opposite of Jonathan. Dressed from head to toe in army gear, he would draw attention to himself everywhere but the forest. He sat on his bottom and slid out of the van. He was muscular and squat, but his boots gave him an inch or two on Firdy. Firdy hoped that the Third would discount any information about his size in favour of his deep skin tone. He didn't want to get burnt every year.
Naomi climbed down last of all. Her eyes flicked between Simon and Firdy and her anger was clear on her face, as were fresh, red slashes from the Cat. Blood ran down her neck and into her vest.
Firdy thought that she would complicate the procedure, but the Third had insisted that she be part of this. He wondered which part of Naomi the Third wanted. Maybe her liquid, deep eyes, throwing reflections back at anyone who stared at her. Maybe she admired her strength of will. Or maybe she was just the right blood group.
Sarah knew that if they could have rushed Firdy at once, while the Cat was still tied up, they would be unstoppable. There were six of them, seven including Simon, but they were allowing themselves to be herded. Zak was quivering against his father's body, but even though he was slight he could fight. If he was like her, as Simon had said, then his mind was free; perhaps if she could get away from Simon, the two of them could tackle Firdy.
Firdy had climbed into the back of the van while, to Sarah's dismay, the seven of them had waited for him to untie the cat. Naomi took a single step towards the van door before she stopped and groaned as if she had been punched in the stomach. Of all the Simons, she was the one who most wanted to get out of here, but there was no way that she could fight the Creature.
And so Sarah knew that it was up to her to stop Firdy, with or without help.
Her urge to fight diminished when the Cat dropped down from the back of the van. It was easily the size of an adult Alsation and it hissed, revealing incisors like knife blades.
Yes, they could all rush it, but who wanted to be first to, to lose a finger? An eye?
Firdy jumped down after it, no less dangerous and without mercy.
Sarah glanced at her brother, unable to stop feeling sickened that he was assisting Firdy. The Simon she knew had peeked out in the van, but since Firdy had returned he was gone again. This Simon was hurting her hand. This Simon would kill her if he had to. She was going to do as he said.
Firdy's moves were bold and purposeful. The sound of him slamming the doors shut reverberated through them all. He demanded that they walk under the cover of the nearby trees, where he then ordered everyone to hold hands. There was an exchange of looks, particularly between Sarah and Naomi, but nobody took the initiative to fight or to run. They did as they were told. They held hands.
Firdy took the lead, because he was the only one of them, aside from the cat, who knew where they were going and could see perfectly well in the dark. Simon followed, leading Sarah. She didn't know the name of the man whose hand she was holding, only that his grip on her was painfully tight and that he was trembling.
They marched through the trees, making their own path. They had all done it before at some time in their lives and so they moved quickly, even as the darkness thickened. Black leaves shivered all around them and twigs cracked underfoot and they did not stop. When Zak stumbled, the group dragged him and then hauled him back to his feet.
“Where are you taking us?” Sarah asked. Firdy ignored her and nobody else volunteered an answer.
The Cat had taken up the rear in case anyone broke off and ran into the deep dark.
Nobody did.
*
Simon saw no benefit in dwelling on their fate, as some of the others did. There was the will of the Third and there was putting one foot in front of the other until it was done. That was all. Or at least, so he had been telling himself, but it was increasingly difficult to focus. The thoughts of the group drifted through his mind, curling around him and clouding his ability to separate himself. The new thoughts that resulted were strange things and unwelcome.
Although the trees and clouds had conspired to cut out much of the moonlight, he was able to see Sarah and the rest of the group clearly. Sarah was marching with exaggerated steps so she wouldn't trip over vines or fallen branches. Her eyes were searching for safe places to put her feet, but it was impossible because they were moving so quickly. The knife was still in her shoulder and she was as pale as he had ever seen her. Her breathing was ragged and she looked like she might pass out. And yet, he felt almost nothing. In fact, he was glad.
Behind her, Will plodded on, his wild hair snagged by branches. Simon felt revulsion rising in him and forced himself to look beyond Will, to his son, Zak, the waste-of-space gamer, hood down now, crying to himself, struggling to keep up. Ian Moody was next, fitting in at last with his combat gear, grim determination on his face, and he was followed by Jonathan the businessman, looking somewhat like a lobotomised John Cleese with his perfectly soulless facial expression. Naomi was last in line, attempting to spy the Cat, but failing, because it was several metres behind her and to their left, appearing every now and then through the cover of thicker foliage.
He saw them all clearly, although it lasted only for a few seconds. Somehow he had experienced the scene through Firdy. Then he was stumbling in the gloom again, but now he knew that the one called Moody had delivered animals, dogs and cats and a few birds, as well as three people. Jonathan had begun his service delivering dogs and had progressed to people later. He had been working for the Third for less than two years. But nobody had been doing this for as long as Naomi; she had delivered more people than all of them. She had a large, extended family and it was looking after her little girl until she was 'right' again. Each one of them had things to lose, but she had the most.
Simon shook his head, but the foreign thoughts crowded him and infiltrated again.
“It's okay,” Firdy was thinking now. “It's going to be alright.” Simon didn't know whether the thought was directed at him or not.
A series of thoughts followed. He felt them almost as if they were his own.
“I don't know what to do. What am I meant to do?”
“I did everything I could, but it wasn't enough.”
“I want this to be over.”
“Today's a good day to die. I wish it was warmer though.”
“ … Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three ...”
“No loose ends.”
“Those bastards. Those absolute, fucking bastards.”
When Simon tried to differentiate one thinker from another, the thoughts multiplied and attempting to discard one only caused it to attach itself elsewhere.
“I'm dying,” another thought came. “I don't want to die. I don't want to die.”
In an attempt to prevent his mind being overcome, Simon concentrated on something tangible, the feel of Firdy's fingers locked around his wrist. The feel of Firdy's hand was the only part of the man that resembled Simon's father, a tight unmoving fist around his bony wrist, hurting him, hauling him through the dark. His father had welcomed him to his new life in this manner three years ago and now it was happening again.
Although he began to feel as though he was back inside his body again, he discerned his surroundings as though in a dream. He seemed to be walking freely, trotting through the undergrowth, and yet he could feel Firdy's gloved fingers against his wrist. He no longer knew whether he was holding Sarah's arm or whether she was holding him and he didn't dare experiment with the sensation in case he lost hold of her and didn't get her back. He wanted to stop and get his bearings, as did some of the other thinkers, but Firdy gave them no choice but to go on.
“No choice; it's what you've been saying all along,” he thought.
And: “Where are we going?”
And: “You need me.”
And: “He's crushing my fucking hand.”
He wanted to lie down and run and cry and laugh. Once more, he was on the brink of losing himself.
He attempted to focus on the sound of waves, which had begun to overpower the rustling of leaves.
He suspected that Firdy was leading them straight to the edge of a cliff and that when they got there there would be no climbing down. He was finally going to find out what happened when he threw people into the water.
The ground was descending, so the group found it increasingly difficult to stay upright. Firdy had picked up the pace and they were almost jogging now. Tripping was inevitable, but although they stumbled, nobody let go of the hand of the person in front.
They entered a fog, which grew rapidly thicker with each step. It muffled the sounds all around them. Firdy kept pulling and each one followed the person in front, their footsteps no longer crunching dirt but making little kisses and finally splashing. Simon concluded that they were walking through very shallow water, a small waterfall perhaps, but he couldn't see the ground at all anymore. He thought about stopping, but Firdy yanked on his arm to dissuade him.
The ground was still steep and Simon thought that perhaps they were following a natural path down to the sea, but he didn't believe that. Something was making his hairs stand on end.
Thankfully, they slowed their pace, but they kept moving, on and down, splashing in the dark. Firdy's grip loosened.
The waves had become hushed and the whispering of the trees had faded away to nothing. The sound of their breathing returned to them. Somebody sneezed and the noise reverberated as though they were in an enclosed space.
Simon considered that maybe they had entered a tunnel. He was almost sure that if he had been able to raise his hands he could have touched the roof.
The answer to what was happening bobbed in front of him for a long time, perhaps floating up from Firdy, before he was able to accept it.
“Keep up,” Firdy thought and Simon knew that its two-pronged meaning was directed at him.
“We're here, aren't we?” Simon thought.
He had broadcasted to everyone, so the wrong people replied.
“We're where?”
“Where's here?”
“We're stopping? Why are we stopping here? It's nowhere.”
“End of the road.”
“I can't feel him. I can't feel me.”
“Let's get this over with.”
The voices whirled. Losing his mind amid theirs again, Simon did all he could to focus on Firdy, reaching for him like a lifeline. He thought of Firdy's hand curled around his wrist and sought his thoughts in the blackness.
“You're nearly there,” Firdy was thinking. Again, the layers of meaning.
Simon was decoding the message when another consciousness joined them at their level and scattered all other thoughts like ants.
It said:
I'VE BEEN WAITING.
Cold invaded Simon's skin, flesh and bones. He thought he might actually freeze.
I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS.
They were indoors and the room was thinking:
I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS FOR SO LONG.
The room was alive.
She was alive.
She was the Third.
*
STOP.
A cascade.
“Stop.”
“Stop.”
“Stop.”
“Stop.”
“Stop.”
“Stop.”
“Stop.”
“Stop.”
The sky and the ground had long departed from sight. The darkness was complete. Now there was only the smell of sweat and piss and salt water. The sound of tears, flowing water, obscenely similar to a garden water feature, and tremulous breathing.
When Firdy released Simon's arm, he should have been lost in the darkness, like the others, but he thought again of the gloved hand, the crooked nose, the broken teeth and he was able to see, watching through Firdy. The largest thing in his vision was a ghostlike figure. He had the eyes of a man washed up on a beach; someone who had seen too much but had got away, until now. His hair was tangled and the lower part of his face was covered in stubble, while his clothes were covered with dirt. Despite his beaten appearance, it seemed that one should be wary of him. More. He had to be destroyed, one way or another, otherwise the fear of him would never go away.
Sarah was standing behind this man and Simon realised that he had been observing himself through Firdy. Firdy's fear of him had been off the scale. He immediately plumbed for the answer to why Firdy found him such a threat.
“Get out of my fucking head,” Firdy thought, but it was an impossible command. Everything was connected here.
Furious, Firdy ordered the group to let go of each other. When they refused, he strode from hand to hand, separating them by force. There were complaints, shouts and screams as each person lost their small measure of personal safety. Their yells echoed off the walls, layering confusion on confusion. The walls distorted their voices, as if toying with their pitch and shape and volume and then the cacophony stopped with a suddenness that was like a physical blow and caused Simon's viewpoint to snap back into his body.
A luminescence began to come from the walls themselves then, giving Simon the impression that the room was round. In the burgeoning, silvery haze he was able to make out outlines of the others in the group. Will and Jonathan were standing to his right, while the Cat had pinned Naomi against the wall to his left. It had dug its claws into her; blood stained one thigh of her jeans. She didn't scream, though she wanted to. She and Sarah had that in common. Sarah was with Zak in the centre of the room, with her good arm around the boy's shoulder.
Simon moved towards her and Firdy shoved him back. Like the others, he fell against the wall. Into the wall. When he tried to move he was stuck, as if he had been glued. Although it appeared to be water - his back, arms and legs were partly absorbed by it – he felt dry. Where it grasped him it was turning blue and green and rippling
He looked at the others and saw confusion and horror on their faces as one by one they too were attached to the wall. Firdy shoved Moody into place. Jonathan stepped back of his own accord. When Will attempted to reach Zak, a glistening 'arm' leapt from the wall and seized him by the nape of the neck. It reeled him in while he threw his arms out and made useless noises, a stunned expression on his face. It dragged him. It was horrible to see. Even Jonathan looked away. Only Firdy watched, with a smile on his lips.
Transformations continued all around. The brightest of the blue-green light emanated from the top of their heads, like halos, and then grew, spreading over the entire surface of the ceiling and down the wall. Dozens and then hundreds of veins became visible, whipping silver tails. The strands wriggled across the floor, connecting to each other.
Zak buried his face against Sarah. They both got the message that there was nowhere to run from something like this. There never had been.
“Now,” Firdy yelled. “Do it now.”
I'M DYING, the Third thought.
“Take them,” Firdy thought. “You can do it. We're doing it together this time.”
WHERE'S SHARONNE? …
“She's not coming. It won't work with her. She's sick. We have to make do with what we have.”
WE HAVE TO MAKE DO.
“Yeah.”
WE.
“Yes.”
IT HAS TO WORK THIS TIME. I DON'T HAVE THE ENERGY TO TRY AGAIN IF I FAIL.
“We only need one more chance.”
I DON'T WANT TO DIE DOWN HERE. ANOTHER YEAR ALONE ... I'LL DIE DOWN HERE.
“You aren't alone,” Firdy thought. “You have me. But I know.”
WHERE ARE THE OTHERS LIKE ME?
“They're gone. You know that.”
'GONE.'
WHEN WILL THEY COME BACK?
FOR ME.
“Please. You have to stay focused.”
THEY'RE NOT COMING BACK, ARE THEY.
“Are you ready? You can do this.”
THEY LEFT ME AND NOW I'M DYING.
“We're wasting time. Let's do this.”
THERE WERE THREE OF US. I WAS THE THIRD.
“Now. Please. Before you're too weak.”
I'VE DONE THIS BEFORE. SO MANY TIMES. IT NEVER WORKS. THEY DID IT, DIDN'T THEY? THE OTHERS. THEY MOVED ON. I NEVER HAD THE KNACK FOR IT. THEY NEVER SHOWED ME HOW.
The walls darkened.
“You've never tried it like this before,” thought Firdy. “We've got all the people that you've already touched. You know them better than they know themselves. We have Simon. You told me you must have Simon for it work.”
YES.
“And I got his sister too, to fill in any gaps.”
YES.
“And you have me.”
Silence, but the walls began to shimmer.
The walls rippled.
“You can do it again. Now.”
YES.
The wall undulated, infused with pink and orange and red, like rain falling in all directions, fanning out hypnotically.
The centre of the ceiling was a whirlpool in the making. Sarah knew that it was for her. A point formed in the centre, descending like a stalactite, shimmering as it crept towards her head. She squinted at it, her eyes ringed red, her lips tinged blue. Apart from her breath, which emerged in visible plumes, she could have passed for a corpse.
Firdy stood to one side, shielding his eye from what was a glare to him, as more whirlpools formed above. There would be one for each of them. They emerged like creations on an inverse potter's wheel.
The protrusion in the centre divided into two. One for Zak; one for Sarah. They continued to descend, separating, probing the salty air like lovers' tongues. Strands of Sarah's hair stood on end to meet one of them. In a few moments, it had a handful of her hair and it kept descending, inch by agonising inch, until it darted to make up the remaining distance, attaching itself to her scalp.
Sarah's eyes rolled in their sockets, her expression one of disgust. She looked as though she was trying to scream, but could not make the sound. It was unnecessary though, because now that she was connected to the Third, they all felt her terror. They all felt that she had answered a question that had been plaguing her: yes, what was going to happen was worse than dying. She was becoming something new, something beyond her control.
Ribs of light shimmered through the elongated thing, moving first from the ceiling towards her head and then, a minute or two later, in reverse, drawing something from her, draining her. The light rippled across the ceiling. The walls shivered.
Sarah strained to see what was happening to Zak, but her body was paralysed. It was perhaps for the best. Zak's half of the watery probe had plunged into his mouth. His eyes bulged.
Like a parasite, Simon thought, vomiting into its victim to prepare it for consuming.
Zak soiled himself and his eyes rolled back in their sockets. It wasn't long before his muscles gave out completely. The tube of light cracked like a whip and stiffened, holding him upright.
“It's going to be okay, Zak,” Firdy thought. “We're going to be fine, mate.”
As it had with Sarah, intense light passed in waves from the ceiling into Zak's mouth and later from his body and up into the ceiling, through the walls, across the floor.
Entwined as he was with Firdy in particular, Simon could not help but see that what was happening was beautiful.
Firdy played with his fingers as Sarah and Zak became one with the Third. It was going well so far. No rejections. He had known it would work. If it had worked for Simon and Will, it was unlikely that there would be a problem with Sarah and Zak. It was happening. And with the added information they could provide, the Third could use them.
Sarah was beginning to convulse, but Firdy knew that that was normal. The handle of his knife, which protruded from her shoulder, slid out of her, an inch first, then another and then the entire thing. Blade clean, it fell, through the floor, disappearing from sight without as much as a plop.
The puncture hole remained in Sarah's jacket, but Firdy knew that there would no longer be a wound beneath. The Third had learnt a lot. Fixing Sarah had been like rubbing out a mistake and filling in a new line in pencil. Surgery completed, future complications prevented, The Third continued to drink up all the information she could. She wasted nothing.
The flesh.
The bone.
The muscle.
Good places to eat.
Dates.
Numbers.
Colours.
Birthdays.
Ideas waiting to happen.
Nerve by tingling nerve, it navigated her electrical impulses.
It stored the memories she thought she had forgotten.
The protein.
The acids.
Carbon.
Stories, badly remembered, but retold just the same.
Best friends, lost and found and lost again.
Things that happened a long time ago.
The colour of the womb.
The best shade of nail varnish.
The smell of the room where her mother had killed herself.
The Canterbury Tales.
A distrust of mobile phones.
How to speak French and get by in German.
How to pass exams.
The Characteristics of a Living Organism.
It drank up that thing that people had yet to agree existed. The elusive thing that held everything together, but had destroyed the Third's previous attempts to recreate life. It had always been the most difficult thing to manipulate; how much to push aside, how to keep hold of what was left.
It took the wasted time. Wasted life.
It took her memories of Simon.
Whether he wanted it or not, Simon saw through Firdy's point of view consistently now, so he had no choice but to watch as Sarah was read and thus consumed. Something similar had happened to him three years ago, enabling the Third to enter his mind at will, but it would go further this time. Now it didn't only want access to their minds; it demanded their minds and their bodies in full, to use in the creation of something new.
A dim vision entered Simon's consciousness. His father was lying on the floor of a room similar to this, only tinged amber and yellow. He was naked and apparently unconscious as the floor rose and fell. There were three others in a similar state, another man and two women, none of whom Simon recognised. They lay in a rough circle, almost head to toe. around his viewpoint.
Translucent hoses descended from the ceiling and attached themselves to the bodies. Like umbilical cords, he thought. In the centre of the circle, the thing that afforded him this unique view looked down and saw itself. Half-formed, it was nerves biting, lungs burning. Its arms were bone and sinew, not yet topped with flesh or skin. One hand ended in constricted fingers that resembled claws. With the other bony hand, it fingered its genitalia, exploring its large penis and heavy scrotum, which hid labia beneath.
It looked at the men and women, prone on the floor, and knew that they were being consumed so it could live.
Feed, it thought. Feed.
Every object appeared in shades of brown and there were amber veins all around, obscuring his view at times. Simon realised that the viewpoint was within a cocoon. He was looking out as the thing that would become Firdy ...
“Get out, Simon. Get out of my fucking head.”
She had had to build her vessel from scratch, using the four as a template. She had succeeded in creating life, but she had either been unable or had decided not to instil itself into the body. She had rejected it.
“Simon. Get out now. Let it go.”
She had been shocked when her aborted offspring didn't die. Its tenacity inspired her to try again, as she was doing now.
It could be done, she thought, but she needed more bodies than before: first as subjects to examine, to strip apart and to attempt to put back together; and then as templates from which to work, to create her masterpiece.
No more hybrids, because they wouldn't go unnoticed.
No more wombs. No more vaginas. There was too much to go wrong.
This was the last chance. She had to keep it simple, because she really was ...
“Get out.”
… dying.
Firdy slapped Simon hard across the face, but he felt nothing. Firdy, however, looked shocked.
“Now you know everything,” Firdy thought. “Enjoy our new life.”
Above, the proboscises had become cone-shaped. They were each almost two feet long and wriggled now, seeking the tops of their heads.
Firdy watched with fascination, horror and joy. He had done all he could. He had delivered them as he had been asked and now it was up to the Third to do the rest, to take their bodies and minds and thoughts, their hearts and lungs and ropes of intestines, their blood, desires, passions and fears, their souls, and roll them all up into one perfect being inside which they could all live. This time it had to work, because if she had to face another year in the water, let alone another decade, she would allow herself to die, to go out like a light, like all the sea creatures around her.
“Don't give up,” Firdy thought. “We're nearly there.”
The hair on Simon's scalp rose to meet the probe that was meant for him.
“No!” he thought. The flow of light through the walls stuttered like a candle flame, but it did not stop.
“It's too late,” Firdy thought. “Let it go, Simon. You did everything you could... nothing.”
Simon fought against the wall. Firdy was right that it was too late, but he was wrong that he had done all he could. Walking Sarah to an execution was one thing, but this was no execution.
His body vibrated as all his remaining strength surged through him.
He managed to free one arm.
The others saw what was happening and Naomi started to fight again. Will began grunting to Simon's right and Ian Moody also attempted to free himself; in his own parlance, he hadn't signed up for this. Only Jonathan, the man in the black-blue business suit, was implacable. He neither looked at them, nor at the thing above, reaching for his skull. He looked dead ahead, having truly accepted his fate.
Simon focused only on reaching Firdy who stood only a couple of feet away, goading him with his proximity. He wanted to destroy the body that Firdy had stolen. With a roar and a ferocious twist, he managed to free his shoulder from the wall. His elbow followed with a snap of suction. And then his wrist and hand. He made a grab for Firdy, but the man stepped out of reach.
“Save your energy,” Firdy said, “we'll need it.”
And with that, the water worm silently attached it