Except it wasn’t her, was it? It was a Neph’ that she’d gutted.
Gutted …
How often had she used that word before?
I was, like, totally gutted when he didn’t show up …
But this is what gutted really meant. To spill your guts.
Don’t lose your head now, Tish, she said to herself, her mind dancing about. She and Brendan were backing slowly over the bridge, stumbling over fallen bodies. In front of them an endless press of Nephilim. As fast as they chopped one down, another took its place. She could see more of them below, scrambling over the embankment like rats and splashing into the Thames, washing away downriver.
So many.
She and Brendan were forced steadily back by the sheer weight of the oncoming sickos. They were already halfway across the bridge. She couldn’t risk looking behind her, to see if the rest of the way was clear, to see if Ed’s group had got away. She had to keep concentrating as her hands rose and fell, rose and fell, her sword cutting into the crowd of Neph’.
There was Louise again, crawling towards her, her arm reaching out, although her hand was missing, her wrist a bloody stump.
Not Louise! Not Louise.
Think straight, Tish. She screamed and hacked away at the Neph’.
‘We should make a run for it,’ said Brendan. His voice sounded cracked and dry. ‘We’ve done what we had to.’
‘OK,’ said Tish. ‘We just turn and run, OK?’
They gave it one more go, laying into the wall of Nephilim with a final ferocious onslaught, then Brendan yelled ‘Go!’ and they turned, and they ran …
Straight into a group of Neph’ who had got on to the bridge at the other end.
In the confusion, unsure which way to turn, teetering off balance, Brendan slipped in a mess of blood and spilled innards. He crashed into the side of the bridge, cried out in pain. The Neph’ were on him in an instant and Tish tried to haul him up, lowering her sword for a moment.
Only a moment, but long enough for both sets of Nephilim to close on the two of them, to pile on top of them. She could feel their warmth, their dampness, their grasping hands. And she felt a kind of peace.
Another pair of hands came down to gently wrap themselves round her.
God’s hands.
She closed her eyes and let sleep take her as the moonlight was blotted out by the bodies of the grown-ups, mothers, fathers, teenagers …
And out of the utter darkness came a light.
She had made her sacrifice.
69
Ed’s crew were tramping down the Strand, past the Savoy Hotel, dragging their aching feet along, starting to really feel all their injuries. They hadn’t come a great distance from St Paul’s, but the battle had seriously taken it out of them. Getting along the South Bank hadn’t been nearly as easy as before. In calling to the sickos on the north bank the Green Man had attracted every wandering grown-up in this part of London. The kids had had to fight their way along and had been forced back over to the north side of the river at Waterloo Bridge.
It had been a little easier after that. They’d managed to outrun the few sickos who tried to follow them across and thankfully the streets were quieter over here. The Strand was wide and open. If they stuck to the middle there was less chance of a surprise attack. All of Ed’s senses were on the alert, all the survival skills he’d learnt in the last year were being used. He couldn’t allow himself to relax yet. They were making good progress, but it was still a fair way to the museum. They had to keep pushing on, even though he felt like he was dragging some huge dead weight behind him. The buildings on either side were incredibly tempting. The thought of lying down and going to sleep …
He didn’t know this area, though. Didn’t know where the dangers might be. Breaking in to anywhere was a risk. The last thing he wanted right now was to disturb a nest of sickos.
Keep going. The museum meant safety. Rest. A bed.
They came to a building with a grand archway at the front held up by pink marble columns, and as they passed it Ed sensed a movement. His head snapped round. There was a courtyard beyond the archway and a mob of sickos was spilling out of it on to the pavement. They were getting bunched up in the entrance way and jostling each other, so that they came out in a confused pack, arms pinned to their bodies, swaying from side to side.
They reminded Ed of something.
And then it hit him. He laughed – a wild, crazy cackle that startled the other kids.
‘What is it, boss?’ Kyle turned to see what Ed was looking at.
‘I’ll sort them,’ he said, slipping his red-stained axe off his shoulder.
‘Leave them,’ Ed giggled. Kyle hesitated and the sickos came waddling into the road.
‘What are you laughing at?’ Kyle asked. ‘You finally lost it?’
‘Probably. This has been one long day.’
‘But what’s so funny?’
Kyle wasn’t taking his eyes off the advancing sickos, although they were a sorry bunch and didn’t look much of a threat.
‘Look at them!’ Ed waved a hand towards the sickos. ‘They look like bloody penguins. Off some nature programme.’
By now all the kids were watching the sickos who were packed together, bumping and bumbling about in the road. They really did look like penguins and soon all the kids were laughing and jeering, and the sickos stopped, confused.
Then the Green Man stepped out of the ranks and walked over to them.
‘Go back, brothers and sisters,’ he said. ‘Go back.’
The sickos shuffled away, over the pavement, between the pillars, back into the courtyard. Ed stopped laughing. His sides were aching too much. He took a deep breath. He was shaking and light-headed.
He looked at the green furry shape of Wormwood, his sagging bony arse. He was glad The Kid had persuaded him to bring the weird sicko along. He’d had to argue twice with the others on the way here from the Wobbly Bridge. Kyle in particular had wanted to ditch him when it had become clear just what a magnet he was to other sickos. Ed had had to point out that without Wormwood they’d never have escaped from St Paul’s. He was useful and Ed had a strong feeling that The Kid was right – Archie was right – he might become even more useful.
The Kid took hold of Wormwood’s arm and pulled him along the road.
‘Come on, Wormy,’ he said. ‘Got to keep moving.’
They all set off again, not running any more, but keeping up a fast walk. Ed fell in beside The Kid.
‘You all right?’ he asked.
‘Been better, been worse, bean stew,’ said The Kid.
‘If you say so.’
‘I do, I do, I do.’
‘What about him?’ Ed nodded at the Green Man, who was mumbling and muttering to himself.
‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’
‘Wormwood?’ Ed felt strange talking to a sicko. ‘You all right to keep going?’
‘My head’s buzzing,’ Wormwood moaned. ‘I can hear the fallen calling to me, their angel voices. Are they angels or are they insects? Hmm? Chirruping. It was quiet in my hole, but out here it’s like being back in the big green; oh, you don’t know how loud the jungle orchestra can be. Click, click, bang, bang, zzzzip, zzzzzip. The green is coming to the city. My fallen brothers are coming and I can hear them down the long pipeline; spreading out, they are, all around, like a spider’s web. You know what I mean? And there’s a great brother far away. He’s strong, stronger maybe than me, and he wants to come closer. But that won’t be tonight. He wants his swarm around him first. There are others, though, coming closer, running, chasing; they’re so hungry and they’ve spoken to me through the pipeline; they’ve sent their love. Listen. They come closer.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Ed was trying to make sense of the jumble of words that came tumbling out of the man. He turned to The Kid.
‘Do you understand what he’s saying?’
‘Not a clue.’
‘They’re coming,’ said
Wormwood. ‘My brothers.’
‘D’you mean there are more like you?’ Ed asked. ‘Coming this way? Should we be careful?’
‘We could find them. They’re very hungry. They are chasing a fly. Fresh meat. God, I can almost smell it. They need it bad.’
‘A fly?’
‘Meat on the move. Moving fast.’
‘You mean a child?’
‘I mean dinner.’
‘There’s sickos chasing someone, yeah?’ Ed wished Wormwood would just talk straight. ‘How many? How many adults?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Wormwood, sounding very sorry for himself. ‘Leave me alone. Don’t bug me.’
‘How many? Too many for us? I need to know.’
Kyle had been listening to their bizarre conversation. Now he spoke up.
‘We’re not doing any more good deeds tonight, boss.’
‘There’s a kid, maybe more than one. Imagine if it was you, Kyle.’
‘I can look after myself, Ed,’ said Kyle. ‘Wouldn’t expect anyone to help.’
Ed ignored him, pressed Wormwood for more info.
‘How close?’ he said.
‘As close as the bug flies. The flapping of a butterfly’s wing in Australia.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘So long since I’ve seen the night,’ said Wormwood looking up at the clearing sky, where the stars were beginning to show. ‘The clouds and all the houses and the life,’ he went on. ‘Too long. I’d love to go back to the big green. I had space there all right. I had the whole world, the whole green world. I was king of the jungle.’
‘Tell me where these sickos are!’ Ed was getting angry. ‘This kid they’re chasing.’
‘We don’t stop,’ said Kyle. ‘You can’t risk any more of us getting hurt.’
‘No one else will get hurt,’ Ed snapped. ‘I promise.’
‘It’s not really down to you, though, is it? If a thousand hungry sickos come round the corner there ain’t much you can do about it.’
Ed stopped walking, took hold of the Green Man and shook him by the shoulders.
‘How many adults?’ he spat in his face. ‘How far?’
‘Not many. Close.’
‘And how many kids?’
‘One square meal.’
‘It’s one kid,’ Kyle shouted. ‘Just one. Leave it, Ed. You can’t save everyone. You can’t rescue them all. You can’t save the whole world.’
‘We have to do what we can.’
‘I know what this is about,’ said Kyle quietly, so that the others wouldn’t hear.
‘What?’
‘Matt’s kids, at the cathedral. You couldn’t help them.’
‘It’s not that … ’
‘Adele. Gone.’
‘Kyle … ’
‘Tish and Bren. Leaving them on the bridge. Tish’s friend, Louise. Killing her that day. You’re trying to make up for it. A life for a life. One kid lost, another one saved. But what if you lead us into a fight we can’t win? Do you want to lose everything we won today?’
Ed said nothing. Kyle was smarter than he acted most of the time. Knew Ed better than anyone else. It wasn’t just about the kids today, though. It was all of them. Everyone he’d lost. Malik, Aleisha, Bam …
And Jack.
This was mainly about Jack. It always was. He was always there, in the back of his mind. Ed knew he’d never see Greg again, the father who had killed his best friend, so any sicko would have to do.
And if it meant saving every kid in London to make him forget Jack then he would.
‘You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to,’ he said to Kyle. ‘Stay with the others. Get them to the museum. I’ll do it alone. But I’m going to help this kid – whoever it is.’
Kyle sighed. Wiped his gory axe on his trouser leg, then raised it and blew it a kiss before propping it back on his shoulder again.
‘No sleep for you tonight, Brain-biter,’ he said. ‘Lead on, boss.’
Ed prodded the Green Man.
‘Show us,’ he said.
70
They were coming down Regent’s Street towards Piccadilly Circus. At their head was a single boy, limping along, head drooping, eyes fixed on the road at his feet. He was dressed in grey camouflage, with some kind of cloak flapping round him. If Ed felt tired this boy looked a hundred times worse. He could barely stand and was propping himself up with a long stick. He had a crossbow strapped to his back and a machete dangled from his free hand. Heavy as a packed suitcase. He didn’t look like he’d have the strength to use either of his weapons. There were about ten sickos on his tail, barely twenty paces behind him, like a pack of wolves trailing a wounded deer. The alpha male appeared to be a father wearing a filthy business suit, a Bluetooth phone device stuck in his ear.
He was also carrying a machete.
Ed’s crew took up position in the middle of the pedestrian area, with the statue of Eros to their left and a row of protective railings to their right.
Macca hadn’t had the chance to use his own crossbow yet today. The fighting had all been close up, hand to hand, and to use bolts would have been to waste them.
This was different. They had time. The numbers were right.
‘Do it,’ Ed instructed him, and Macca loaded a bolt.
‘He don’t look much,’ said Kyle. ‘He’d better be worth it.’
Ed grunted. Where had he heard that before?
‘Last one tonight,’ he said. ‘I promise.’
Macca waited until the sickos were in range and fired off his bolt. One of the sickos went down. The limping boy looked up, amazed to see other kids. Life seemed to flow back into him. He scooted forward with fresh energy. Ed called out to him.
‘This way! Get over here.’
Macca had already fitted another bolt and it whizzed past the boy as he hopped towards them. Another sicko went down.
‘You’re all right now, mate,’ said Kyle as the boy arrived, almost fell. Will caught him.
‘Thank you,’ he croaked.
The rest of the sickos came on, too intent on their pursuit to stop. Too crazed with blood fever and hunger.
‘Take it to them.’ Ed was already striding forward, mortuary sword at the ready. Kyle was right behind him. Macca let off a third shot and then dropped the bow and drew his own sword, went charging out with a cry. Will stayed behind, holding the boy up and keeping an eye on Wormwood and the three smaller kids.
It took less than a minute to deal with the sickos. Four of them were chopped down in the first assault, joining the three that Macca had already shot. A brief flurry of action and the only sicko left standing was the father with the Bluetooth, his pack lying dead around him.
He was holding his machete up ready to take the kids on, and they held back, wary of the blade in his hand. Ed wondered again at how the sickos were relearning all their human skills. The father looked dangerous. None of the kids wanted to risk getting too close.
‘That one’s mine.’ With Will’s help, the boy had come over. He limped up to the father who raised the machete in readiness, but the boy was in no mood for a sword fight. He swatted the blade to the side with his stick then swiped his own machete cleanly across the father’s throat. The father made an obscene sucking, gurgling noise, like a bath emptying, and fell backwards.
‘Nicely done,’ said Kyle, and he whistled.
But the boy hadn’t finished. He stood over the father’s body and began chopping at his neck until his head came off.
‘That’s for Jaz,’ he said. Then he knelt down in the road and wept.
71
The last ragged tatters of the storm were flickering in the sky, way off to the east, out over the Thames estuary. Above the Tower of London the clouds were breaking up and the stars were bright behind them.
Jordan Hordern was standing on the top of Byward Tower, leaning on the battlements and looking out over the rain-soaked buildings towards St Paul’s. Before the storm had got too
fierce he’d been up here, watching the sickos as they streamed past, heading west. The streets had been full of them. From this distance, with his failing eyesight, they’d just been dark shapes. Now that the rain had stopped he’d come back up here. He liked to be alone in the night.
And it was here that Tomoki had found him when Hayden returned. She’d told Jordan and Tomoki everything that had happened, and Jordan had listened with interest. He was glad that Ed hadn’t been killed. He needed soldiers like Ed.
Now she’d finished speaking and Tomoki had gone. He was aware that Hayden was waiting for him to say something. She was shuffling uncomfortably. He did that to people – made them uncomfortable. Always had. Didn’t really know what he could do about it.
The stars were simple. They were always the same. You always knew where they’d be, could track them across the sky. He liked the stars. People were complicated, though. It would have been much easier if they were all toy soldiers with painted-on expressions – the same every time.
‘We’ll do nothing tonight,’ he said.
‘You sure?’ said Hayden.
‘Too dangerous.’
‘Yeah.’
Jordan didn’t look at Hayden. He found it easier not to look at people when he was talking to them. He could concentrate on what they were saying. The way his eyes were now he couldn’t see much anyway.
‘D’you think Matt will survive until the morning?’ he asked.
‘Depends,’ said Hayden. ‘I think they got the cathedral doors shut, but who knows how many sickos were already inside. And there was a million of them outside.’
‘A million?’ Jordan needed facts to be exact.
‘No, not a million, but you know what I mean.’
‘No.’
‘There were a lot,’ said Hayden. ‘Too many to count. The kids’ll be under siege in the cathedral. I mean, they’ve got fighters … ’ Hayden tailed off. She was covered in blood. Needed to clean up and sleep. Jordan would let her go soon.
Not yet, though.
‘This sicko you rescued?’ he asked.
‘Yeah?’
‘Tell me about him.’
The Sacrifice Page 34