“I don’t know,” he said, as his superior officer moved away, running towards a squad car with its roof punched in and short, sharp tree branches poking out through the rips in the bodywork, waving around like monstrous spidery limbs.
Royle turned again to stare at the Needle. It drew his gaze, calling to him. He knew that he should be heading back to the hospital, to be at Vanessa’s side, but there was something else he had to do first. There was unfinished business; the final act of this messy epic.
He started to jog in the direction of the centre of the estate, passing injured people, while others walked around in a daze. He couldn’t stop to help. There was something more important to do. Ambulance men and paramedics tended to the fallen, soothing them, bandaging their wounds, trying to impose a sense of organisation onto the scene.
He heard the noise when he reached the Roundpath, and it grew louder as he approached the hoarding that ran around the Needle. A single soft note, as if hundreds of people were humming under their breath.
The fence around the building was torn and pulled away in places, so he had no difficulty accessing the site. He stood and stared up at the tower, and in that instant he knew that it was about to fall. He could feel it in the trembling ground beneath his feet; insistent tremors that travelled up through his legs and into his belly, making his innards sing. The loud humming noise was meant as a warning.
He looked at the ground, closed his eyes, and prayed that he wasn’t too late — but too late for what? He had no idea. All he knew was that he’d been summoned here. He opened his eyes again and looked at the Needle, challenging it to show him why he’d been called. Thick tree roots were wound around its base. The walls were cracked, and leaves and branches showed through the widening fissures.
The main doors flew open. A figure staggered out, almost falling to the ground. It was Abby Hansen. Black leaves clung to her arms, her legs, and her body. More of them formed a narrow pathway ahead of her, out of the building. Her hair was wet. Behind her, four other figures — these ones much smaller, and dressed in rags — moved in a sombre line, exiting the tower and standing around her, reaching out to help her.
When he started to move towards the group, he realised who the other figures were. He recognised their clothes first — despite being torn and dirty, they were the same outfits they’d been wearing when they disappeared.
He knew these girls as well as he knew his own wife, despite the fact that he’d never met them:
Connie Millstone, aged seven.
Alice Jacobs, aged eight.
Fiona Warren, aged nine.
Tessa Hansen, aged ten.
The Gone Away Girls.
They were the same ages as when they’d vanished. This did not seem as insane as it should, and Royle simply accepted that it was true. Of all the things he’d witnessed today, this was probably the easiest to understand. They’d been gone for years, but hardly any time at all had passed since they’d gone away.
“Abby…” He grabbed her arm and helped her away from the building. “This way. We have to get out of here before it falls.”
She blinked, her battered face showing comprehension. “It’s going to fall?”
He nodded. “Don’t ask me how I know, but yes it is.”
They made it over to the fence line before it happened. Royle sat Abby down on the ground, and then he gathered the girls together. They said nothing; their faces were dirty and blank. Their eyes seemed to stare inward. He wondered if they had any idea what was going on, or if, like him, they were simply spectators to some greater event.
“You were shot… are you okay?”
She nodded, and smiled, as if enjoying a private joke. “Just a flesh wound.”
He turned to take another look at the Needle, and it began to fall.
The lower floors sheared away, as if a great explosion had shunted them to the side. The floors above fell straight downwards. He was reminded of the World Trade Centre towers back in 2001, September the 11th. It was a date imprinted on the memory of the Western world, when terrorists had shaken the foundations of society. This tower fell in a similar manner, and its destruction was just as symbolic.
It seemed to take a matter of seconds, and when the billowing dust cloud began to clear, all that remained was the rubble. For an instant, Royle glimpsed a vision of a grove of massive oak trees, shimmering brightly, as if they were on fire. But the image lasted only a fraction of a second, and he could not be sure if he’d really seen it at all. All he was left with was a retinal burn; a visual tattoo, which soon faded to a small black spot — shaped not unlike a single leaf — in his vision. He’d stared directly into the sun, and it had not blinded him. He could still see, but the sights were much less beautiful than before. The falling of the tower had signified the end of something. Perhaps it was also the start of something else.
“What’ll happen here now?”
He looked down at Abby. She was sitting on the ground with her legs tucked up under her body. She was shaking.
“I’m not sure.” He reached down and stroked her head, ran his fingers across her battered cheek. “The people will have to move out of the estate. Or maybe they’ll stay, living like savages among those trees and wrecked buildings. Who knows? Who even cares?”
Abby nodded. The Gone Away Girls stood staring at the ruins of the Needle, as if watching a miracle. Each of them was weeping, but silently. He had a feeling they would never say anything again.
“Let’s go,” he said, reaching down to help Abby to her feet. “There’s a lot to be done. And a lot of other people to help.”
“Your wife…” She stood shakily, grabbing hold of him for support. “I think she’s okay. The baby, too. They’re both fine.”
Royle didn’t question this wisdom; he simply accepted it, just as he knew he must accept everything else that had happened over the past few weeks — and even longer, because hadn’t this been going on for centuries? If he doubted any of this for even a moment, he was afraid that he might lose his mind.
He held Abby’s hand as they left the Needle, heading towards the sound of sirens. Around them, new shoots began to grow. Saplings took root in the ruins; they rose towards the sky, growing quicker and stronger than any natural tree. By the time they had reached the way out, the entire area was knee-high in new trees. They walked away from this struggling new life. They did not look back.
The Gone Away Girls followed close behind them, a tight little bunch of lost souls that had somehow been found.
EPILOGUE
ONE YEAR LATER
SOMETIMES WHEN SHE won’t sleep, Royle puts his tiny fretting daughter in the car and drives out here. It’s a short journey, and one that causes him to experience mixed emotions. At one time he used to feel his skin crawling at the very thought of coming to this place, but now he embraces the darkness that waits for him here. As he drives through the empty streets at the outskirts of the Concrete Grove, past the crumbling buildings wrapped up in the calcified remains of trees, over the road surfaces cracked and treacherous, he remembers a time when this estate was filled with life… and when it was occupied by the Crawl, the horrible sensation that has not plagued him since the birth of his daughter.
He nods as he passes each checkpoint, flashing his official ID. The faces he sees here are impassive. The eyes are cold and hard, focused on nothing, and understand little of the strange environment over which they stand guard. There is a solemnity here, a sense of respectful awe.