Garrick woke with a start. His fingers tightened, searching for his MP5 but the threat was only in his dreams. Dark shapes and forms dissipated from his mind as he took a shaky breath.

Anna was heavy and warm, slumped at his side, her eyes still closed, and her face soft with sleep. As he watched, dreams flitted across her eyelids. He relaxed and allowed his heart rate to return to normal. He lifted his arm. It was wrapped in white, woven gauze, secured with a small silver pin. The wound throbbed, but the limb was still mobile.

He shook her shoulder gently.

“Anna.”

She jerked from her dreams, pushing his hand away and pulling the pulse rifle tight to her chest. Momentary confusion clouded her eyes as she woke and her brain updated her on the events of the previous day. Information, resignation, and fear all crossed her face in a few seconds, leaving worry and dread in her eyes.

“Time to wake up.”

Anna blinked and rolled on to her side, pulling herself up. She combed her fingers through her hair then pulled it up into a red band. The smooth cascade of hair made his fingers itch to run through the gold sheath, but he kept his hands tight at his side.

Instead he concentrated on pulling himself up to a standing position. Every joint and muscle in his body ached as if he was suffering from the flu. His skin was hyper-sensitive to the rough cotton of his clothes, and his temples throbbed.

He ignored the intensity of her scrutiny.

“Ready?”

He nodded and picked up his MP5. “Never better.”

She put a hand on his forehead. Her fingers were cool and smooth. He let his lids close for a second, enjoying her touch.

“Your temperature is normal.”

“I’m good. Bit achy, but good.”

Concern creased her brow. He grasped her hand, took it from his forehead, and kissed her palm. She laughed, her face relaxing.

Half an hour later, they stood in the doorway of the launderette.

Anna pointed east. “When I came down the hill with you last night City Airport was there. Still intact.” She snagged his elbow. “We’re off course but it’s not all bad. Someone’s cutting us some slack.”

Garrick sensed a tingle of hope low in his gut. “Communications.”

A grin lit up Anna’s entire face, burning through the grime and fatigue. “Exactly.”

* * *

They headed for the airport, cutting through the village, across the empty carriageway, and through shredded security fencing. As they crossed a runway to get to the main buildings, they dodged a jumbled mess of split suitcases and scattered personal belongings that looked as if they had been tipped from the bowels of a departing plane. Clothes, toys, books, mobile phones were thrown in all directions. Garrick worked his way across the tarmac, slowed by muddy thinking and heavy un-cooperative legs, avoiding the detritus of people’s lives and loves. Anna followed him closely, her pulse rifle raised in nervous anticipation of their exposed position.

They hit the main buildings with empty bellies but found tins of pears and custard in a dilapidated newsagent. Shelves groaned with books, quietly languishing. They ate in silence, trying not to acknowledge the annihilated civilisation stacked about them.

Stomach full, Garrick insisted they push on, dismissing Anna’s concerns for his injuries. He led the way out of the concourse through twisted glass doors ripped from their hinges. His stomach ached with apprehension, exhaustion gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. Here, the runway tarmac stretched out in front of them, an endless river of grey. A single airbus sat on the runway; the rest taken as people had flown the city. The silence of the departed pressed against his eardrums. Garrick raised his face to the clouds. He’d heard rumours of survivors on Scottish islands. But nothing definite.

The sun had disappeared, and a grey shimmer of rain was now falling, not proper drops but a greasy smirr that made it difficult to see and chilled Garrick’s bones. At his side, Anna walked, dark shadows lurking under her eyes. She needed a hot meal and a warm bed, and it was down to him to make sure it happened.

The thought sent a rush of heat through him. Lying in bed with her, clean sheets full of the scent of the wind, sunlight peeking through a chink in the curtains. His hands running over her creamy skin while she filled up the dark spaces in his heart. The dream danced on the edges of his mind, teasing him with its beauty.

“Garrick?”

He snapped to attention. Anna’s face was furrowed with consternation. “Sorry.” Damn, I need to concentrate. He needed to get them both home safe. Tiredness and injuries were eroding his edge.

“This is what we want. Air Traffic Control.” She rattled the door but it was locked.

A new boost of energy filled him at the possibility of radioing for help. Without hesitation Garrick smashed a panel of glass above the lock then held his breath in the silence that followed. He laid a restraining hand on Anna’s arm, forcing her to wait with him, and when enough minutes had passed uneventfully, he reached through and unlocked the door.

They moved quickly through the reception area, their footsteps echoing unnaturally loud. Garrick went first, kicking open doors as he went, his MP5 at the ready. They climbed the stairs without incident, pushing through battered silver doors at the top and into the main flight-control space. Banks of computers faced them, dark and silent, surrounded by chairs tipped in disarray, abandoned where their occupants had left them.

Garrick dumped his backpack on the floor. He stepped over and took Anna’s from her shoulders. She let him remove it without complaint. Red marks were prominent where it had rubbed the tender flesh of her neck. He briefly rubbed her neck with his uninjured hand, wanting to soothe the soreness with a kiss. Later perhaps, when this seemingly endless journey was finished.

The control desk was dark, presenting him with a bewildering array of lights and buttons, but there were enough commonalities for him to recognise the system and get it running. He flicked on the link to the emergency generator and waited for the gentle hum of power to fill the room while he slipped headphones on. Blue lights flickered as he eased the dials to the left, trying to pick up the frequency of the CB. With nothing to do, Anna wandered over to the large plate glass windows, chewing at ripped skin at the side of her nails.

Garrick twisted the dial through hissing static followed by the shriek of the transmitter, then silence. He gripped the knob with white knuckles, willing there to be someone out there. White noise growled back at him from the dirty speakers. Nothing.

“Garrick.” Her tone was spiky as she stared out the window. “Come here, now. Give me your binoculars.” Her hand extended toward him, fingers outstretched.

The radio was a dead duck. Garrick shoved back his chair in frustration and made his way over to see what was sharpening the stress in her voice.

“What?”

Anna took the binoculars from him and raised them to her eyes, tweaking the focus on the rotating bevels.

“We need to go.” Her voice was strained, packed with misgiving.

She handed him the binoculars and pointed west of the tower, in the direction of the Thames.

He raised the lenses to his eyes. Outside swam and tilted. “What am I looking for?”

“The primary hive. I didn’t get a close look at it yesterday but I’ve never seen anything like this before. It’s heaving with newly-hatched queens.”

The view shifted and blurred in front of Garrick’s eyes and then the amber and black edifice swung into focus. Garrick had seen the hive many times, but it’s strange unfamiliarity never failed to unsettle him. Its construction was reminiscent of an irregular pyramid, one apex buried deep in the ground, the rest of the monstrosity rising from the earth in an ever widening girth of glinting black and gold facets that towered over the ground beneath. Chittrix surrounded it in undulating waves, crawling over each other in a frenzy of activity.

He drew his gaze from the agitated insects. “What does that mean?”

Anna’s face was ashen. “I suspected this, given their similarity to earth insects, but I’ve never seen it before. Perhaps it was too early in the colonisation process until now.” She paused. “Look at the crumpled wings. They’re waiting for them to dry and expand. Those are young queens, preparing for their nuptial flight to leave and establish new hives.”