Organ Music by Margaret Mahy Page B

voice suddenly high and tight. ‘No worries! Just that, well, since you’re a mate of mine, I’ll run you home.’
    â€˜First turn left,’ said David.
    But Harley drove straight past that turn, and the next.
    â€˜What’s wrong?’ David cried.
    â€˜Nothing,’ Harley replied again, but his lips were curled back in a wince of fear.
    Ahead of them traffic lights turned red. Harley neither stopped nor slowed down. They sped through against the red, and a car, shooting towards them from the right, gave such a blast on its horn that David’s head rang with the sound.
    â€˜You’re mad,’ he yelled at Harley. ‘Stop! Stop now!’
    Harley turned his head and stared at him, panting a little.
    â€˜Watch the road! Watch the road!’ screamed David.
    â€˜I don’t have to,’ Harley replied in a strangled voice. Slumping back in his seat, he took his foot off the accelerator and held his hands away from the wheel. The soft hum of the car’s motor did not decrease. The car did not lose speed. If anything, it seemed to accelerate.
    â€˜It’s driving itself,’ Harley said.

Directly ahead of them a glowing ribbon tied in one edge of the city. The motorway! The car seemed to surge forward as if it were eager to show them what it could really do on an open road. It selected the inner lane, and away it went. The hum of its engine deepened into a whispering roar.
    â€˜Man!’ shrieked Harley. ‘What sort of car is this?’
    â€˜I told you to leave it alone,’ David screamed back.
    â€˜You got into it, though, didn’t you? It’s not all my fault.’ Then he wailed, ‘It’s taking us somewhere. But where?’
    â€˜I reckon it’s some – some police thing,’ David said. ‘A trap of some kind. Ultraofficialata!’
    â€˜Stop doing that!’ yelled Harley. ‘It isn’t funny.’
    David stared wildly out at the motorway flickering past them. They were being swept away from the city. Strange and bleak under its great night lights, the motorway was unrolling out into the country. In the artificial light the trees planted beside it looked artificial too, alien structures put there to fool gullible travellers. The car sped on.
    â€˜Willesden Forest,’ David read on a great sign that came rushing towards them. ‘Turn-off 200 metres.’
    The car shifted into the lane for the turn-off.
    â€˜Willesden Forest,’ yelled Harley. ‘That’s just trees , isn’t it?’
    â€˜It’s a government forest,’ David said, trying desperately to work out what might be happening. ‘They started a programme on genetically altered trees – special, quick-growing ones.’ He remembered something. ‘It’s run by the forestry department – well, it used to be. But the government has a private scientific company running it for them – some big international conglomerate sort of business ... ’
    â€˜I don’t care who runs it,’ Harley yelled. ‘I just want to go home. If I get home,’ he bargained with the night air – maybe with the car itself – ‘I’ll keep out of trouble for the rest of my life.’
    As he spoke, they swung off the motorway onto a long, straight road, sealed and fenced on both sides. In front of them, black hills pushed up towards the sky, blotting out the starlight. Willesden Forest came rushing towards them. Somehow it felt as ancient as a forest in a fairy tale, even though the trees had been planted less than twenty-five years ago. At the speed they were travelling it seemed to David that the forest was leaping forward to swallow them alive.

Willesden Forest began with row after row of pines lined up like a corps de ballet . Each tree had its lower branches trimmed away so that it stood poised on one grey leg, a spiky green tutu fanning out around it. Some of the blocks were signposted: