Doctor Who_ Cat's Cradle_ Warhead - Andrew Cartmel [80]
The zinc‐fusion‐plated diamond frame of the bicycle had been stretched, distorted and reshaped into a parody of a human being, about two metres tall. It had long tubular legs and stalks of metal that passed for arms and a stubby torso. The side‐pull caliper brakes looked as though they had been melted and resculpted into delicate three‐toed feet. The dull metal of the ATB‐type pedals had fused into a blunt dagger jut of genitals. But the all‐terrain tyres were the worst. They were split open and welded on to the ends of the arms to make huge grasping hands, the sprung spokes stretching out like long sharp fingers. The tips of the spokes were still wet and red.
‘At least, I think I mean Modigliani,’ said the girl.
‘It looks like one of those stick figure men you draw in that game. What’s it called?’ said the first cop.
‘Hangman.’
‘Personally it reminds me of a bad episode of Jack Blood,’ said the second cop.
‘Are you really saying that thing moved?’ said the first cop.
‘It didn’t just move,’ said the girl. ‘You saw the bodies.’
‘Well, it’s not moving now. Was that your bike, kid?’
Vincent shook his head.
‘Do you know whose it was?’
‘The subject is shaking his head, indicating that he doesn’t know,’ said the first cop, into the tape recorder.
‘Just let the poor kid go home, right?’
* * *
‘Thanks for keeping me out of it,’ said Calvin. He stood on the front porch of his parent’s house, half in and half out of the door. For a moment it seemed as if he wasn’t going to invite Vincent inside, but then he stepped back and held the door open. ‘And thanks for coming around tonight.’
‘It was good to hear from you,’ said Vincent. ‘When you didn’t show up at school last week I started to get worried.’
‘I wasn’t feeling too well.’
‘I’m not surprised after last Friday,’ said Vincent.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have run away and left you like that. Were the cops okay?’
‘Yeah. I would have run away, too, if I could. You were just lucky. The girl in the drugstore didn’t see you. Nobody saw you.’
They went into the kitchen, where Calvin stopped to pour Vincent a glass of mineral water from the fridge, then through into the living room. ‘My folks are out of town for the weekend,’ said Calvin. ‘I thought I’d have a few friends around.’ Calvin’s living room had a floor plan as big as Vincent’s entire house. Sitting on cushions on the floor were Sean, Warren and Guthrie. All members of the Cthulhu Cyber Club. They looked up and nodded as Calvin and Vincent walked through. But they didn’t say anything as the two boys went up the staircase to the upper part of the split‐level living room.
‘The games room is up here,’ said Calvin. It was the first time Vincent had been to the house. It was an honour to be invited, something he’d been working towards for years. He wondered why he felt nothing now.
The games room had a couple of computers in it, a clamshell Mac and Sun workstation. ‘The Sun’s my dad’s,’ said Calvin. ‘He runs his business on it.’ In the corner was a big‐screen television to interface for games. On the wood‐panelled walls were posters featuring some of the most memorable monsters from the Cthulhu Gate gaming modules. Vincent sipped his mineral water. He recognized the white monkeys on one poster. They were one of the most popular software monstrosities, swarming over eager players in the virtual reality of the gaming zone. Dragging you down with damp pink paws and suffocating you. On a shelf over the fireplace there was a limited edition ceramic sculpture of three of the monkeys. Vincent estimated that it probably cost as much as his mom earned in a month. Calvin sat down at the Sun and Vincent expected him to load some exotic software on it, showing off.
But all the boy did was check departure times on an airport database. The screen listed flights to Turkey. Calvin scanned them quickly and then logged off. ‘Come on,’ he said, leading Vincent out of the games room, down a