He points the tip of the knife at her.
‘Thea never saw the fog up close, so she doesn’t understand that it wasn’t the most terrifying thing. It was just a cloud, some insects. There was no malevolence in it.’ He bangs his chest. ‘The truly terrifying thing about the fog was how quickly it became a licence for every vile thing in the human heart. You tell me, Emory. How could anybody, in good conscience, save a race that had witnessed the brutality of the fog and then decided to one-up it?’
He’s peering at her, genuinely expecting an answer. He wants affirmation, forgiveness for what he’s done.
‘I don’t know,’ she says meekly.
‘It wasn’t control my mother wanted,’ he says. ‘It was empathy. She knew that if we let everybody out of Blackheath, the same thing would just happen again. She thought that if Abi had control, she could alter human nature from the inside. No more selfishness, or greed, or violence. For the first time in history, we’d be one people, acting in harmony for the good of everybody.’
His eyes are agleam, the future reflected in them. Hearing him, she believes every word, and she wonders what persuasion like that could have achieved somewhere else, in a different time.
‘Imagine having millions of people on the planet, living equally,’ he says happily. ‘No poverty, no inequality, no war, no violence. Imagine waking everyday, knowing you’d be safe; free to pursue whatever end you set yourself. We can have that, but we need Abi. That’s why I’m going to carry on with my mother’s experiments.’
Emory stares at him, bewildered. ‘You can’t just keep killing people in the hopes of saving them,’ she says. ‘You have to find another way.’
‘There is no other way,’ he declares vehemently. ‘Humanity can’t change itself, history has shown that. We need an intervention.’
‘What about Thea? What will she say? You’ve done all of this to keep it from her, and now you’re going to start it all up again. You could barely hide your experiments when you had the entire island to work with. How will you manage it in the cauldron garden?’
‘We’re not going to the cauldron,’ he snorts. ‘Blackheath has everything we need, and there’s space enough for us to both work in solitude. Thea will destroy the fog, while I fix humanity. Believe me, she isn’t going to look up from her work for the next hundred years. Now, I think that’s all –’
The infirmary explodes, flames pluming out of the windows.
‘Please,’ she interrupts. ‘Tell me about Jack. Why was he down there? What did he do wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ admits Hephaestus. ‘Niema needed a few lab hands in to help with her experiments. She couldn’t risk Thea seeing villagers coming and going, so she decided the best thing was to keep some permanent staff down there, under lockdown. The only reason she chose Jack and the others was because it was easy to make them disappear.’
No sooner has the last word left his mouth than Emory has taken off in a sprint, charging down the lane leading to the school.
Roaring, he charges after her, moving surprisingly quickly considering his size.
The exercise yard is still and quiet, aside from a solitary owl hooting somewhere on the walls.
His eyes flick to every shadow, interrogating the darkness.
‘I’m not playing any more, Emory,’ he yells, losing his temper. ‘Come out now, or I’m going straight to Clara’s room and –’
Hearing rustling, he looks up in time to see Emory hurl herself off the balcony, landing heavily on his back.
Something stings his neck, his vision immediately going woozy as an empty syringe is crushed under his staggering feet.
Reaching around, he grabs Emory by the arm and hurls her to the ground, knocking the wind out of her. She cries out in pain, but immediately scrabbles onto her feet, trying to back away.
His vision’s swimming, but he’s still fast. He drives the knife towards her sternum, but he’s misjudged the distance. It sinks an inch into her flesh, before Emory falls backwards, wincing in pain.
Hephaestus looms over her, readying the knife to try again. He holds it up, then wobbles before collapsing to the ground unconscious.
Getting to her feet, Emory inspects the wound. A few inches higher and he would have put the blade through her throat.
She stalks over to the sleeping giant, picking up the knife with a shaking hand.
‘This belongs to my husband,’ she says.
2 HOURS UNTIL HUMANITY’S EXTINCTION
SIXTY-EIGHT
‘Thea!’ I shout, in her thoughts.
She startles awake, finding herself curled up in the bottom of the boat, being lashed by wind and rain, huge swells rocking her from side to side. It’s morning, but the sky is black with storm clouds, streaked by lightning.
‘You were thrown clear of the fog,’ I say.
Scrambling up, she realises she’s only feet from it and the insects are glowing so brightly they’re leaving dancing blots in her eyes.
Whimpering, she searches for the oars.
‘You dropped them in the water last night,’ I inform her. ‘There’s no need to panic, the anchor’s down. Help’s coming.’
In her panic, she doesn’t hear me.
Clumsily stripping off the resonance suit, she jumps into the storm-tossed ocean. Her toes cramp and her muscles spasm, as she bobs back to the surface. It’s agony, but she’s merciless, compelling her body to swim.
She’s aching from last night’s exertions, and the current’s strong. For all her effort, she’s only gaining inches of safety. Exhausting herself to stay in place.
Her legs slow, the strength running out of her. Gradually, the current starts tugging her back towards the fog.
‘Thea! Thea!’
A voice carries weakly across the water. She lifts her head, sees a boat approaching. Emory’s at the bow, banging the hull desperately to get her attention. Seth’s rowing as hard as he can, his muscles pulled taut, his teeth gritted with effort.
Thea’s arms chop into the water, her feet kicking frantically as she tries to reach them, but she doesn’t have the energy to make any headway. She’s swimming to survive, hoping the boat can reach her in time.
She risks a look behind her, but that only causes her to lose precious inches. She’s so close to the fog that half of her body is awash in a beautiful golden light.
There’s an enormous splash.
Strong hands take hold of her, dragging her clumsily into the boat. Rough wood scrapes her face. She bangs her shoulder into the seat, then lands in a pile on the bottom, staring up at Emory’s exhausted face, her cheeks stained with dried blood.
‘You got her?’ yells Seth.
‘Go,’ yells Emory.
The elder raises herself enough to see the boat she abandoned drifting into the fog and being swarmed by the insects, which swiftly lose interest when they discover there’s nothing to kill inside.
‘Why did you jump in the water?’ demands Emory, when they’ve finally reached a safe distance. ‘Your anchor was down. You were safe.’
‘How do you know my anchor was down?’
‘Because we rowed out earlier to check on you,’ replies Seth, dragging the oars through the water. ‘Why were you out here?’
‘I hit my head,’ says Thea, confused. ‘I never got the chance to put my anchor down.’
‘Well somebody did,’ he says gruffly.
‘If you were out here this morning, why didn’t you bring me to the village?’ demands Thea, wincing as she touches the sore spot on her head.