by Darren Shan
“Rage… Michael… please.” There are tears in Dan-Dan’s eyes. He never seemed afraid of death before. I think he never believed he was in real danger until this moment. Now that the end is upon him, he’s showing his true coward’s colors, and it’s delicious.
“This creep’s mine,” I tell Rage, ready to fight to the death if he tries to rob me of the pleasure.
“I wouldn’t dream of getting in your way,” Rage purrs. I grin tightly and move forward. “However…”
“What?” I roar, turning to glare at him, ripping a knife from its holder and pointing it at his head.
Rage doesn’t flinch. He simply says, “I know you’ve suffered a lot and want this more than anything else. But don’t you think that lot are more deserving of the honor?”
He nods at the children gathered near the balcony.
I stare at the kids, then at Rage. “You can’t be serious,” I croak.
“We’re tough bastards, you and me,” Rage says softly. “We can take any sort of torment in our stride. But they were innocent before he got his filthy paws on them. Can you imagine what it must have been like?”
“But… no… it would be wrong to make them…”
“I’m not talking about making them do anything,” Rage says. “If they don’t want to soil their hands, fine, you’re welcome to him. But I think they’re due the first blow if they care to take it.”
Rage reaches out and pries the belt from my unprotesting fingers. He removes the knives and flicks them at the floor in turn, so that they stick in it lightly, tips embedded in the oak boards, hilts and handles quivering hypnotically.
“Take them if you want,” Rage tells the wide-eyed children.
Dan-Dan’s darlings gaze solemnly at the knives. Then one of them steps forward. It’s Ciarán, the boy who couldn’t stop singing that first day of my torture, the one who seemed afraid of the nightmares that sleep would bring. He picks up a knife then turns to face his fallen master.
Most of the other children follow suit. There aren’t enough knives for all of them. Those without a weapon hook their fingers and bare their teeth.
“Please,” Dan-Dan weeps as they advance. “Little ones… darlings… you know I love you. Be nice to Dan-Dan.”
One of the youngest girls screams and brandishes her knife. Before she can jab it at him, I dart forward and root myself between her and Dan-Dan.
“No,” I say quietly. As the children stare at me, I look over their heads at Rage. “Dan-Dan told me he wanted to save them. Each time he stole a child, he tried to corrupt it, to turn the boy or girl into a mirror image of himself. If we let them do this, they’ll become monsters like him… like you and me.”
“This is a monstrous world,” Rage murmurs. “Maybe monsters are the best equipped to deal with it.”
I shake my head. “We can’t let them do this to themselves. We can’t afford Dan-Dan that final, soul-destroying victory.”
Rage thinks it over then shrugs. “It’s your call. I don’t give a damn.”
I smile crookedly at the children. “You can hold on to the knives–you’ll need them if you’re attacked–but go with Rage. I’ll take care of Dan-Dan.”
The children look suspicious.
“It’s OK,” I assure them. “I won’t let him leave here alive. You’ll never have to worry about him again. You have my word.”
“I want to watch,” the boy called Ciarán says.
“No,” I say firmly. “You’ve seen enough horrors. I won’t subject you to any more. Not on my watch.”
Ciarán starts to argue. Then his face crumples. With a confused moan, he throws his knife away and dashes from the room. The other children follow, Rage trailing close behind.
Dan-Dan sighs shakily with relief. He thinks he’s off the hook.
“Thank heavens for common sense. Now let’s talk about–”
“Sakarias!” I snap at the dog that has held its position since Rage took the gun from it. “Rip the bastard apart.”
As Dan-Dan roars at me with rage and terror, the mutant dog hurls itself at him. Its fangs and claws flash. Flesh is shredded. Bones are snapped. Dan-Dan’s head is crushed. His guts spill out and are devoured. I watch numbly, ignoring his screams and fading gurgles, making absolutely certain that the job is finished properly. I don’t feel as much satisfaction as I thought I would, just a dull sense of gratitude that I don’t have to worry about Dan-Dan anymore.
“The fleet has sailed, sailor boy,” I whisper, throwing a mock salute his way, even though he no longer has eyes to see me with. “Bon voyage!”
EIGHTEEN
I back out of the room, pausing only to pick up Dan-Dan’s beloved sailor’s hat and toss it through the window. I click my tongue and Sakarias trots along after me, panting happily.
“You done?” Rage asks as the children stare at me with wide, hopeful eyes.
“Yeah. He’s dead. It’s over.”
Rage nods, then addresses the children. “Go back into that room. Stay there until I come for you later.”
“Wait,” I stop them. “It’s messy in there. Let me go clean up before–”
“No,” Rage says. “They need to see his remains, otherwise they won’t believe that he’s really dead.”
I think about that and decide Rage is right. I nod wearily and the children file through silently. Most are crying, trembling nervously, but they hold on to one another for strength.
Rage closes the door and replaces the silk screen.
“You think that will stop the zombies from finding them?” I sniff.
“Probably not,” Rage says. “But I’m gonna stay here with the dog until it’s over, to dissuade them from exploring beyond this point.”
I squint at Rage, lost for words.
“I can’t make you out,” I wheeze when I finally find my tongue.
“That’s the way I like it,” Rage grins.
“What you did to Pearse and Conall…”
His smile fades. “I didn’t want to kill them. But they were in my way. I’d had my fill of life with Dr. Oystein. It was time to move on. I couldn’t take them with me, so I had to drop them.”
“I hate you for that,” I spit. “But now here you are, helping me save the kids.”
“What can I say?” he chuckles. “I’m a complicated guy.” As I gape at him, he makes a sighing sound. “You can stand here like a moron, trying to figure me out, or you can go save some people from the zombies. That’s what you were planning, right?”
I nod slowly. “The prisoners.”
Rage laughs. “Always the hero. You and the doc were cut from the same cloth. Only not quite.” He pauses and tugs at an earlobe. At first I think he’s mocking me, but then I realize he’s mulling something over. “If you make it out of this hellhole, go back to Brick Lane.”
“To the Truman Brewery?” I frown.
“Yeah, where your artist friend hung out.”
“Why?”
“You might find something there that will help you understand why I’m such a cynical sod.” He puffs out his cheeks and shakes his head. “This world is so badly screwed. I told you once that I only linked up with the doc because I wanted to go where the action was, and that was true, but like a fool I began to hope when I was with him. He almost convinced me that I should change my ways. I started to like the idea of saving society and being one of the good guys.
“But then I found confirmation that everyone who matters is rotten to the core. I’m sure there are some truly good people in the world, but those who get to decide the future…” He sneers. “They’re more twisted than me, and that takes some doing.”
“What about Dr. Oystein?” I challenge him.
Rage starts to say something, then shakes his head and smiles. “I’m not gonna paint a picture for you. Go to the Brewery. Retrace your mate Burke’s last steps. See where they lead you.”
Rage raises his right hand and makes a fist. After a troubled pause, I knock knuckles with him. As he s
tarts to withdraw his hand, I uncurl my fingers and grab his fist, or as much of it as I can with my much smaller fingers.
“I will kill you,” I vow as he looks at me questioningly, “for what you did to Pearse and Conall and all the others you’ve betrayed.”
Rage laughs. “Someone’s got to do it one day, and I’d rather it was you than anyone else. But I won’t go easily.”
“Later, Michael,” I snort.
“Later, Becky,” he chuckles, and we part, not on good terms, but with respect.
NINETEEN
I hurry down the stairs, though I can’t run as fast as I could have a couple of days ago. My limbs feel like they’re going to drop off. My insides are coming undone—blood is seeping through the rips in the bandages, and guts are poking through. Every time I take a step, it’s like I’m bringing my feet down on crushed glass.
Still I press on. As long as there’s a shred of energy in this undead body, I’ll push it to the max. Pain is part of the package. I’ve learned to put up with it. In a weird way, I welcome it. At least when I’m in agony, I know this is reality, that I’m not dreaming, strapped to Dan-Dan’s table in a delirious haze. If this was the work of my fevered brain, I’d have rid myself of the torment ages ago.
I hit the ground and hurry to a cage packed with prisoners. I wasn’t able to save Vinyl, but I’m determined to rescue as many of his townsfolk as I can, along with the others who have been held captive here over the past few weeks and months.
The humans in the cage are screaming for help. They can see the zombies spilling down from the walls. They know their time is limited.
As I pound at the lock, I look for my dad, wondering if he kept his word or has locked himself away in a small, dark room, in the hope that he’ll be overlooked in the mayhem. At first there’s no sign of him and I fear the worst. But then I spot him coming out of the part of the building where I was first housed.
Dad races to my side. He’s acquired another ring of keys since I last saw him, and he swiftly finds the right key for this lock. As he opens the door and waves through the prisoners, he smiles at me.
“Bet you thought I’d ditched you,” he says.
“It never crossed my mind,” I lie.
“Lord Wood?” Dad asks.
“Sorted.”
He grunts and casts his gaze at the upper levels. “They’ll be on us soon.”
“I know.”
“We won’t be able to free everyone.”
“Let’s just help as many as we can. There’s still time. We might–”
I draw to a halt, eyes widening with shock. There are lots of manhole covers in the courtyard. They’re popping open and creatures are crawling up out of the sewers. But these invaders aren’t zombies or mutants.
They’re babies.
“What the hell?” Dad cries as the unnatural infants propel themselves at any nearby soldiers and Klanners. The tiny children all look the same. They’re dressed in white gowns. Their eyes have no pupils and are normally pale orbs, but now they’re red, the color they get when the babies are angry.
You’d think that babies should be easy for an adult to fend off, but that isn’t the case. These hellish infants have tiny fingers, but jagged nails and long, sharp fangs. And they can move swiftly, darting about the place like ghostly eels, almost too fast for the eye to follow.
For a moment I think that the babies have come to help, that they’ll only target soldiers and those in hoods. But then they start picking off the freed prisoners as they race towards the holding cells, and I see that they’ll strike at anyone who moves.
“Come on,” I roar at Dad, dragging myself to the next cage.
“What are they?” he yelps, stumbling after me.
“The babies from my dreams.”
Dad gapes. “They can’t be.”
“Tell them that,” I huff, then rattle the lock at him. “The key. Quick!”
Dad stares at the murderous babies, the screaming, bloodied humans, the zombies and mutants streaming down the stairs. He gulps and whispers, “This is insane.”
“It’s the way of the world,” I snap. “Deal with it or go have a breakdown. But if you plan to run off, give me the keys before you leave.”
Dad scowls at me. “Keep your knickers on. I’m doing my best.”
Turning away, Dad finds the key, unlocks the door and tells the people where to head, pointing across the courtyard.
I watch helplessly as they try to pick their way through the fighting, dodging soldiers, Klanners and babies. Not all of them make it. Some don’t even try—a few set their sights on the hated members of the KKK and tackle them, trying to beat the zombies to the punch. They don’t care that they’re signing their own death warrants. They want payback before they die.
We manage to unlock another three cages. Then the zombies and mutants hit the scene and the carnage ratchets up a dozen notches. As the undead lay into the humans, mewling with delight as they rip open heads and dig out fresh chunks of brain, the mutants hurry to the walls and start setting explosives. They obviously plan to blast holes through them, to let in everyone on the outside. I guess they want to please all of their revived forces, even those who aren’t natural climbers.
“Time we pulled back,” I tell Dad.
“You’re sure?” he asks.
I nod. “We’re done here. We have to help those we’ve already released. With our aid, they might stand a chance. The rest…” I shake my head sadly.
Dad nods and we streak across the yard, the desperate screams of those we’ve left behind echoing after us, ringing through my head, making me wish that Dan-Dan had taken a hot iron to my ear canals and rendered me deaf.
TWENTY
I keep close to Dad, steering him clear of the worst trouble spots, shouldering a few zombies out of his way when they attack. At one point a baby darts at his legs and I pause to kick it clear. It feels wrong to kick a baby, even one as nightmarish as this, but a menace is a menace, regardless of its size.
We reach the shelter of the section where the zombie-proof cells are housed just as there’s a massive explosion behind us. As a cloud of dust sweeps through the courtyard, we slip into the gloom of the corridors and take stock. A lot of people have already locked themselves in, swinging the doors shut, not worrying about the fact that they can’t unlock them again without help.
The freed prisoners aren’t the only ones seeking the safety of the cells. Many of the Klanners have sought sanctuary too. Agitated members of the two groups clash in some places, in cells or the corridors. I leave them for the zombies to finish off, figuring you can’t help those who won’t help themselves. Instead I push ahead, calling to those who are desperately looking for a place to hide, leading them on.
Dad darts ahead of me, checking cells, calling out the number of people they can hold. “Ten. Eight. Sixteen.” He pauses at one door, does a quick calculation, then shouts, “Fifty.”
As the humans pile in and we shut the door behind them, people at the rear of the crowd start screaming.
“You deal with this lot,” I bark at Dad. “I’ll try to slow things down back there.”
“Becky,” Dad yells after me. “What about us? We need to hole up too.”
“Do what you feel you have to,” I grunt, pushing through the panicked humans.
When I get to where the living are scrapping with the undead, I find it’s the babies who have followed us. They’ve been tearing into the humans, but pause when they see me. I’m weary. I just want to roll over and die. But, ignoring my body’s pleas, I take a stance and beckon them on, readying myself for one more round in what has come to seem like an endless battle.
The babies stare at me as the people peel away and follow Dad. Their eyes start to dim, the red glow fading to white. Then, in chorus, they speak in the high-pitched voices that I know so intimately from my dreams.
“mummy. we love you mummy. come with us. come home.”
“I’m not your bloody mother,”
I snarl.
“mummy,” they screech, holding out their clammy little hands, as if they want me to take them for a walk.
I back away from the unnatural infants, shaking my head, denying them as I did in my nightmares. I wait for their mood to switch, for them to hurl themselves at me and tear me apart, as they always did on the plane in my dreams. But they only gaze at me neutrally, arms extended, letting me go.
I limp along one corridor, then another. I find Dad and the remaining humans. He’s locked another batch in and is jogging ahead, looking for the next suitable cell. “Full,” he mutters. “Full. Fu–” He pauses by one of the doors, staring silently through the small glass window.
The last few humans push past my motionless father, searching for their own room. Before they can find one, zombies flood into the corridor from the far end and lay into them.
“Dad!” I bellow.
He looks round, sees what’s happening, starts towards me. Then he draws to a halt. I glance over my shoulder. Mutants are standing behind me, lots of zombies mixed among them, held in place by their whistle-toting masters.
Dad smiles crookedly. “Looks like this is it, B.”
“Wait,” I shout. “We can cut a deal with these guys. They can–”
“Nah,” Dad stops me. “Don’t you recognize this place? That’s your mum’s room.” He nods at the door where he’d paused. “It’s destiny, this. I didn’t wind up here by accident. I can recognize my exit scene now that I’ve come to it.”
Dad tosses me the ring of keys, then draws the grenade out of his pocket. As I watch mutely, helplessly, he strolls to the door and opens it. I hear Mum’s excited moans inside. She thinks it’s feeding time.
“I’ll take her with me,” Dad says softly. “You were right. I was wrong to keep her like this. I’ll go to her now and we’ll be husband and wife again, if only for a few seconds.”
“You don’t have to do this,” I cry. “Just lock yourself in.”
“And stand there looking at her, listening to her, and have to deal with all that I’ve done?” Dad shakes his head bitterly. “No thanks.” Then he beams at me and it’s like we’ve stepped back a few years and he’s his old arrogant best. “Don’t ever forget that you came from the finest stock, Becky Smith. Your mum and me, we were the best of the best.”