GEORGIA PERKINS: We are live inside the M25!
JOHNNY CASTLE: Inside the M25. Can you believe it? We’re standing on the outskirts of North London – that’s right, London! Nine years later and we’re back in what was once the greatest city in the world.
GEORGIA PERKINS: Guess we’re not in Kansas anymore Johnny.
JOHNNY CASTLE: Coming up – the biggest Knife Bucket Challenge the world has ever seen. Are you lot ready to break the Internet?
The crowd watching on the big screen let out a tremendous roar.
Behind Johnny and Georgia, the remaining students who are still standing take to their seats. One thousand plastic buckets have been placed behind one thousand chairs. The buckets are filled almost to the brim with steel table knives. One thousand paper plates are on site, located in front of every chair on the grass. The grisly remains of an apple, dark red and mouldy brown, linger on the plate.
Volunteers take their positions behind each seat and as they do they give the thumbs up to the officials, indicating that they’re ready. The main duties of these volunteers are to tip the bucket of knives over the student’s head and to make sure that they don’t throw up at the end. Each volunteer standing in front of a participant has a gold flag and this will be raised only when the challenge is successfully completed.
GEORGIA PERKINS: Okay everyone! You have two minutes to complete your Knife Bucket Challenge. Are you ready?
JOHNNY CASTLE: Set!
Georgia blows the whistle and a high-pitched squeal cuts through the morning air.
Family and friends watch on the big screen as a thousand buckets are tipped over at once. There is a tremendous noise – an avalanche of steel crashing onto human skulls. The camera skips back and forth between students, most of them laughing as they rub their sore heads. Some of them raise their thumbs to the camera, maintaining their optimism as they brace themselves for the second stage of the challenge.
Then the first scream is heard.
It is a high-pitched, god-awful shriek that cuts through the broadcast like a samurai sword through rice paper.
It’s Georgia Perkins.
Moments later, everyone is screaming, both the crowd and participants. The laughter of moments ago has in a matter of seconds, transformed into a terrible cacophony of altogether different human sounds – crying, shouting, wailing – a chorus of fear that renders everything else insignificant.
Finally the cameras catch up with what everyone else has already seen.
About twenty or thirty students in the middle of the KBC area have stood up off their seats. They’re moving in a slow deliberate manner, as if to encircle the other participants. At the same time, they’ve lifted up their shirts to reveal explosive devices attached around their waists in the form of a belt. They continue to split up, to spread themselves around the gathering of students like a human barrier.
The other students are aghast, looking on helplessly with their mouths hanging open. Many are sobbing. One young student, a teenage boy of about eighteen, tries to get up out of his seat and is ordered to sit down immediately. He does and buries his face in his hands, hiding his tears from the world.
JOHNNY CASTLE: Oh my God! What the hell? Are we still on air? Georgia? They’ve got bombs attached to their bodies. Ladies and gentlemen, we appear to have a terrorist situation here at the M25. A number of students, perhaps twenty or more, are wearing what look like explosive belts. I repeat – explosive belts and oh God, look Georgia…
One of the bomb-carrying teenagers walks towards the television crew. He is black with a distinctive blond goatee hanging from his chin. He points towards the big screen that’s still playing on the other side of the wall.
YOUNG MAN: Keep filming! Keep broadcasting. You cut us off and we’re going to blow up everyone. We ain’t kidding. This is not a prank – keep filming if you want these people to live.
GEORGIA PERKINS: Jesus Christ Johnny. I know that kid. He was in the audience that day – the one who laid into us remember? Oh Jesus Christ. What the fuck are we supposed to do? Somebody help us.
JOHNNY CASTLE: Look. Somebody’s coming.
One of the soldiers is approaching the young man. An older man in his mid-to-late fifties, he signals to the soldiers standing around the AFVs to lower their weapons.
SOLDIER: What are you doing son? You don’t want to kill anyone. C’mon – there’s no need for this. Whatever you want to talk about we can talk about it. Take the belts off please and stand down. We can do this the easy way and nobody gets hurt. C’mon – what do you say?
The young man laughs. It is a cold sound and the soldier is visibly taken aback by this unexpected response.
YOUNG MAN: We will kill these people. Do not think for a second that just because we’re young that you’re dealing with idiots. We’ll kill them, you, all your soldiers and ourselves. You’re not in charge anymore, so drop your weapons and step away from those armoured vehicles. Do it now please.
The soldier looks beyond the inner wall, his eyes searching for a signal – for some much needed guidance from afar. But he can’t make eye contact with anyone there and he daren’t touch his radio to try and communicate.
SOLDIER: Okay, okay. You’re in charge son. What is it that you want? You don’t look like a mass murderer to me.
The teenager’s face is calm. Serene. At first he ignores the question and walks past the soldier, moving towards the AFVs. Some of the others with explosives attached to their bodies follow at a close distance. As they walk, they keep their eyes open for any sudden manoeuvres from the military or anyone else.
The young man turns back to the soldier.
YOUNG MAN: We want your vehicles. Now please.
SOLDIER: The AFVs? What do you want them for? You don’t even know how to drive them, let alone operate them.
YOUNG MAN: Do you really believe I’m that stupid? Do you really think we’d come all the way out here, go through all of this, and then ask for your vehicles if we didn’t know how to drive them?
The soldier hesitates.
SOLDIER: What are you going to do? Talk to me son because I’m not sure I can just give you those AFVs. You understand?
YOUNG MAN: We are The Good and Honest Citizens. My friends and I are going to take your AFVs and go on a little trip into the city. You on the other hand, will be waiting here with my other friends. And if you try anything while we’re away, these friends of mine will detonate their explosive belts. That will make you responsible for a lot of deaths on live television. Although I suspect the ratings will be phenomenal, don’t you Mr Rudyard Campbell?
SOLDIER: What do you want to go into London for? It’s a wasteland. It’s full of dangerous people who’ll only try to hurt you.
YOUNG MAN: There are dangerous people everywhere. But don’t worry about us – we’ll be quite safe in your AFVs. We deem it a risk worth taking. There are people in London who deserve to know the truth about their situation. People who deserve to know why no one is coming to get them out. Yeah?
SOLDIER: You don’t want to do this son.
The young man walks towards the soldier. He looks at the military man in a calm and clinical manner. His eyes are blank. He looks like he’s sizing up an insect crawling over the floor, unsure of whether to kill it or let it go. The soldier knows this look only too well. And he knows that there’s no bargaining with the person standing in front of him.
YOUNG MAN: Don’t call me son. Now move your men away from the two vehicles please. I won’t ask again.
The youth points to the big screen beyond the inner wall.
YOUNG MAN: There are millions of people watching us now. All over the world. Tell your men to step aside or they will see something that will haunt their dreams for the rest of their lives.
The soldier looks at the young man for a second. Then he turns and nods to the small crowd of men behind him. They lower their weapons and follow their leader as they gradually step away from the AFVs. At the same time, about ten young people wearing e
xplosive belts move towards the vehicles, all the while keeping one hand in their pockets on the trigger device. Another ten to fifteen people wearing explosive belts have remained in place at the KBC area, surrounding the students and television crew.
The youth with the blond goatee approaches one of the AFVs. He climbs up, entering the vehicle through the circular hatch as if he’s done this a hundred times. He looks back at the soldier and smiles while at the same time flipping him the finger. Then he’s gone. The others follow, filling up both the first and second vehicle in a hurry.
About a minute later, a thick growling sound comes from both the AFVs.
The vehicles roll away at a steady pace, falling into a single line. They travel slowly towards the abandoned motorway – the original M25. Not far from there, the road will turn onto the old M1 and this is the road that they will take – the road that will lead them south towards the heart of London.
Chapter 24
“Walker,” Barboza said. “We need to go.”
But Walker didn’t respond. He wasn’t prepared to listen to Barboza’s pleas or to entertain the possibility of leaving home. The red mist had taken hold and all he wanted to do was to fuck something up bad – kind of like they’d done during the riots of 2011.
He’d already managed to kick the living room door off its hinges – perhaps he wasn’t so bad at capoeira after all. And with one strike, he’d knocked the old TV off its perch and sent it crashing onto the floor, cracking the screen in the process. Goodbye forever. It should have been a satisfying conclusion, but Walker wasn’t satisfied.
The wrecking spree was about to continue with the furniture when Walker stopped.
It was Alba. She had hopped onto the front window ledge from the outside. The little cat pushed her ears back in confusion as she looked inside. She knew that something was wrong with her human.
Walker felt ashamed. He was like a drunk in a jail cell who’d just sobered up and realised his wasteful crime. He’d always believed that it was his calm nature that had attracted Alba to him in the first place. He’d heard somewhere that cats were drawn to people who radiated calm energy. But look at him now – a crazy man, out of control and laying waste to the place they both considered home. He saw himself through her icy blue eyes and swiftly the red mist vanished.
He took a couple of steps back, falling into the armchair with a soft thud. A dull throbbing gnawed at his head, not to mention his hands and feet where he’d pounded on half the living room.
“Walker,” Barboza said. “We need to go. Do you understand?”
Walker looked up at Barboza. He saw the fear in her dark eyes and her bottom lip might have been trembling. But instead of responding, Walker got to his feet and hurried past her. He went into the kitchen and pulled the main window next to the sink open about halfway. Then he returned to the living room, walking past Barboza again, and opened the front window where Alba was still waiting. Alba slid through the gap, raising her bushy white tail at the sight of her favourite person, who seemed back to his old self.
He ran a hand over her, gently gripping the soft fur on her back and holding it there. The sensation triggered a surge of emotion. He turned fully towards the window, making sure to keep his back to Barboza so that she wouldn’t see the solitary tear running down his cheek.
“This is your house now,” Walker said. “Go easy on the birds and the mice, eh?”
He buried his face in her warm, soft coat and felt the cat purring underneath him. Perhaps she was soothing him, telling him that everything would be okay. Then Alba turned around, squeezed back through the gap in the window, leapt off the edge and made towards the road.
Walker watched her go. He’d just said goodbye to the only family he had left in the world.
“Walker?” Barboza said. “Please listen to me.”
He turned around.
“We have to go,” Barboza said.
“We?” Walker said.
“I’m dead to the world out there,” Barboza said. “And it’s because of my stupid fucking conscience. So whatever you’re thinking of me right now, remember that okay?”
Walker ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. “But how can they touch us?” he said. “The public must have heard what you said before they cut the cameras. They know it’s all bullshit. If something happens to us then they’ll know who did it.”
Barboza shook her head.
“I don’t know how much got out before they pulled the plug,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter. They’ll clean it up somehow. Sure, people will ask questions for a while. But the scandal will blow away – these things always do.”
“What about the cameras on the street?” Walker asked. “Are they out too?”
“Everything,” Barboza said. “The whole neighbourhood is off. They can’t risk any more little revelations slipping out. And they can’t risk letting us loose in London knowing what we know. You’re a very dangerous person Walker. And so am I.”
Walker sighed. “What a fucking day,” he said.
“Please,” Barboza asked. “Enough of this bullshit. We’ve stayed here too long as it is.”
But Walker just shrugged his shoulders. “Fuck them. Them. Whoever them are. The people in the shadows who control everything – fuck them. Let them come and do what they want. If they enjoy watching me take a piss so much then I’ll give them a live performance.”
Barboza grabbed his arm. Once again, it felt like a steel vice had clamped its jaws around him.
“Stop it,” she said. ““There won’t be any negotiation with these people Walker. They’re not going to send middle-aged men dressed in well-tailored suits and ties. They’re not going to offer you a nice retirement package in the Costa del Sol for keeping your mouth shut. It’s the fucking army – they’re sending the troops here to kill us. We know too much. You understand?”
With that, Barboza turned and hurried out of the room. Walker heard her in the kitchen, slamming doors open and shut and piling things onto the counter. He heard heavy footsteps on the linoleum floor. Then she went upstairs. More footsteps. A few minutes later she came downstairs, storming back into the living room. She was holding two rucksacks in each hand by the strap. Walker recognised his dad’s old sports bag. Archie Walker had once used it for squash games with his workmates in Edinburgh.
“It’s as much as we can carry,” she said. “Food, water, toothbrush, change of clothes – enough to get us started. Anything else you want?”
Walker looked at his father’s sports bag. In that moment, everything became clear – as clear as it had been since the first day of September 2011 when civilisation had forsaken London in a blur of violence. He saw the path ahead. It opened up like the Biblical Red Sea before his eyes. The future. He knew exactly what he had to do. This was it. He had a purpose beyond Stanmore Road.
“Kill him,” he said.
Barboza screwed up her face. “What?” she said.
But they were interrupted by a noise outside. Faint at first, and yet growing louder at an alarming speed. Growling engines. It was the sound of heavy wheels rolling across the hot concrete of Stanmore Road.
Barboza’s face turned chalk white. She ran towards the window, pulled the curtains back and looked out.
“Oh fuck!” she yelled.
She ducked down underneath the window. “They’re here! Oh shit, shit, shit. Jesus Christ, we’re screwed.”
Walker walked slowly towards the window. He pulled back the curtains, making little effort to conceal himself from the view of those outside. An army helicopter was setting down in the middle of the street. He recognised the shape – it looked like a Black Hawk, rugged, long and low-set, with four blades spinning in a blur. Looking to the left, he saw a large AFV making its way along Stanmore Road, crawling as if it had all the time in the world. The vehicle pulled up in the middle of the street, rolling to a gradual stop.
The hatch opened.
“Get down.” Barboza hissed at him.
> Walker didn’t move. He continued to look outside as a squad of troops leapt out of the AFV, one after the other in quick succession. He watched as they took position at the outskirts of the garden, pointing their rifles towards the house. Towards him. At the same time, another AFV pulled up on the street, close behind the first.
Walker ducked down beneath the window at last. As he did so, Barboza squeezed beside him. He heard her breathing, fast and erratic, like she was having some kind of fit.
“Fucking hell!” Barboza said.
Walker looked at her. He knew so little about the woman sitting next to him – the real woman and not the character she’d been playing since they met.
“Do you have a family out there?” he said. “Husband, kids, parents…?”
Barboza wiped a tear from her eye.
“My parents,” she said. “I’ve got a mum and dad in Leeds. I’m never going to see them again, am I? They won’t know what’s happened to me. Oh God what have I done?”
“I’m sorry,” Walker said. It was all he could think to say.
They sat with their backs against the living room wall. They could hear the sound of the helicopter’s engine outside. It was so loud that that Walker thought they’d landed the damn thing on the roof of his house. Any second now, he thought. An entire battalion of troopers would come crashing through the ceiling, trained assassins clinging to ropes with one hand, assault rifles outstretched in the other.
The Future of London Box Set Page 35