The Future of London Box Set

by Mark Gillespie

  Carol lifted her head off Michael King’s neck. She wiped both of her eyes with the back of her hand and took a deep breath. Then she looked at Barboza, her eyes tortured and glistening.

  “The little bugger,” she said, her voice cracking. “Just gave me the slip. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe he’d do that to me – today of all days.”

  “Why?” Barboza said. “Do you know why?”

  Carol shrugged. “It was just a normal walk,” she said. “We didn’t stray too far. We went up Bishopsgate and then onto Curtain Road. Nothing out of the ordinary. When we reached Curtain Road, I wanted to turn back like we always do. But this time, Charlie wanted to go further.”

  “Further?” Barboza said.

  Carol nodded. “Further north.”

  “Why?” asked an elderly man, standing behind Walker. “Did he say anything? What the bloody hell was the boy thinking?”

  “He was talking about his mum a lot,” Carol said. “But he does that sometimes. They lived up that way didn’t they? Before we found him. But he’s never wanted to go back up there, not really.”

  Walker looked at Barboza. He saw the terror spreading in her eyes, raging like a forest fire. He knew exactly what she was thinking in that moment.

  He was thinking the same thing.

  “I went after him,” Carol said. “But there’s no sign of him anywhere. I’ve been running around the streets for the past two hours, looking for him, calling his name over and over again.”

  “We’ve been out on the bikes,” Michael King said. “The boy’s vanished.”

  “He’s been taken,” Carol said. “I know it. A rogue or the Ghosts – something got him.”

  “Still too early for the Ghosts,” Michael King said.

  “Well it’s a rogue then,” Carol said. “Or another gang has picked him up. I mean, a little boy wandering them streets all alone. What chance has he got?”

  Michael King put both hands on Carol’s shoulders. He turned her towards him so that they were standing face to face.

  “We’re going to find him,” he said. “We’re going back out now and this time we’re going to find the little man. I promise.”

  He nodded at Fat Joseph, who was standing nearby.

  “Ready when you are Michael,” Fat Joseph said. “The bikes are out front, engines running.”

  “No,” somebody yelled in the crowd. “You can’t do that.”

  Michael King looked into the swarm of bodies. His dark brow creased in confusion.

  “What?” he said.

  “Those murderous bastards will be here soon,” the voice yelled. It was a woman’s voice. “The sun will be going down soon,” she said. “You can’t go out there on the streets Michael. We can’t risk you getting caught on the hop by the Ghosts.”

  “What do you expect us to do?” Michael King said to the woman. “Leave Charlie out there on the streets by himself?”

  Barboza jumped in.

  “Where did you search?” she asked. “What areas did you search?”

  Michael King looked at her. “Bishopsgate. Kingsland Road. Curtain Road. Then we went up into his old neighbourhood – every corner of every street…”

  Barboza shook her head. “I don’t think you’re going to find him standing in the middle of the street,” she said.

  “Of course,” Michael said. “I understand that. But we have to start somewhere…”

  Barboza nodded. “I know where he is,” she said. “At least I think I do.”

  Everything went silent after that.

  Walker stood behind Barboza, feeling more than a little nervous. He knew what was coming and it wasn’t going to be pretty. It was that good heart of Barboza again, coming back to haunt them both.

  Carol was staring at the younger woman with a puzzled expression on her face.

  “Where?” Carol said. “How would you know where he is?”

  Barboza hesitated. “Because it’s my fault,” she said. “I think Charlie ran off because of something I said to him earlier today.”

  Carol screwed up her face. The wrinkles there dug deep grooves on her forehead as rage and bewilderment battled to seize control of her.

  “What?” she said. “What did you say?”

  It sounded like the entire population of Station was quiet now.

  “He came to see us earlier,” Barboza said. “We ended up talking about his mum. He told us about what happened to her and I…I didn’t mean it. I just wanted to give him some hope but I didn’t think…”

  Carol walked towards Barboza. Walker saw a furious, manic glint in the older woman’s eye and in that moment, he placed a hand on Barboza’s back, a supportive gesture to remind her she wasn’t alone.

  “What did you do?” Carol said, stopping a few feet away. “What the hell did you do?”

  “I told him there was a chance,” Barboza said. She sounded like she was on the brink of tears as she spoke. “Just a chance – that his mum might still be alive somewhere.”

  Carol’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

  “Sweet Jesus,” she said. “Oh you stupid bitch.”

  And then she lunged at Barboza, swinging with wild punches that were well out of range.

  There were a few shrieks in the crowd as Michael King rushed over and grabbed a hold of Carol’s arms. He pulled her back towards him, wrapping an arm around her waist and pinning her close to him. Carol struggled, but couldn’t break free.

  Walker also put an arm around Barboza, gently guiding her back a couple of steps. A little space between the two women was clearly required.

  “You fucking bitch!” Carol screamed at Barboza. “You’ve killed him! Why? You better tell me.”

  Barboza struggled to speak, like the words were caught in the back of her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

  “You bitch!” Carol yelled at her.

  “Quiet,” Michael King said in a firm voice. He pulled Carol back, keeping his arm locked around her. “This doesn’t solve the immediate problem of finding Charlie. The more we talk, the more time we waste. Now the bottom line is this – the Ghosts are coming soon and Charlie is still out there.”

  He looked at Barboza.

  “You know where he is?” Michael King said. “Tell me. We’ll go and get him right now.”

  “Old Street Station,” Barboza said. “I’m sure of it. Didn’t anyone check in there?”

  Michael King shook his head. “We passed it several times,” he said. “But we didn’t go all the way inside the station. There was simply too much ground to cover and not enough time. But if he was in there, he would have heard us calling out to him. I’m sure of it.”

  “You’re assuming he wants to be found,” Walker said.

  “Yeah.” Michael King said. “Exactly.”

  “His mum’s been dead for two years!” Carol screamed. She was staring at Barboza with cold hate in her eyes. “Two fucking years! And now thanks to you, he thinks she’s still out there. We don’t lie to our children about things like that.”

  Michael King let go of Carol. He then took a short step forward, placing himself in between her and Barboza, like a boxing referee at the pre-fight instructions. “Enough of this,” he said. “It’s not the time for blame. Let’s go Joseph. We know where we need to be.”

  But when Michael King turned around, another voice called out after him, stopping the Bedlamite in his tracks.

  “No,” said a man in the crowd.

  Walker looked over his shoulder and saw an old man wading through the crowd. He was probably in his seventies, and he was wearing black shorts and an old denim shirt that was unbuttoned all the way down, exposing a shrivelled body with the ribs poking out of the pink skin.

  He was walking towards Michael King.

  “No Michael,” he said. “It’s like Deidre said, you can’t go out there.”

  The old man turned pointed to the windows. Outside, the bright sunlight was dimming fast. Now a dull, threaten
ing grey was taking root in the skies; it was a hint of the impending darkness to come.

  “It’s too late,” the old man said. “We don’t know where they’re coming from. You know how tricky those bastards are – they don’t just come up straight from the south every year. Sometimes they drive around the city and attack our streets from the north. So who knows where they’re coming from tonight? And when. They could be here earlier this year and that means they might catch you on the way back if you’re out there. It’s already early evening. We can’t risk losing you Michael. There shouldn’t be any Bedlamites out there on the street anyway – the Ghosts might interpret that as hostility on our part.”

  “What do you expect me to do?” Michael King said to the old man. “Leave the boy out there to die? Or worse?”

  “I’m not leaving him,” Carol said. “I don’t give a damn about the Ghosts or where they’re coming from. I’m going after him and I’m bringing him back.”

  “We’ll go,” Barboza said.

  She turned to look at Walker. Without hesitation, he nodded his agreement.

  “It’s not that far to Old Street,” Barboza said, turning back to Michael King. “And it’ll be quieter if we go out there on foot rather than you doing it on a pack of motorbikes. He’s up there in Old Street Station right now – I saw the look in his eye earlier and I’ll bet you anything he’s looking for his mum. Or waiting for her. We’ll find him and bring him back before the Ghosts get here. I promise. We won’t come back without him. And besides, we’re not Bedlamites so if the Ghosts do see us, they wouldn’t have any reason to think it’s hostility on your part. We’re just two people on the street.”

  Michael King sighed. He looked at the crowd, looking back at him. Then he turned to Walker and Barboza.

  “You must be quick,” he said. “It’s true. We don’t know exactly when they’re coming. But you’re not safe the moment you step out that door. Understand?”

  Barboza nodded.

  “I’m coming with you,” Carol said. She was looking at Walker and Barboza defiantly, daring them to challenge her. “I’m his guardian and that means he’s my responsibility.”

  Walker decided against arguing with her, even though he would have preferred going after Charlie with just Barboza.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Barboza said.

  Just as they were about to get moving, one of the younger women in Station – no more than nineteen or twenty years old – stepped up behind Barboza. The young woman gently wrapped a black, suede jacket over Barboza’s shoulders.

  “You want to be invisible out there,” the young woman said. “No bright colours.”

  Barboza nodded in thanks to the woman. Then she took the jacket off her shoulders, threading her arms through the sleeves and pulling the zip up to her neck.

  Michael King took a step back. He held an arm out, gesturing for the crowds to move away from the entrance, to make room for the small search party.

  “My friends,” he said to them. “Good luck. And whatever else you do, be quick.”

  Chapter 11

  It was getting dark in London.

  The bright summer sky was gone, leaving behind only a pack of grey clouds that moved tentatively across the roof of the world, like a scout party travelling ahead of the night.

  The heat of the day refused to yield, although it was much cooler than it had been earlier on.

  Walker, Barboza, and Carol travelled north along Bishopsgate. The two women had been at each other’s throats since leaving Station, but Walker knew that whatever they had to say would have to wait. They didn’t have time to get into any further arguments about who was to blame for Charlie’s disappearance. At first, Barboza had been quite willing to accept responsibility, but as Carol continued to insult her on their way out of Station, Barboza snapped back and left a few choice remarks about how Carol could have allowed Charlie to give her the slip so easily.

  That’s when Walker had slipped in between the two of them.

  The only thing that mattered was finding the boy and bringing him back to Station. And doing it before the Ghosts arrived in Bedlam. But as the sun slowly dipped behind the high-rise buildings, they knew their odds of doing so were getting slimmer. They might find the boy, but would they get back to Station safely? Or they might get back safely, but would they find the boy?

  The whole thing was a giant shot in the dark.

  At Carol’s lead, they increased the pace. Anxious footsteps pounded off the concrete, accompanied by the sound of their shallow breathing. Walker occasionally heard the whirring and clicking from the streetlights above. But he told himself to forget it. There was nothing he could do about that – the people on the outside were watching, so be it.

  “How long will it take us to get there?” he asked Carol.

  “Ten minutes if we get a move on,” she said.

  Considering that he’d been living alone for the past nine years, Walker wasn’t one for unnecessary conversations. He enjoyed silence. But even the most banal small talk was better than the lingering tension he felt simmering between these two women.

  “Have you lived in Station long?” he asked Carol.

  The older woman sighed. At first, Walker thought she wasn’t interested in talking and if so, he would suck it up and let it go without another word.

  “Yeah,” she said after a moment. “I’ve been there since the beginning, pretty much.”

  “Since Piccadilly?”

  “Almost to the day,” she said. “My original escape plan didn’t quite work out. But it could have been a lot worse if Michael King, Fat Joseph, and some of the others hadn’t found me and took me in.”

  “Escape plan?” Walker said. “You tried to get out of London?”

  “Oh yeah,” she said. “Didn’t everyone? Damn right I tried. Anybody who didn’t try needs their head read.”

  “What happened?” Walker asked. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “I don’t mind,” Carol said, keeping her eyes on the road. “As long as we don’t slow down that is. We’d been watching it on the telly at home – Piccadilly and the aftermath and all that crazy shit. But when it got real bad – scary bad – that’s when we decided to get out of the city for a while. We’d lay low and then come back when everything had calmed down. So a group of us – my family and some people on our street – drove north in one of them people carriers. There was no plan, not really. We were just trying to get as far away from London as possible. It was me, my husband Tom, Sarah – my eleven-year-old daughter, and a few good neighbours who we’d rounded up.”

  “Where were you coming from?” Walker asked.

  “Stoke Newington,” she said. “About five miles from Piccadilly Circus. We travelled north and with the car we had, we could have been clear of London in about forty-five minutes. Well that’s depending on traffic ’cos everyone was doing the same thing. That’s what it looked like anyway.”

  “So you knew? About the M25?”

  “We heard the rumours,” Carol said. “You couldn’t help but hear ’em. There was somebody running down our street – literally just sprinting down the middle of the road like he was in the hundred metres final of the Olympics. God he was screaming so loud. He was yelling about barriers being built around the city to keep the trouble in. It sounded crazy but I believed him. So yeah, we drove up. Figured north was probably the safest route to take.”

  “Were the barriers already up?” Walker asked. “By the time you got there?”

  “Don’t know,” Carol said. “We never made it. Our car got attacked just outside Tottenham.”

  Walker scratched at a small growth of stubble on his chin. Elsewhere, his face was a little sunburned and as his fingers strayed outside the realm of the itch, he felt a hot, tingling sensation that was mildly painful.

  “You got attacked?” he said.

  Carol nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “A big group of kids – well teenagers I suppose. They came for us. S
winging baseball bats, cricket bats – all sorts of bats. They ambushed us on the road – on the A10 travelling north. God there must have been about thirty or forty of them at least. They just ran onto the road like they didn’t care about anything. Tom was driving and you know what? If he’d have kept going, if he’d just driven through ’em, ploughed through the little bastards, then we might have made it. My life would be a lot different today. But Tom wasn’t that sort of man. He wasn’t ready to accept the idea that civilisation had collapsed in the great city of London.”

  Walker felt like he’d invaded her privacy enough. But curiosity got the better of him and he couldn’t resist asking further questions. Fortunately Carol didn’t seem to mind continuing with her story.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “We fought them as best we could,” Carol said. “And that was the second mistake we made after not ploughing through the bloody lot of them. We fought because we needed our car and we assumed that’s what they wanted. But if we’d just gotten out of the car and let them have it – held our hands up – they probably would have left us alone. I don’t know. I think they just wanted to smash it up, to burn it, or drive it down to Piccadilly, into the eye of the shit-storm.”

  “Aye,” Walker said. “They didn’t take kindly to you trying to fight back then?”

  “Tom and the other men thought they could scare them off,” Carol said. “Well, those kids – they weren’t backing down to anyone. Not anymore. They weren’t afraid to use their weapons either, bloody little savages. So there I was, sat in the car, holding my daughter tight, and watching them beat my husband to a bloody pulp. All the children in the car watched their fathers die. Yeah well, there’s only so much you can take, right? I got out the car and ran at them. Screaming, telling them to stop. He was the love of my life. You know? I couldn’t just let him go like that.”

  “I’m sorry,” Walker said.

  Carol nodded, drawing her lips tight together.

  “And that was mistake number three,” she said. “I should have tried to make a run for it with the kids. I didn’t think about driving away at the time because it meant leaving Tom behind. And gut instinct would never allow me to do that. Yet it was the most obvious solution. Instead I charged and fat lot of good it did. They hit me on the head with a baseball bat and there was a crunching noise in my head. I went down and I heard some of them cheering like they’d just scored a home run. Little pricks. But just before I blacked out, I heard her – I heard my daughter Sarah screaming. Everything went blurry; I saw the faint shape of her running over to my side and then lots of hands grabbing her and pulling her away from me. White hands. Black hands. They had my daughter. After that I blacked out.”