Marc Chadbourn - The Queen of sinister

Crowther dropped down and placed the palm of his right hand on the soil.

'What's he talking about?' Mahalia said.

'The Blue Fire,' Crowther said to himself. 'I wish I could feel it.'

'You're bleeding.' Caitlin noticed the thin trickle running from Crowther's nose just as the iron filings taste dribbled into the edge of her own mouth. She dabbed at it, checked the stain on her fingers. 'What are they doing to us?'

'Come on,' Mahalia said insistently. 'You're standing around as if you're in a dream.' She picked up a rock from nearby and smashed it against the back of their prisoner's head. He pitched forward, unconscious. 'So he doesn't get in the way.'

Caitlin was too distracted to be horrified by the girl's action. Images scurried through her head that were not her own thoughts, a flickering of consciousness as contact was made — the face of one of the Whisperers loomed before her, and though its mouth formed no human syllables, the words made perfect sense: Give up now. There is no hope… no point running. Everyone must die. No point in anything. You could take your own life. Illness will claim you… The message hid a secret virus that infected her mind like poison in the blood: despair. The emotion was almost painful.

Suddenly Caitlin was back in the Ice-Field and Briony was shaking her roughly. 'Brigid says they're in your head. You have to get out of here.'

Caitlin came out of her trance to realise that she was walking slowly towards the boundary fence alongside Mahalia, Carlton and Crowther. She moved quickly, punching Crowther so hard in the face that his lips pulped against his teeth and blood splattered into his mouth.

The pain disrupted the mental image. 'You stupid cow!' Crowther roared.

But it was enough. Caitlin grabbed Carlton while Crowther picked up Mahalia and then they were hurrying towards the museum buildings.

They realised they'd exceeded the range of the Whisperers' sickening influence when Mahalia suddenly yelled, 'Put me down, you creep!' and lashed out wildly. Crowther dropped her hard on the floor with what Caitlin thought was a little too much relish.

Caitlin took one last look at the drifting purple haze where the withering atmosphere of despair hung along the boundary fence and then forced them to pick up the pace.

'What are those things,' Caitlin asked, 'and why are they hunting us?'

'Sport or food are the obvious answers,' Crowther muttered, but his expression suggested that the questions troubled him immensely.

It took them a while to gain access to the vast display halls; the previous occupant had effectively blocked every entrance. They eventually managed to smash open a side door, and once inside it felt odd to be walking alone amongst the gleaming archaic vehicles that now provided a haunting reminder of the world they had left behind. One vast echoing hall led on to another, all filled with the smell of oil and rubber and leather upholstery. Every car they had ever seen or heard of stood side by side, their pristine paintwork shimmering in the half-light.

'In centuries to come, when this place is overgrown and forgotten, this will be like Tutankhamun's tomb to a future generation of archaeologists,' Crowther said in hushed tones. 'Of course, that's if the human race is still around.' Crowther bypassed the oldest vehicles, which looked as if they would barely have outrun a horse, and instead stopped at a display of seventies sports cars. He finally selected one, a 1974 Ferrari Dino 246 GT.

Mahalia laughed. 'I bet you always wanted one of those.'

'And never had the money,' Crowther said. 'One advantage of the Fall… everything's there for the taking.'

'If you're strong enough,' Caitlin added pointedly.

Crowther examined the display sign. 'Actually, I chose it because it's really just a two-seater and we can shove the children in the tiny space behind the seats where I won't have to be bothered by them for the whole journey. Should be fairly uncomfortable.' He proceeded to read aloud: '2418 cc V-6 engine, twelve overhead valves, 195 b.h.p. at 7,600 r.p.m. and a max speed of 150 m.p.h. That should do the job. Now we just need to fill it up.' He opened the door, then paused uncomfortably. 'I don't suppose any of you know how to hot-wire a car.'

Mahalia pushed by him roughly and dipped under the steering column. A few seconds later the throaty roar of the engine echoed around the display hall.

'Oh, why am I not surprised.' Crowther slipped behind the wheel with obvious relish. 'Looks like there's enough in the tank to get us out to wherever the fuel depot is.'

'"Thanks" would have been nice,' Mahalia said sourly.

The fuel depot lay behind the display halls. High winds had camouflaged it with plastic sheeting, broken branches, leaves and other vegetation. Crowther uncovered several cans filled with petrol and smiled as he filled up the Ferrari's tank. 'Isn't it funny,' he mused to himself, 'I'd forgotten what it smelled like.'

Carlton stood off to one side, eyeing the treetops uncertainly, his head cocked to one side. 'I think Carlton knows a lot more than he shows,' Caitlin said. 'It's as if he can sense them.'

'I don't care if they're about to tap me on the shoulder,' Crowther said as he screwed the cap back on, 'they don't stand a chance of keeping up with this machine.'

Once they were all in, Crowther revved the engine and drove around to the exit gates. The purple mist that signified the Whisperers' presence drifted through the trees, but Crowther didn't wait to look at them.

The car hit the gates at speed. The impact jolted their teeth, but the gates burst off their hinges and then they were away down the winding service road.

'We did it!' Caitlin said in disbelief.

Carlton reached over the back of the seat to give the professor a hug. 'Get off me!' Crowther roared.

'You can thank me when you're ready,' Mahalia said, positioning herself so that Crowther would see her every time he looked in the rear-view mirror.

The professor grunted. 'You're not completely useless.'

He pulled the car out on to the main road and hit the accelerator so hard they were all thrown back into their seats. 'I wish we had some music,' he said.

Euphoria gripped them as they made their getaway. Only Carlton peered back to watch the purple mist drifting slowly in their wake. Mary had battled with a feeling of unease ever since Caitlin had left. Part of it was worry for her friend's safety. The first time they had met, three years earlier, they had disliked each other: Mary, the herbalist and alternative practitioner, and Caitlin, the rational GP, could see little common ground. But over the weeks and months as they came into contact more and more, they saw past the superficialities. Mary had learned to admire so much about Caitlin. The young doctor's strength of character and ability to sacrifice her own needs for the good of others were in stark contrast to how Mary saw herself. If her past mistakes had not been so great, Mary might have found a partner she could love, and they might have had a daughter. She would have been proud if the child had turned out like Caitlin.

But Mary's uneasiness also came from the certain knowledge that not all the trouble had moved on with Caitlin and Crowther. There was something in the air; she could feel it.

As the glass of whiskey caught the light from the fire, she felt a twinge of guilt that she'd only had breakfast half an hour ago. But then, life was more painful than anyone ever imagined, and what was wrong with something that took the edge off the cutting blade? At least she wouldn't be able to indulge it to the point where she ended up hanging around the village hall doing jigs for anyone that passed. No nipping down to the off-licence to replenish her supplies. The powers that be had seen fit to enforce a period of sobriety.