by Heide Goody
Mammonites might have struck most humans as greedy and selfish, but they rejected such assertions. They possessed two key clear truths which humans were rarely willing to accept. Firstly, everything had a quantifiable value, from food to air to life itself. Secondly, that truth was rarely pleasant but that didn’t stop it being true. For example, both humans and Mammonites allowed the poor, old and weak in their societies to die. Humans might wring their hands, give bland platitudes, and maybe even talk about the boundaries of medical science and the limits on hospital funding. Mammonites would simply pop round to granny’s house with an axe and some plastic sheeting to protect the furniture.
Upon the onset of the apocalypse, as indescribable horrors poured out of rifts in the sky and pits in the ground, many Mammonites decided it was time to tally up the final ledgers and settle all debts. For many of the school children of Thatcher Academy, this meant equipping themselves from the school armoury and engaging in a battle royale with their classmates, a very final school exam for which there would be no resits.
Yang, Elon, Prester and Ayesha were all in year seven and had acquitted themselves well against their schoolmates. As they cut a swathe through the population from the Mammonite village of Dickens Heath and into Shirley, their targets had switched from Mammonite to human. The debt-settling had become interracial.
To hear Elon Mogg-Mammonson talk about it, the major crimp in their success was their inability to brag about it on social media.
“No 5G. No 4G. No basic phone signal at all,” he complained as they walked down a suburban avenue.
The houses here were quiet. The Mammonites took pot shots at any lit windows, any twitching curtains. No humans dared venture into the street.
Elon waved his phone about above his head. “The cloud’s out there, but we can’t access it. I thought the end of the world would be better than this.”
“This is definitely the time foretold,” said Prester. “‘Mankind has become as the em-sho’ven gods, wild and free and knowing no laws or morals, rejoicing in murder and torture’.” He said it like he was quoting something.
“No mention of dodgy phone reception,” muttered Elon.
“Maybe the strange light is stopping your phone working,” said Prudence.
The inability of the light around them to conform to any known colour was not only irritating, it was starting to give Prudence a headache. It washed about overhead, pooling thickly in places, stretching out in brighter shades in others.
“It’s the unholy colours of Ammi-Usub,” said Steve as he marched in the gutter. “We fought them in the realms of Suler’au Sukram.”
“Did you win?” said Yang.
Steve growled. It was a little growl, but audible nonetheless. “Have you ever tried fighting a colour, sprogling?” he said bitterly. “You ever tried taking a blade to a pigment?”
“So you lost,” said Yang with a superior grunt of amusement.
“Let’s see you do better. Go on. Pick a colour. One of the weak ones.”
“I don’t need to prove myself to you.”
“Green! I challenge you to fight the colour green.”
Yang laughed.
“See?” said Steve. “We could have beaten green with one arm tied behind our backs. Possibly even yellow. But Ammi-Usub … the realms were shattered and our gods blinded.”
“Is it dangerous, then?” said Prudence.
“It changes things,” said Steve. “The tree that attacked you. That insect.”
He waggled his spear at a not-necessarily-pink insect on a nearby gatepost. It was a fat creature, bigger than Prudence’s hand. It had large, possibly-not-purple eyes and membranous wings with nearly-silver veins running through them.
Ayesha took aim and fired a single shot. The insect was blasted away but for a pair of wings drifting in the air.
“Your possessed dolly is a coward,” she said to Prudence.
Three more insects landed on the gatepost. Prudence walked in the road to give them a wide berth. “So this has all been foretold?”
Prester didn’t look at her as he answered, his attention and rifle aim was on the houses opposite. “‘Our great mother will rise this day. Then the liberated em-sho’ven Venislarn will teach us new ways to kill and conquer and all of this world will burn in a sacrificial fire of exultation.’”
“Er, that sounds nice,” Prudence said, politely.
“Will everything burn?” said Elon.
“Everything,” Prester nodded.
“I mean everything?”
“It is foretold.”
“Right. Just I was waiting for the new Sniper Elite game to come out on PlayStation.”
“There will be none of that in the new world,” said Prester.
They walked on in silence for a few seconds.
“I ordered some Vans from Amazon yesterday,” said Ayesha.
“Gone,” said Prester. “All will be fire.”
“But they were Prime Next Day Delivery.”
“It matters not,” he said.
“Bhul that,” she said. “Prime Next Day is, like, a promise. You can’t stop that.”
“This is the final day! Our mother rises. The Soulgate closes. The promises of humanity mean nothing.”
“You didn’t see these Vans though…”
Yang whirled. The nose of her assault rifle swept over the midriffs of her school friends.
“I will shoot the next one who bitches or whines,” she hissed. “Bhul your Vans. Bhul your stupid PlayStation games. Yes, our mother will rise. San-shu chu’meyah. But right now, we have everything that we should desire. We have vanquished our enemies—”
“Adn-bhul hate form 9F,” said Elon.
“—and we have trampled the weak under our feet. This city is ours by right and we have the weapons to take it. As the whole world descends into the hell of our ancestors, we take what we wish and fear no one. We are bathed in glory. This is all we could want. Nothing else matters.”
Her hands were shaking with passion when she’d finished speaking. Ayesha fretfully watched Yang’s finger on the trigger.
“We should want nothing else,” said Yang with quiet conviction and turned to carry on.
The rest followed obediently.
“I wouldn’t mind some KFC though,” said Elon. “To go with the glory, I mean.”
There was a heavy pause.
“Yes, obviously,” said Yang. “We all like KFC. KFC and glory would be nice.”
They walked on.
“With like one of them Krushem milkshakes,” said Ayesha.
Another pause.
“Which one?” said Yang.
“Oreo Krushem, of course.”
Yang nodded slowly. “I prefer the salted caramel.”
“Or that, or that,” said Ayesha quickly.
“What’s a Krushem?” said Prudence.
The Mammonites laughed.
“Never had a Krushem from KFC?” said Elon.
“I don’t know,” said Prudence, feeling defensive. “Maybe if you told me what one was then I could tell you if I’d had one.”
“She’s never had a Krushem,” said Ayesha, shaking her head. “Don’t reckon you’ve ever owned a pair of Vans either. Why haven’t you got any shoes?”
Prudence looked at her dusty feet and then the bright clean trainers Ayesha wore. “I don’t think I need shoes,” she said.
“The kaatbari doesn’t need shoes,” said Steve.
“There will be no shoes in the world to come,” said Prester.
“Oh, really?” said Ayesha sarcastically. “There’s a prediction about that too?”
Prester seemed momentarily unsure. “‘And in the sight of Yoth-Bilau and her dead children the skolori races will swarm, unseen and unformed, their passage marked by colossal footprints with talons spaced in a circle.’”
“Didn’t say nothing about shoes,” said Ayesha.
“If the skolori have circular feet, they won’t wear shoes.”
/> “Tenuous.”
“Our divine mother – san-shu chu’meyah – doesn’t have feet,” argued Prester.
“She could if she wanted,” Ayesha countered.
“I wonder,” said Elon slowly, “if our divine mother coming back will be as much fun as our parents told us it would be.” He was already flinching as he said it.
Prester aimed his rifle at Elon’s head. “You don’t want Yoth Mammon to rise from the pit of Leng? Is that what you’re saying?”
Elon stuttered and shook his head, eventually managing to say, “You need me to find the phone box.”
Yang huffed. “We do.”
“But he’s a blasphemer,” said Prester.
“And you talk too much,” said Yang. “And he’s right.”
Prudence could see Prester tempted to turn his rifle on Yang, but fear of the small girl held him back. Whatever social ties bound this little group, they were very loose.
“Oh, I am sure the arrival of our divine mother will be wonderful,” said Yang tartly. “But our parents do go on about it. They’ve lived their lives. They’ve hatched, grown, experienced the joy of eviscerating an enemy, made some savage acquisitions and they get to, I don’t know, twenty-five and there’s nothing to look forward to except children and death. That’s why they bang on about the end of the world.”
“You blaspheme,” said Prester.
“I would like to make my mind up for myself, Prester Hurst-Mammonson. I don’t have to want what my parents wanted.”
“My mum just wanted me to stay at the Library and hide, stay safe,” said Prudence, only thinking about it as she said it.
“We came out to see flowers and burn things,” said Steve.
“We haven’t really seen any flowers yet.”
“Or burned anything,” said Steve with heartfelt disappointment.
Ayesha pulled aside her blazer. There was a fabric band slung from shoulder to hip underneath. She unclipped one of the silver cannisters on the belt, pulled out a pin and lobbed it into the garden of the nearest house. Seconds later a searing white flare of light engulfed the small lawn, a bush, and the wooden porch of the house.
Prudence stepped back from the heat and tried to rub the flashes of colour that spun across her eyes.
“Phosphorus grenade,” said Ayesha. “For when you absolutely have to set things on fire.”
There were shouts from within the house. A door opened. The Mammonite school children opened fire.
Afterwards, when the shooting had stopped, the bush had been reduced to a black skeleton, and the porch was burning with a lazy yellow flame Steve ran around the edges of the scorched lawn.
“That was most entertaining,” he declared. “Give me one.”
Ayesha put her hand to her bandolier of grenades. “They’re bigger than you.”
“I am stronger than I look, puny mortal.”
He clearly saw her look to Prudence for confirmation.
“Don’t look at her!” he shrieked, offended. “She’s my apprentice. I’m the one in charge!”
“Is he?” said Ayesha.
“He’s the one who will get into trouble if I don’t get home safely,” said Prudence. “I think he’s scared of my mum.”
Steve crossed his arms furiously. “Steve the Destroyer is scared of no one.”
Ayesha drummed her fingers on the grenade. “I will give you one when we are at the phone box, if the kaatbari will speak a word in our favour.”
“Speak a word?” said Prudence.
“I’d like Vans. After the world has ended. I want there to be Vans and KFC.”
“And PlayStation,” said Elon. “Oh, and bring back the phone data signal. And wi-fi.”
“I don’t know what I want yet,” said Yang, “but you can also speak on my behalf.”
“Who to?” said Prudence, perplexed.
“You are the kaatbari, aren’t you?” said Prester. “You’re the herald of the Soulgate. You must have influence.”
Prudence blew out her lips. “Don’t know about that.”
“Some god must have invoked you.”
“Would I have noticed?”
“Some god must have spaffed his beans into your mum,” said Elon.
Yang looked at him in disgust.
“What?” he said. “That’s how it works. We watched that video in Personal Development.”
“You are a foul creature and I will shoot you before this night is through,” said Yang.
“The phone box,” Elon reminded her.
Yang grumbled, then jerked for him to lead on.
Ayesha walked beside Prudence. “Yo-Morgantus,” she said. “He’s the one you need to have words with. Then he can speak on your behalf to the ones above him.”
“I’ll try,” said Prudence, but the words sounded empty. The world was an unfolding mystery and she couldn’t speak with much certainty about any of it.
03:10am
“Then left here,” said Pupfish, reading the map in one hand and holding onto Nina’s waist with the other.
“Here?” shouted Nina above the noise of the puttering engine and the wind.
“Here.”
The side road took them past the turning for the train station and through dark residential streets to a high pillared entrance to Sutton Park. Nina wove the moped through the pedestrian entrance. She reflected sadly on the fact that if she’d been driving a car she would have been compelled to crash through it instead.
“Right, we’re here,” she said to Pupfish.
“Where? I don’t see no donkeys.”
It was dark once they were off the streets. There were not so many things on fire in Sutton Park, which took some getting used to.
“It’s a big park isn’t it?” said Nina.
Pupfish looked at his map. “Is all this green stuff the park?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s like crazy big. Ggh! Where’s the donkeys at?”
Nina twisted and shone her phone torch on the map. “The Donkey Sanctuary,” she said, pointing.
The gleam of her torch picked out something pink and slick on the floor. Nina scanned across the ground: the pink slick led to the ravaged corpse of a small deer. Her mind flipped automatically to what little she had glimpsed of Ricky’s crushed corpse. She grunted and forced her mind away from it.
“Bhul. Someone killed Bambi,” said Pupfish. “Like some NC17 Bambi muda.”
“Something is loose in this park,” said Nina, automatically shining her torch around.
“Donkeys do this muda?” said Pupfish.
“No.”
“You sure?”
Nina met his gaze. Expressions were hard to read on samakha faces, but she guessed Pupfish looked more than a little spooked. It might be the sight of the half-eaten little deer or, more likely, it was the culture shock of the urban youth being thrust into so much open green space. “Donkeys didn’t do this,” she said.
“Squirrels?”
She shook her head. “It’s this way.”
They rode slowly along a track, through thick woodland that only deepened the darkness, to a gate and a compound of little sheds. The noises from inside suggested they were filled with donkeys, and that the donkeys had cottoned on to the fact that things were not normal.
“Man, that noise!” Pupfish said, with a grimace.
It sounded like a death metal bagpipe orchestra. There was honking and screaming and all of the tonal variations in between.
“They’ll probably quieten down when we go and see them,” said Nina with a confidence she did not feel. They crossed the yard and tried some doors.
“You need to break this open, Pupfish,” said Nina.
“How’m I gonna do that? You want me to shoot the lock off?”
She’d forgotten he had a stolen pistol stuffed down his codpiece. “No. Let’s save the bullets for actual dangers. Must be something we can use.” She went back to the moped and swung its headlight around. “A spade!”
Pupfish used it to pry the locks off the sheds. Nina followed along, making sure the donkeys all emerged into the yard.
Nina’s more recent experiences with horses back in Georgian times meant these donkeys seemed like small, scruffy imitations. There had been a donkey tied up in the yard of The Old Crown at one point, but it was a sad and dusty creature that belonged to the laundry woman. These donkeys looked positively brimming with health in comparison, although they were clearly agitated and restless.
“Azbhul!” yelled Pupfish as the donkeys began to fill the yard and come close to him. “These bastards ain’t dangerous, are they? They smell funny.”
“They’re donkeys,” said Nina. “Just donkeys. You have seen donkeys before, haven’t you?”
“Nah, never,” he said. “’Cept on Shrek, you know. You?”
“Yeah. Seaside donkeys as a kid. Weston-Super-Mare. Thought they were bigger than this, to be honest.”
She dashed back to close the entrance gate properly when she realised that these donkeys were seriously agitated and there was a risk they might all take off into the darkness. She turned to address them all. Two dozen grey-brown creatures nuzzled and half-reared at each other in a mixture of curiosity and fear. Somewhere amongst them was Mr Giles Grey, a transformed human.
“Hi!” she said loudly to the crowd. “I’m Nina Seth. I work for the consular mission to the Venislarn. This is my friend, Pupfish. We’re looking for Mr Grey. That’s his donkey name and his real name. Mr Grey! We know you’re in here somewhere. Make yourself known!”
She had half-expected a donkey to step nobly from the throng, perhaps even address her with a deep Shakespearean gravitas and say something like, “Greetings, Nina. I … am Mr Grey,” with dramatic pauses and everything.
Nothing happened at all.