Hellsborough Exposed

Every plant in The Dark Peak is an informant. Tree, flower, grass and moss each report a heat signature back to the nearest sub-station, and underneath it all the fungai sorts the lot, a mycelial brain with no silicon in it anywhere. Bear that in mind the next time you sit down on the moss for a breather.

A clucker is a hen that never stops listening, head cocked at an angle no chicken's neck should manage, and it goes rigid mid-peck a full second before anything else in the yard has heard a thing. Then comes the scream, one long ragged note passed from run to run down the street, and whatever else is listening in Hellsborough tends to come and see what set it off. I keep three, and I've stopped asking what they hear.