The Swarm Descends. Jacob Grey
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into the branches of a tree. The others rose after her. Caw clambered out and closed the cover. Gort House was just a short walk up the hill, but he set off at a jog along the side of the road. It was a quiet area and they were unlikely to bump into anyone. Still, he was ready to hide in the bushes if need be.
Even if Quaker was a coward, Caw could trust him. After all, it was the cat feral who had first told him about the Crow’s Beak, about his parents, and many other things besides. He was an academic of sorts, specialising in the history and culture of the feral lines. Gort House was stuffed with treasures and artefacts and books – a museum to feralhood.
But as they approached the house, Caw’s heart quickened.
Something was wrong.
The gates were open and in the circular driveway was a police car, warning lights spinning silently. Caw held up a hand to stop the crows, but they didn’t need telling. They’d already arranged themselves on the railings.
What’s going on? asked Screech.
Caw’s unease was growing by the second. Had something happened to Quaker? What if a burglar had broken in? Or someone worse than a burglar … He edged inside the gates, along the sculpted shrubbery that lined the front lawn.
“Get your hands off me!” came a cry, followed by the screech of cats.
Caw ducked out of sight, just in time to see Quaker himself shoved out through the front door of his house, arms held behind his back by two policemen. He was impeccably dressed in a brownish tweed suit and red waistcoat, with mustard-coloured moccasins on his feet. A couple of tabby cats tangled around his legs as the cops slammed him against the side of their car. His monocle popped out and one of the policemen crushed it beneath his boot.
“I’ve done nothing wrong!” said Quaker. “At least tell me what you want.”
A grey cat hopped on to the bonnet of the car, hackles rising across its arched spine.
“No, Freddie!” said Quaker.
One of the policemen unbelted his nightstick and swung savagely at the cat, sending it leaping to the ground. It sprinted off into the garden.
“This isn’t right,” muttered Caw, beginning to step out.
No! said Glum, and Caw hesitated.
“I demand to know what’s going on!” said Quaker as a third policeman came out of the house.
“Find anything?” said the cop who’d tried to hit the cat.
“Just a load of old books and dodgy antiques,” said the third cop. “We need more men if we’re going to do a thorough search.”
“Not without a warrant, you won’t!” said Quaker.
Smack! The policeman backhanded Quaker across the jaw. “Shut your mouth!”
Caw flinched. He didn’t know much about the police, but he knew they weren’t supposed to behave like this.
Quaker had gone limp in their grip as he was shoved into the car.
“I can’t let them take him,” said Caw, but his feet refused to move.
What are you going to do? said Screech. There are three of them. And you can’t show them you’re a feral, remember?
The cops all climbed in after Quaker. The engine revved and the car skidded out of the driveway. Caw pressed himself against the hedge and watched them go with his heart pounding. Several more cats ran from the house, mewling plaintively. They amassed at the gates as the car drove down the hill.
They’re police, Caw, said Glum. Crumb wouldn’t want you to get involved, and yet again, I agree with him … Hey!
Caw had begun to run down the hill, holding on tight to the stone in his pocket, in case it fell out. He knew what he had to do. If he turned into a crow, he could follow from the air. Summoning all his energy, he leapt off the ground, willing the transformation to happen, letting his inner crow take over …
… and landed hard on the road, the wind knocked out of him.
Well, that was embarrassing, said Screech, landing at his side.
Maybe you should be training with Crumb after all, said Glum.
Caw sat up, rubbing his back. Why hadn’t it worked? He’d done it before.
“Take me after the police car!” he said to his crows.
He closed his eyes, clenched his fists, and felt the power surge. He might not be able to change into a crow, but he could do the next best thing.
When he opened his eyes again, he saw them coming. Black specks amassing from every direction. The crows of Blackstone were obeying their master.
One by one they descended in a dark swirl, alighting across his clothes. As each fluttering bird attached itself, Caw felt his body lightening, until his feet left the ground completely.
“Follow them!” he said.
Caw’s legs wheeled as the crows carried him up, high into the air, swooping along the road’s path below. Panic turned to exaltation as Caw gave himself to the power of their wings and the ground shrank away. In the distance, he could see the city’s sprawl. He had to stop the car before it reached the crowded metropolis, if he was to avoid being seen by non-ferals. He steered the crows with his mind. There! The car was just ahead, driving slowly along the winding road. The crows speeded up, until Caw was dangling just ten feet above the vehicle. Could he do this? He’d need to time it perfectly.
“Drop me!” he said.
Do what? squawked Screech.
“Now!” shouted Caw.
The talons released him as one and Caw fell, smashing feet first on to the bonnet of the car. He lost his footing and slammed into the windshield. The brakes screeched and the car swerved, and he bounced up over the roof. The world lost all its bearings and Caw braced himself with his arms over his head, until he thumped, side-first, into something very hard.
Caw rolled over, finding himself in the middle of the road. He sat up just in time to see the police car mount the kerb and skid into a tree with a grinding crunch.
Pain shot through Caw’s ankle as he stood, but he thought it was just twisted. As that faded, a dozen other injuries screamed for attention. His jacket was torn too. The crows were already coating the trees on either side of the road. Wincing, Caw hobbled towards the police car, dread building in his stomach. What have I done? It was spilling smoke from its crumpled bonnet as he yanked open the back door.
The police officers were moving weakly in the front seats. Alive, thank goodness, but still dangerous. Caw leant over Quaker’s body and unclipped his safety belt.
“Caw?” said Quaker. He was blinking rapidly, as though in shock.
“Come with me!” Caw said.
“How did you –”
Caw grabbed Quaker’s arm and hauled him out. “This way!” he said, leading the way up a grassy verge. Each step sent a fresh spike of pain up his leg. “Off the road.”
Quaker stumbled at his side through the undergrowth of the forest. Caw didn’t know where he was going, other than as far away from the police as possible. They slid down a leafy slope, tripping over roots and stumps, then splashed across a small stream. Scrambling up the slope on the other side, they reached a small sunken dell. Quaker fell to the ground, panting. Caw’s ankle was burning with pain as the crows settled around them.
“Keep a lookout,” Caw told them.
“Oh, Caw, what have you done?” sighed Quaker.
A thanks would be nice, said Shimmer.
“What do you mean?” Caw asked the cat feral. “I rescued you.”
Quaker’s