Raven's Gate

Times
?”
    “Nothing.”
    “The
Daily Telegraph
?”
    “Nothing.”
    “The
Daily Mail
?”
    “Nothing.”
    “The
Independent
?”
    “Nothing.”
    “
Le Monde
?”
    “I don’t know. It’s in French.”
    “There has to be something, somewhere.”
    Matt and Richard were sitting at the kitchen table in the journalist’s York flat. Each had a pair of scissors and a mug of tea. More than a week had passed since their escape from Omega One, and both of them had changed. Matt carried a scar on the side of his face, a souvenir of the National History Museum, but he was looking a little less pinched and tired. Staying with Richard, sleeping late, watching TV and generally doing very little had obviously been good for him. As for Richard, he was more optimistic, more organized. He still found it hard to believe that he had actually survived. And he was certain he was about to sell the greatest story ever written. It wouldn’t just be a case of “hold the front page”. His story would run on every page.
    They were surrounded by newspapers and magazines that they had checked through, from first page to last. They had done this every day. And always it was the same.
    “How many more do we have to read?” Matt asked.
    “I can’t believe this is happening,” Richard said. “I mean, there must be a mention of it somewhere. You can’t have a nuclear explosion in the middle of Yorkshire without somebody noticing.”
    “You’ve got that clipping from the
Yorkshire Post
.”
    “Oh sure!” Richard plucked a scrap of newspaper off the fridge door, where it had been held in place with a magnet. “Two column inches about a bright light seen over the woods near Lesser Malling. A bright light – that’s what they call it! And they stick it on page three next to the weather reports.”
    For the past seven days Richard had been monitoring the news in the press, on the radio and on the television. He was completely bewildered. It was as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever taken place. Structural engineers were still investigating the damage done to the Natural History Museum. Millions of pounds’ worth of dinosaur fossils had been destroyed – but nobody had mentioned Professor Sanjay Dravid, who must surely have been found dead in the middle of it. Likewise, the death or disappearance of Sir Michael Marsh. Here was a man who had once been an influential government scientist, who had received a knighthood. Yet there were no obituaries, no comment, nothing. He might as well have never existed.
    And what of Richard’s story?
    He had written it in the space of twenty-four hours. To start with he had kept it simple, confining it to ten pages, outlining very broadly what had happened. Matt had insisted that his name be left out. He knew what he had done but he still wasn’t quite sure how he had done it… And the truth was, he didn’t want to know. He had finally managed to find the power to stop the knife and to break out. But he remembered very little of it. One moment he was lying on the slab. The next he was fighting Mrs Deverill over the acid bath. What had happened was like a hideous dream. It was as if he had been taken over.
    As far as Matt was concerned, he never wanted to mention Jayne Deverill or Raven’s Gate again. And he certainly didn’t want to end up on the front page of the world’s newspapers. Some sort of superhero. Some sort of freak.
    In the end Richard had agreed to give him a false name. It was the easiest way. He hadn’t mentioned the LEAF Project either. It would have made it too easy to identify Matt – and anyway, it was something else Matt didn’t want to see in print.
    The ten-page story had been sent to every newspaper in London. That had been three days ago. Since then, half of them had written back.
    Dear Mr Cole,
    The editor wishes to thank you for your submission, received on 4 May. We regret, however, that we do not feel it is suitable for publication.
    Yours sincerely…
    All of them were more or less the same. Short and to the point. They didn’t give any reason for turning him down. They simply didn’t want to know.
    Matt knew that Richard was frustrated and angry. He hadn’t expected people to believe everything he had written. After all, a lot of it was beyond belief. But at the same time, somebody must have been asking what had happened at the museum and at the power station. There was a giant crater in the woods where Omega One had once stood. Lesser Malling