Everything Falling Into Place

Milo had always wanted to ride in a car. A real car. Not a toy, bound by the inertia of plastic; not a hollow husk, rusty and unmoving. Something out of those stories, where policemen placed a flashing light over the roof and sped through the city night, wind in their hair.

The one he now found himself in, indeed, moved. But it was nothing like what he had imagined. The cold metal onto which he had been thrown offered none of the imagined comfort of leather seats. The bump in the roads and the speed at which they traversed the city did nothing to ease his racing thoughts. But worse of all, he was surrounded by hard-faced, mean-eyed men. And one that looked like a crow.

And that woman.

The same one from that night. Keira was her name, he recalled. She sat in the front seat, looking over at the road and purring orders to the driver. And when the men had first started asking questions, and raising their voice. And threatening him. He had wished for her to intervene. Wished that she would only smile and hold him in her arms.

Instead, not once had she looked his way. He was sure. She hates me.

Another bump in the road made his heart jump. A feeling stronger even than the one he felt when sliding downhill on a rickety wooden sledge. There was nothing Milo could do but think about his mother in that instant. As all the fear rushed through him, and a million questions swirled in his mind. He wished for her to be here. She would know why Victoria had stayed behind. Why she hadn’t helped.

Was she afraid? Or did she leave Milo behind because—

Because she didn’t care for him?

I thought we could be friends. When Milo had approached them, he was sure they wouldn’t be like the others. He was sure Victoria sounded just like her mother did: kind, warm, funny. That’s why he had done it. And because he couldn’t reach that high.

It had been the first time Milo had taken the risk of approaching others. Of leaving his hiding place. And what good did it do? The box was left behind. Gone forever. He would never fix Dog. Not ever. He would stay with these furious men, the bird-man and Keira. Who didn’t want to look at him. Maybe she was angry, like the others. But Milo didn’t understand.

Why could someone be angry at him when all he ever did was stay hidden?

“Let’s try this again,” one of the men said — the meaner one — sitting closer to Milo. “Where are you lot hiding, huh?”

That question again. Did the man mean him and Dog?

Milo couldn’t risk telling them about his friend. They had already hurt Dog enough. But maybe if he kept his head down. If he stayed quiet and small. Maybe they’d forget about him. Maybe they’d forget he existed at all.

“Kid’s skittish,” the other man said. He sat beside the mean one, jaw bent to the side. “He might have just wandered in. What’s saying he’s got anythin’ to do with the Children?”

The bird-man moved before anyone could answer. He was tall and slim. His hair — black and as long as that of a princess — fell over his chest. That’s where he pressed his beaked mask after he had removed it.

Milo knew that man, he realised. The man with the hat. He had been there also, last night when they took Dog.

“This,” he said while grabbing Milo’s scarf from the bag. “Is what’s saying.”

“It’s my scarf!” Milo said without thinking.

“Oh, we know,” the hat man continued. “That’s precisely why we took you.” He reached out, settling a hand over Milo’s hair.

“You’re going to show us where your friends are.”

Friends? Were those Alek and Victoria? So that’s why the men weren’t happy! Perhaps they didn’t like Alek and Victoria and thought Milo was with them.

“I don’t know where they live,” Milo said, voice small. “I wanted to show them my house.”

The mean man stirred. “Oh, and which house would that be?”

“I— can’t tell you, or you’ll hurt my friend…”

The two men exchanged a glance.

Milo knew he should not have said that. But then again, he shouldn’t have said the previous thing, either. And the one before that. Milo should have just kept silent. Hidden. His fingers curled into the fabric of his large sleeves. Too late now. He had made the mean man angrier, he could tell. And he dreaded the reaction.

“Listen, boy.” The man stood up and bolted towards Milo in a second. “It’s you I’ll hurt unless you give us what we want!”

Milo flinched so hard he hit his head against the van’s wall. He didn’t know why, but somehow, he was holding his breath, and at that moment, he thought he might never breathe again. The man had clenched Milo’s jacket in his hand and leaned forward, his whole face twisting up. Milo pressed himself back as much as he could. Not much.

If only he could escape.

If only he could leave this car — that wasn’t at all like the car he’d dreamt about — and join his friend in the big library and all its books. If only they would just leave him alone.

“I could take you to them,” Milo started, hesitant. “If you promise you’ll let me go?”

That was it. That was how he would get out of this situation. How he’d be free again.

“Think this is so easy, do you?” the mean man responded, bumping his fist on the back of the van.

“Oi, will you shut up, Reece?”

The voice cut through Milo’s heart. She still hadn’t turned. Hadn’t looked at him, but she had spoken. Spoken words of freedom and helped him out of this unpleasant situation. Maybe she did like him after all. Maybe a little.

“We’re trying to focus on the road,” she added.

Reece scoffed. “Kid’s trying to bargain.”

He had been. But that’s only because he wanted out. Wanted to shut his eyes and wake up somewhere else — somewhere warm, where the floor didn’t vibrate, and the air didn’t stink of sweat and metal. Somewhere far from the angry men, and from the man who had stolen his scarf. Far from Keira, even.

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“We’ll take care of that with Rook,” she snapped. “I only asked for you guys along in case things went wrong. I don’t need you playing with our hostage.”

The van jerked, and Milo’s shoulder slammed against the side. A low growl came from the front seat.

“Damn roads are packed,” the driver muttered.

Milo couldn’t see much from where he sat. Only this square piece of the windshield and the sky beyond. Like one of his drawings. One where dark clouds had grouped and taken the sun away.

Keira suddenly cursed.

“See those guys?” she asked while pointing somewhere ahead. Milo couldn’t see, but he could hear.

“With those clouds, more will join them. And all that ruckus from earlier will have drawn them our way. Take us south through the tunnel. It might still be passable.”

“‘Might’ ain’t the most reassuring word.”

“Is ‘horde’ a better one for you?” Keira asked. “Just do as you’re told.”

The driver wasn’t convinced, and neither was he. Tunnels usually meant lots of the ugly ones. Some that could even run, and never stopped. They should stay far away from them and their shadows. Stay in the light. But the van turned anyway, heading straight towards where Keira had wanted.

“What was that back there, by the way?” the driver asked.

“How the hell should I know?” Keira said curtly. “The Redscarfs might have found a way to turn on the generators. Somehow. Maybe they expected us…”

The men with Milo had sat down, fidgeting with their weapons or looking out through the back windows. The hat man remained alert, perched and holding onto a handle swaying from the roof. Waiting.

Milo made the mistake of meeting his eyes. Now, the man had found a new interest in him.

He crouched before Milo, tilting his head like a curious raven. “Hey, kid,” he started, his voice softer now. “Listen, we won’t hurt you, alright? You just need to tell us where all the other Children are hiding, okay?”

Milo blinked. His mind flickered back to the stories in his books — lost boys and found families. Children? Were they looking for orphans?

“You mean… Like me?” he asked hesitantly.

Lark seemed confused. His eyes narrowed slightly, searching Milo’s like he was trying to see inside his skull. Pick apart his thoughts. Find pieces that didn’t fit. Without another word, he turned towards the front of the van.

“Boss, I don’t like this,” he said. “Something isn’t adding up. Maybe the kid really isn’t what we were expecting.”

Keira, who had been leaning against the dashboard, stiffened. “Really, Lark? Now?” she snarled. “You’re gonna do that now?”

Milo barely had time to register the tension between them before the whole van suddenly stopped. His stomach flipped. His hands shot out, palms smacking against the cold metal floor to keep himself from toppling forward.

The driver said a bad word.

Keira snapped towards him. “Why did you—”

She seemed to have found her answer. A pressing silence settled over the van. It made Milo’s skin prickle, and an uneasy feeling settled in his chest. Lark’s fingers twitched near the blades on his belt. The driver sat rigid, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. Drifting shadows were cast over the roof of the van, moving in the same direction.

Until bent-jaw broke the silence.

“Rotskins on our back!”

Lark moved first. Instantly, he was at the back, peering through the small rear window. Milo saw it then. The way Lark’s whole body tensed, the sharp inhale that never fully left his lungs.

“Not rotskins…” Lark muttered. His tone had changed. Gone was the whistle. Now he croaked — voice low and raw.

His hand snapped towards the driver.

“Kill the engine. Now!”

The driver didn’t glance back. His hands gripped the wheel tight. “No,” he spat. “We’re getting the fuck out of here.”

The van lurched forward.

Milo didn’t have time to brace himself before his back slammed against the metal doors. The engine roared. Tires screeched. The van lurched forward, bouncing over the road.

And then a crunch. A sickening crunch as the van rolled over something. Milo’s stomach twisted. It had been under the wheels and now under him. But it didn’t stop until it was left behind. Then something else bumped on the side of the van, and it veered in response. More thumps followed. The vehicle kept rocking as it ploughed through.

This wasn’t a story about shiny black cars. About an epic chase. No flashing lights, no wind in the air. This was a roller coaster into hell.

“What in the ever-loving shit are you doing?” Keira’s voice cut through the chaos.

“No choice!” the driver barked back. “They’re everywhere!”

The van swerved again. Another impact. A dull, meaty thud against the side panel.

Milo squeezed his eyes shut, hands clamped over his ears. It was too much. The snarls outside. The yelling inside. The weight of treason and fear. Dog, broken and alone. If only it would all go away.

Then, as if the world had heeded—

Darkness.

The growls faded, swallowed behind and muffled by stone and shadow, and the road smoothed beneath them. For a brief moment, it felt like they had escaped, like the van had slipped through a tunnel of quiet. But it didn’t last. It was a tunnel, but it only drove them towards worse.

The driver cursed as the light came again, bursting inside as they shot out of the tunnel. And then the whole world tilted.

The van caught something. Maybe a curb or debris. Milo didn’t know. He only knew the feeling of weightlessness, a terrifying instant when the wheels lost the road. Gravity had ceased to exist. But then, just as quickly, it yanked them down forcefully against the ground.

Steel screamed, and Milo flew. The van spun in a mess of limbs and shouts. Blood spattered from the angry man; a shriek came from Lark. And Keira braced. Claws stuck inside the dashboard.

But Milo could only watch. And fall.

The world turned over itself. Metal twisted. Glass shattered. He tried to cry out, but the sound never came. Something else did instead. Something hard. And Milo could only meet it — stopping his flight in a brutal stop.

The only sound left was the ticking of the engine. Ominous clicks as the van decided whether to die or not. The only sensation — that of weariness. Milo let his eyes shut. He would not need them anymore. There were too many things he did not wish to see.

Maybe he’d wake up somewhere else. Somewhere nice.

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Her skull throbbed. A deep, pulsing ache buried deep beneath bone. Then, a yellow glow. Dashboard lights flickered in and out, and a soft hiss escaped the ruined console. She was on her side — still seated. It was the van that was sideways.

Keira blinked, and the scene sharpened.

Behind her, there were two bodies. Dead. No doubt about it. The first, Reece, slumped against a crushed bench, neck twisted too far. An irritated grimace carved on his face. The other lay pinned beneath the crumpled frame, his mouth hanging slack. He had meant to scream, probably.

The driver was still sitting. Above her. Shaking and muttering something. Keira pushed herself up and over the seat. Her fingers slipped against a viscous liquid. Blood. Not hers.

“Lark?” Her voice came thick, sluggish. He had to be alive.

A pained grunt answered from behind the van, and relief washed over her.

He was conscious but injured. Lying on the concrete past the back doors that swung in the wind. Keira shoved against the wreckage, making her way towards him and stepping over bodies. The van groaned in protest as she crouched through the half-collapsed doors.

Cold air slapped her in the face.

Lark staggered up in front of her, blood dripping from his shoulder.

“We have to move,” she ordered.

“The kid?” Lark rasped.

The kid. Was he even still alive? She hadn’t checked. The whole thing had been a stupid enterprise. From the get-go, she should have known they were going on a witch hunt.

A low moan split the silence.

Keira turned. The alley from where the van had come flying stirred. Shadows moving between dead cars. Lurching and dragging. The horde would be trouble.

The bridge. There, at least, they would be safe. But she noticed it just as she looked northwest — her gaze following the river bank to her right.

A wall of abandoned vehicles.

The road to the bridge was blocked. It hadn’t been before. And if it wasn’t enough, the side streets vomited waves of shambling creatures. A dead tide slowly creeping towards them in tendrils of meat and bones.

Keira clicked her tongue, the sound bouncing off her fangs.

Perfect. It was all just perfect.

They had played the game well. She turned, scanning the street, the river, the lines of dead marching closer. And the ghosts shifting inside broken buildings, watching their own plan unravel.

There had been no accident. All of it had been arranged. She felt it. A hand moving unseen pieces across a board. Half her men dead. Lark bleeding out at her side. The road home swallowed by carcasses of rust and rot. And somewhere tucked in the rubble, they watched. A smile etched on their marble face.

They had taken the pawns to distract her. Next, they would take the queen.

Two moves from checkmate.

A deep roar cut through her thoughts — the sound of a raging engine bouncing between buildings.

Keira had found herself surrounded from all sides. Except one. A silvery cage dropped over her, its gate still open.

And now, it seemed, someone approached to shut it tight.

***