The Moon Stealers and The Children of the Light (12 page)

Rhys had ridden the motorcycle towards Lymington with
relative speed. He had slept little during the night; too preoccupied with
piecing together some of his son's life by looking through his belongings and
placing photographs in chronological order. The creatures' screams continued
well into the night. From the occasional peep through the window, Rhys could
see that the creatures seemed to concentrate their hunting efforts in the sky
above
Richmond
Park
and the woodland south of the
Thames
.

Once it had been safe to leave, Rhys made his way
through the country roads of the
New
Forest
and approached
Lymington from the north, then followed the signs for the ferry crossing to the
Isle of Wight
. He wondered what he might find on the island and
what he would do if he discovered no trace of his son. He rode along the side of
Lymington
River
. There were boats moored up in the marina, whilst
directly ahead of him the river opened wide to meet the
Solent
. As he
followed the signs and turned off the road, he noticed a barrier barring the
way to the ferry terminal car park where cars would have normally checked in
for the next crossing. Standing next to the barrier was a man armed with a
rifle and dressed in hunting gear, with a baseball cap shading his eyes.

The man watched Rhys intently.

Rhys knew that he couldn’t turn around; the guard
would have heard the throaty roar of the motorbike coming from some distance
away and had already seen him. The only option he had was to continue up to the
barrier.

The man held up his hand and signalled for Rhys to
stop.

'Turn the engine off and remove your helmet,' shouted
the man over the noise of the motorbike. Although he took a step forward, he
appeared wary and cautious, keeping a safe distance from Rhys.

Rhys did as the man said. At the far end of the
parking area, he could see several people loading boxes, crates, and barrels
into the open loading doors at the back of a ferry.

'Are you clean?' shouted the man. Rhys stepped off the
bike and lifted up his hands for the man to see. 'Have you been ill?' the man
asked once again.

'No,' Rhys shook his head.

'What are you doing here?'

'I heard there was a community on the island. I wanted
to join,' Rhys lied.

'Really. And where did you hear that?'

'I was in
London
, some survivors there said a group had moved to the
island to build a community. Is this where we cross?'

'We cross when we have enough supplies and survivors
worth taking over. We can't afford to waste fuel. How old are you?'

'Does it matter?' Rhys asked.

'The community can't take everyone. Do you have a
skill?'

'I was a doctor in south
Wales
. What happens to those you don’t take over?'

'They make their own little groups, try and survive as
long as possible, but the creatures usually get them in the end!' There was a
sneer on his face as he added the last part. 'Doctors we will always need, but
you will have to be go through decontamination first. Your bike and any
valuables will have to be left, as well as any weapons you have.'

By now another armed man had casually walked over
towards the barrier and together they both inspected the motorbike.

'Keys please,' the second man asked Rhys, holding out
his hand. Rhys had no choice but to agree. He placed the keys into the palm of
the man's hand. The other guard had noticed the Donestre sword that was
strapped to the side of the bike and was beginning to remove it.

'Where did you get this sword?' he asked.

'Found it in an antique shop,' lied Rhys, watching the
man lift it up and swing it round as if attacking an imaginary enemy.

The bike and Rhys were taken towards a building at the
far end of the car park next to the waiting ferry. Whilst the bike was left
outside, Rhys was taken through a door and into the building. The pockets of
his clothes were emptied, before being taken away from him. He was then sprayed
with a strong smelling disinfectant and told to take some new clothes from the
jumble piled up on a desk. He quickly picked some jeans and a shirt that looked
about the right size, and, for nostalgia's sake, grabbed a grey hoody. Rhys
quickly dressed then collected the photos that had been inside his pockets,
carefully hiding them in a secure pocket inside the hoody. He then followed the
guard through a series of rooms, each with boxes stacked inside, no doubt full
of supplies to take back to the island. The man unlocked another door and Rhys
was pushed into a waiting room.

Before he realised it, Rhys heard the dull click of
the door being locked behind him.

To one side of the room was a large window that looked
out towards the harbour and the boats in the marina. All around the room rows
of metal chairs were fixed together in long strips and bolted to the ground
like the waiting area in an airport. And, just like an airport, people were
sitting in the chairs, looking bored, nervous, tired and impatient. Several
pairs of eyes turned to look at Rhys as he stepped inside the room, curious to
see who had entered, but they quickly turned back to watch the boats on the
other side of the marina. In one corner of the room Rhys noticed a water
dispenser but the transparent blue bottle had long since been emptied and
didn’t look like it was going to be refilled anytime soon.

Rhys sat down on the nearest available chair. He made
a point of looking at everyone for something that seemed familiar compared to
the face he had spent the night studying, but no one resembled Steffan. He
nodded to a young man who was slouched in the chair opposite, hugging a piece
of paper close to his chest.

'Hi,' Rhys said, holding out his hand to the young man.
'My names Rhys.' It felt strange for him to speak his name after all the years
living in the Underworld under the name of the Grey Man.

Subconsciously the young man's eyes seemed to examine
Rhys' hand, inspecting it for signs of bacteria or disease, even though he knew
Rhys would have been disinfected before being admitted to the waiting room.

The young man clutched the piece of paper tightly with
one hand whilst he stretched out the other to shake Rhys'.

'My name's Will,' he replied in a shaky voice.

'When's the next crossing?' Rhys asked, trying to be
friendly.

'This afternoon I think,' replied Will. His eyes were
heavy. There were large purple bags hanging beneath them, caused, Rhys
presumed, from a lack of sleep. Or, from the way he sniffed his nose, possibly
from crying. Everyone in the room seemed to be lethargic and slow. A heavy
unspoken cloud seemed to be hanging over everyone. No one seemed to have any
energy or passion for life. Something that Rhys had seen before in the
downtrodden people of the Underworld. It seemed to arrive when all hope had
been abandoned. The other people in the room had accepted their fate and were
simply waiting to be shipped off like slaves to live under someone else's
protection and instruction.

Rhys turned back to Will. 'Where had you been
staying?'

'At a hotel with my girlfriend. At night we hid, by
day we searched for food. Yesterday one of the guards found me looting a
newsagents along the road and brought me back here.'

'What about your girlfriend?'

'She got sick several days ago.'

'I'm sorry,' replied Rhys with a sympathetic look.

There was a pause. Rhys could see tears gathering
around Will's already red and swollen eye lids. 'It's so hard to stay awake,'
he sobbed. 'I only closed my eyes for a few seconds and then she was gone. But,
I was so tired.'

Rhys didn’t say anything, but waited patiently for
Will to continue. Although it was obviously upsetting for him, he could tell
that Will was desperate to talk about it and share a connection with another
human being.

'She knew she was ill,' Will sobbed. 'We had seen
other people, their skin all black and poisoned, same as hers. Then one day we
came across a house. There were dead people hiding inside the cupboard and they
had the same marks on them. From then on, she knew she would end up the same
way.'

Will wiped his tears on the sleeve of his jacket. He
shook his head as if he was mentally casting aside his doubts. 'I suppose we
both knew, but you just don’t want to admit it. After I had fallen asleep she
wrote me a note then walked out of the door. She said she didn’t want me to
catch the disease from her. That she didn’t want to be responsible for my
death. And, without her, I would have a better chance of survival.'

Rhys reached over to Will and put a reassuring hand on
his shoulder.

'Be strong Will. Don’t waste the most precious gift
your girlfriend gave to you: the chance of life. I know for a fact that there
are people out there working on a solution to rid us of the creatures and the
disease they bring. So be strong. We can still survive this. If you die, so
does the memory of your girlfriend.'

Suddenly there was movement within the waiting room. A
guard had approached the outer door next to the glass window and was busy
trying to find the right key for the lock. As soon as he did he stepped inside
the room and addressed the survivors.

'We're going to cross to the island shortly. Weather
is currently good so we should get to the other side in plenty of time before
the light begins to fade. For your own safety, you will all be locked inside a
containment room on board the ferry until we reach
Yarmouth
.'

Everyone nodded obediently.

'I want you all to follow me to the ferry in a quiet
and orderly fashion. If anyone causes me any trouble, they will be left behind.
Do you all understand?'

There was a muttering of acceptance. Everyone stood
and began to walk out of the room in a solemn single file. Rhys and Will, being
the furthest from the waiting room door, were the last to leave.

The group followed the guard to the side of the ferry
and along a steel gangplank that sloped upwards away from the rear loading
doors and along the side of the ferry. At the top of the gangplank was a round
topped door that they entered, some of the men bowed slightly as they attempted
to avoid banging their heads. Rhys tried to discreetly observe everything that
was going on around the ferry without looking out of place, as well as making a
mental map of the route they took inside. They followed the guard down several
staircases that would normally have been restricted to ferry crew, and along
narrow corridors that smelt of grease and dirt until they came to a large
sliding door. They each stepped obediently over a wide metal plinth that housed
a black greasy chain which stretched from one wall to the other.

Beyond the plinth was a containment room. The walls
were simple metal studded walls painted a dull grey-green colour and chipped,
scratched, and smeared with black marks in places. They stood awkwardly amongst
the boxes and barrels that were stacked around the room. Muffled bangs and
voices came from somewhere beyond the containment room where other rooms were
being loaded.

'Here,' said the guard, lifting a glass lantern from a
hook on the wall and pushing it into Rhys' hands. He then fished around in one
of his trouser pockets and brought out a small pack of matches. 'We can’t
afford to waste too much fuel on light, so use it sparingly,' he added passing
them to Rhys.

The guard stepped over the metal plinth and back into
the corridor then began pulling down on a chain at the side of the door. Slowly
the chain moved the mechanism that slid the containment door across the
entrance, sealing the survivors inside with the rest of the cargo.

Everyone stood in silence.

Rhys pulled a match out of the box and began feeling
in the darkness for the abrasive strip on the box. As he lit the match an
orange glow illuminated the gloomy emotionless faces of the other survivors. He
then looked at the lantern. There was an old thick candle welded to the metal
base by the dribbled wax of previous lightings.

'Let me open the lantern,' said Will's voice from
beside him.

Will's hands reached out from the darkness and took
the lantern from Rhys then began unscrewing the glass dome. The match burnt to
Rhys' fingers and faded out. He lit another, immediately taking the flame to
the wick of the candle. Will placed the lantern on the top of a barrel in the
centre of the room. The survivors crowded around it, desperate not to be left
in darkness. Darkness was something they always associated with the time the
creatures came out to hunt.

The hulk of metal suddenly began vibrating and
rattling as the engines of the ferry ignited into high pitched squeaks casting
a look of fear across some of the survivors, but it was just the metal of the
ferry moving against the rubber tyres that protected the concrete harbour wall.