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elegance, and stepped into the flat. ‘Goodness, how deplorable the living quarters of the urban poor,’ she sighed.
    The last time Gwen had looked round an apartment at SkyPoint, it had been at its very best. Polished furnishings, mood lighting, the works. Now she found herself touring a flat by flashlight, with the knowledge that every step could be her last. It just seemed empty and rather sad – a sofa robbed of most of its leather coverings and all of its stuffing, kitchen cabinets sagging off the wall, bathroom eerily cold. And the wind. She shuddered.
    ‘Someone has left a window open,’ said Agnes.
    Gwen wasn’t so sure. She crossed over. ‘No.’ The floor-to-ceiling window glass had gone. ‘It was sealed in with plastic.’ They were only on the first floor, but, standing overlooking the SUV with no hint of a safety barrier. . . she felt a slight twinge.
    Agnes nodded. ‘All right, my dear. I think I get the point. Plastic is everywhere. I believe we’ve learned our lesson without needing to belabour the issue.’
    They made their way down the stairs, the handrail sticky to the touch. Gwen realised her breathing was shallow. She was terrified, as though the building was about to collapse around them.
    They got to the door, and Agnes paused, hitching up her skirts. ‘Get ready to run,’ she said.
    Outside was the noise of rain – but a rain of glass, as panels, caught by the wind, fell down from the floors of SkyPoint. ‘It might, just might,’ gasped Agnes, ‘be safer to wait until every window has fallen out. But by that time, I rather feel there might not be much building left.’
    And so, with a shrug, they ran for the car. Gwen decided that, if you added the danger of being decapitated to the horror of being eaten alive, it really wasn’t that good a day.

VIII
    IN WHICH A GREAT PATRIOTIC
    CONFERENCE IS HOLDEN
    A light supper is taken, in which a truth drug is administered, and the deficiencies of the Undead are much discussed
    Agnes swept into Torchwood, wiping the odd splinter of glass from her dress. ‘Jones,’ she barked, ‘I fear the carriage has sustained some damage. You will see to it, while I speak to your employer.’ And then she marched past, bearing down on Jack like an avenging angel.
    Gwen winced in anticipation, but Jack was all smiles. ‘Agnes!’ he beamed. ‘What did you find?’
    If his bonhomie withered under the strength of her glare, he did his best not to show it. ‘I would like a word with you away from your staff.’ She gestured to the door of the office. ‘Take a turn with me around the room, Captain,’ she commanded.
    Ianto and Gwen stood outside, watching the row played out in mime. Ianto passed her a cup of tea. ‘Funny day, isn’t it?’ he said.
    Gwen nodded, and took a sip of the tea. It was horrible.
    Jack’s arms were flapping up and down like a bird and he was yelling, really yelling. Agnes’s face was tight with cold fury, a gloved finger pointing at him sharply.
    ‘Quite a woman,’ said Gwen.
    ‘Oh yes,’ said Ianto.
    ‘Do you think he’s going to cry?’ she asked.
    ‘Dunno.’
    They stood and watched for a bit. And then Ianto went to clean the car, and Gwen went to Wikipedia plastic.
    Under cover of night, the Vam rolled away from SkyPoint. It had feasted. It had grown. If you had uncurled it, you would have been faced (very briefly) with something like a mobile football pitch. It had learned much from SkyPoint, sampling a range of materials and working out which of them it could usefully consume. Truthfully, the Vam could eat anything, especially if it was a threat (and then quite slowly), but it had a preference for a few materials. And it had quickly sorted out what they were. Food didn’t have to be alive – if it simply required sustenance, as it now did, then this plastic was the perfect fodder. But if there was some life to be consumed as well, then that was joyous.
    As the Vam undulated along the road towards Cardiff Bay, it