Crawlers

6:22am

Great Ormond Street Hospital for Children. The Barrie Wing.

'So let me get this straight,' said the smartly dressed lady. 'You "harpooned" the alien queen with a scaffolding pole' - she grimaced - 'then you ran out of the Barbican Centre just before it exploded.' 

'That's about the size of it,' said Ben, crossing his arms. 'Yeah.' 

There were more details of course: after the amount of times he'd been over his statement Ben thought the lady should have known them as well as he did. But it had been a long night and he was starting to feel defensive. Not to mention frustrated and angry. 

'Ben...' The lady pinched the bridge of her nose. 'I'll be straight with you. That's just about the most unlikely story I've ever heard.' 

'What?' said Ben. 

'It's true that the Barbican was destroyed, of course. And I suppose it's true, too, that we haven't completely ruled out all the possibilities as to why. But I'll tell you right now, I don't think anyone is considering... aliens.' 

'What about the others?' asked Ben. 'What do they say?' 

'You mean the other children who were with you?' The lady checked her notes. 'Yes, at first they corroborated your account. And the earlier parts of it, about "crawlers", and so forth' - she sneered - 'do seem to match up with the first statements we took from the adult witnesses - those who initially claimed to remember anything, of course.' 

'Well?' said Ben. 

'But everyone else but you has since retracted these statements,' the lady continued, with a small smile. 'After further questioning they admitted that this business with your "queen" creature just... wasn't how it happened. Ben,' she added, leaning forward on her chair, 'I think it's time you thought about doing the same.' 

'Wait a second,' said Ben, confused. 'They... what?' 

'Here's what we've told the press,' said the lady, shutting her file with a snap. 'Are you ready?' 

She now held the file that contained Ben's story against her chest, her arms crossed in front of it. But from where Ben was lying, propped up on his hospital bed, the logo on the front of the file was perfectly readable: THE CORPORATION OF THE CITY OF LONDON, it said. 

'At about seven forty-five last night,' the lady began, 'the Barbican was seized and taken over by persons unknown. Their identities remain a mystery at this time but there seems little doubt that these people were, in fact, terrorists.' 

'Terrorists?' said Ben. 'That's the lamest excuse in the-' 

'The terrorists sealed off the building,' the lady continued, interrupting him, 'and they then proceeded to use some means - most likely the air-conditioning - to flood the Barbican with a kind of hallucinogen. With the Barbican destroyed, no evidence of this mind-altering substance remains...' 

'Hah,' said Ben. 

'But it nonetheless seems to have been extremely potent. Civilian victims were so strongly affected that when police attempted to gain entrance to the Barbican, the civilians attacked them. A siege developed that lasted several hours. This, we assume, gave the terrorists time to set their explosives. Just before the bombs were detonated, however, the gas seems to have started wearing off. Emergency services were able to evacuate a large number of victims from the Barbican, including yourself and your... friends. But at least as many are still missing and, tragically, presumed dead. We can only assume those responsible for this atrocity were either caught in the blast... or they escaped.' 

The lady sat back on her chair and gave Ben a smile that didn't reach her eyes. 'Ben,' she said, 'you seem like an intelligent young man - if a little too keen on video games, perhaps.' 

Ben didn't smile back. 

'Let me ask you a question. What would you find easiest to believe in - terrorists? Or - what was it, again? Oh yes: an alien queen, who controls people's minds?' 

Ben was about to speak- 

'Before you answer,' the lady interrupted again, 'I'd like you to consider one more thing.' She gestured at the door of the room. 'Your parents are out there in the passage. They're worried sick about you and they want to take you home. But a Corporation doctor is out there too, and he's waiting for my opinion before we decide what to do with you. Now...' She fixed Ben with a stare from her clear blue eyes. 'I can either say you're fine - that you will recover from your ordeal with no ill-effects and no memory of what really happened. Or we can send your parents home while we keep you here pending a full psychiatric evaluation. 

'We can do that, you know,' she added silkily. 'The way you've been talking, I think that you could be a danger to yourself and to others. It would be irresponsible of me to allow you to be released while you still believe in things that are not... sensible.' She looked at him carefully. 'Do we understand each other?' 

There was a pause. 

Ben looked at the woman with the folder. He thought about the office he'd seen in the underground chamber, with the pictures on its walls of prime ministers and presidents. 

'Well, Ben?' she asked. 'Which is it to be?' 

Ben muttered something. 

'What was that?' 

'Terrorists,' said Ben. 

'Good boy.'