Ajax: @WelcomeTo1984 Fucking sheep!! You’re everything that’s wrong with the world. Too lazy to think and form your own opinion.
WelcomeTo1984: @Ajax HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!
Harry Krishna: Calm down ladies! Keep your eyes on the #BigChase Something’s happening on FOL 10. It’s not Mr A or B though. Looks like the Ghosts have found something in that building.
WelcomeTo1984: Or someone.
Chapter 15
Walker and the others hid by the entrance to Bunhill Fields.
He knew they should have been deep into the cemetery by now. But his feet were like giant concrete blocks that had taken root in the ground. Something was holding him back. The others were making no signs of moving either. It was as if they were all hypnotised by what was happening further down the street. It was terrifying and yet, they couldn’t tear their eyes away.
Carol had a hand pinned over Charlie’s mouth. Walker guessed she was making sure the boy didn’t scream.
The Ghosts of London, or at least some of them, were standing on City Road. There were about fifteen to twenty of them that Walker could see. They were all dressed in a similar outfit – casual, street clothes for the most part – jeans, vest tops, and what looked like a chunky pair of Doc Martens boots on their feet. Walker noticed that most of their arms were heavily tattooed, displaying an array of striking designs, the precise details of which he couldn’t make out from afar.
But that wasn’t the half of it.
Gas masks. The Ghosts were wearing gas masks over their faces. And on top of these gas masks, white or grey judges’ wigs had been attached, adding a uniquely old-fashioned air to this most striking of twenty-first century uniforms. Several short dark horns sprouted from atop the wigs, like a demonic cherry on the cake.
The gas masks weren’t the usual type that Walker envisioned – he always pictured the darker coloured ones, maybe black or brown or green – the kind that he’d seen featured in the old World War Two highlight reels. He knew about the later British S6 or S10 models too, with a smaller filter canister positioned over the mouth. But the Ghosts were wearing something different. The face piece of their masks were made out of white rubber and it wasn’t just strapped onto the front of the face like with some gas masks – this one fit entirely over the head like a helmet and it obscured the wearer’s features entirely. At the front, two large lenses acted as eyeholes and most notable of all, an extra-large filter canister protruded from the mouth of the mask. The canister grew out of the rubber like a long tumour, providing the Ghosts with a bizarre, extra-terrestrial look.
“Jesus Christ,” Walker said. “What’s with the fancy dress?”
“I’ve seen those masks before,” Barboza whispered. “On a film set. They’re Russian civilian gas masks. Creepy as hell man.”
Walker and the others remained perfectly still, huddled around the entrance of Bunhill Fields.
Further down the street, the Ghosts were sizing up the building they’d just parked beside. One Ghost was standing on the back of the pickup truck, handing out steel or wooden baseball bats like he was a politician handing out campaign leaflets. Walker noticed too that along with the baseball bats, many of the Ghosts had daggers tucked into a small scabbard that was hanging off a leather belt at their waist.
Walker heard the engines of both the pickup and the Sprinter van still running. Considering that fuel had to be scarce, he figured that the Ghosts weren’t planning on a long stop here.
The hunters moved towards the building. Two of the Ghosts started kicking at the front door with the soles of their Doc Martens. There was a harsh, thudding sound that travelled down to where Walker and the others were hiding. At the same time, the sound of smashing glass exploded in Walker’s ears. He saw that several other Ghosts were attacking the large window at the front of the restaurant, going at it with their baseball bats.
Walker noticed a few of the Ghosts standing behind the attackers, carrying what looked like large cuts of netting.
That was when he heard a voice in his head.
Run. Why are you still here? Why are you watching this?
It didn’t take long for the Ghosts to break into the restaurant. They charged through the door and into the building, a squad of post-apocalyptic stormtroopers tracking some unseen bounty within. Immediately, Walker heard loud thumping noises coming from inside. It sounded like the furniture was being thrown up against the walls.
Screaming. Both men and women, terrified for their lives.
There was a sudden explosion of noise. Shattering glass. Walker looked towards the upper floor and saw a figure crashing headfirst through one of the windows. The figure plummeted down towards the street, a thousand shards of broken glass falling with him.
It was a man.
He fell swiftly with his body folded up into a tight ball, as if somehow by doing this, it might protect him from the impact below. Walker guessed that it was about twenty feet to the ground from the upper floor window. The man could make it – he would survive the jump, but what about the aftermath?
The man landed on the road with a sickening thud. As he did so, he rolled over several times on the broken glass, shrieking in pain with each turn of his body. Walker felt like he was standing on the edge of a film set, watching a stunt man doing a take for an action movie.
The man – who couldn’t have been older than twenty-five – leapt back to his feet and started running down City Road, trying to get away from the building and the Ghosts. He was running towards where Walker and the others were standing, tucked in behind the stone pillars at the entrance of Bunhill Fields.
But the Ghosts weren’t about to let him get away. Two of the masked men came charging out of the front door of the restaurant, chasing after their prey. The man took off, sprinting at full speed down the middle of the road. Walker looked on in horror. He listened to the man, who was making a weird, animalistic grunting noise as he fled for his life. His face was covered in fresh cuts along the nose, cheeks, mouth and even the eyes, which made it look like he was crying blood.
The man looked back over his shoulder. The hunters in the white masks and judges wigs were closing in on him. The Ghosts were fast too. Walker noticed that all the ones he he’d seen so far were in impressive physical shape – lean and muscular. Not the type of people who were going to be outrun by just anyone.
The young man let out a pitiful shriek. His body was betraying him. He was slowing down.
One of the Ghosts caught up with him, and reached for the young man. He wrapped a sinewy arm around his victim’s neck like it was a hook, and then yanked him backwards at tremendous force. There was a wheezing sound as the man was knocked off his feet and down onto the road. Now he was lying flat on his back and the two Ghosts were standing over him. Several other Ghosts arrived on the scene, but they weren’t running. They were walking at a casual pace, content in the knowledge that they’d won. One of them was carrying a large sheet of netting and when he got closer to the man, he tossed it over him in a scene that reminded Walker of the gladiators in Ancient Rome, the sort of warriors who’d used nets and tridents to get the better of their opponents.
The young man had no more fight left in him. He remained perfectly still underneath the netting, as if he’d resigned himself to his fate. Two of the Ghosts then dragged their fresh victim back to his feet and led him back along City Road towards where the pickup and the Sprinter van were still waiting with their engines running. The young man was taken around the to back of the Sprinter van and Walker heard the sharp click of the back door opening. Although he couldn’t see what was going on, he imagined they were dumping the man inside.
Another one for the farm.
“We have to go,” Barboza said.
Nobody was about to argue. But just as they were turning around they saw more Ghosts coming out of the restaurant. Walker paused, trying to get a better look and his heart sank at the sight that greeted him. He saw the masked hunters leading out a small group of
five or six people, all buried underneath a large net.
“Oh no,” Carol said.
At that moment, the sound of screeching tyres exploded from the other end of City Road. Walker’s heart was pounding with fright as he looked over his shoulders to see what was going on behind them.
He saw a car pulling up at the side of a zebra crossing. It was at most, about forty or fifty metres away from the entrance of Bunhill Fields. Walker thought it looked like a black Audi Saloon, or something similar.
Just as the car pulled up, a lone figure came running across the street. Whoever it was, they were about ten metres away from the car at most. The Audi’s headlights were pointing at the runner, showering them in two tunnels of white light.
It was a young woman. With the headlights pointing at her, Walker saw that she wasn’t entirely alone after all. She was clutching something tight to her chest – or rather someone. It was a young girl, no more than two or three years of age.
The woman ran harder. Walker didn’t know how long this game of cat and mouse had been going on, but she must have known how close her pursuer was. The child in her arms began to scream as she was carried across the street in her desperate mother’s arms. Walker saw the blonde hair of the little girl bouncing up and down along to the chaotic rhythm of their escape.
The car door opened and a lone Ghost stepped out of the driver’s side. Like the other gang members, he was wearing a Russian gas mask and a judges’ wig. Walker noticed that this Ghost also had a police badge hanging over his chest, like it was a medallion. His mask was darker than the others too – a sort of rusty brown colour that contrasted with the whiteness of the wig. He was an impressive physical specimen, even by Ghost standards. He was tall, almost freakishly so, like a thicker, muscular version of an NBA basketball player. His skin was dark brown and unlike the other Ghosts, there were no tattoos on his arms. And while the others Ghosts had knives hanging from their belts, this guy had a full-length sword sitting in a lean scabbard that was positioned on the left hand side of his waist.
The tall Ghost went after the woman and child. He ran along City Road, covering ground like a world-class sprinter in the Olympic hundred metres final. His arms and legs were a lightning fast blur, the muscles pumping back and forth, generating tremendous speed.
It was a foregone conclusion. It only took the tall Ghost a few seconds to catch up with the woman as she tried to exit City Road. The woman stopped running and turned to face her pursuer. There was a fierce look in her eyes and for a moment, she no longer looked like a prey animal. Walker believed it too; he believed that she would stand there and fight to the death in order to save her child. But although she did struggle, the Ghost was too strong for her. He didn’t even look like he was close to breaking a sweat as he dragged them back to the car.
“Oh fuck,” Barboza said. “Walker, can’t we do something?”
“There’s nothing we can do for them,” Carol said. She and Charlie were now standing a few feet inside the gate, having entered Bunhill Fields ahead of Walker and Barboza.
“Don’t even think about being a hero tonight,” Carol said. “Either one of you. No matter what you see, stay out of sight or join the rest of the victims in the farm. That woman should have been in Station tonight. She failed her daughter by taking her chances on the street.”
Walker looked back towards City Road. The tall Ghost had by now tied the woman’s arms behind her back with heavy tape. He then did the same with the little girl and to finish, he put the tape over their mouths to gag them. Finally they were bundled into the backseat and pushed down so they were lying on their sides.
Walker felt sick. He could only imagine the fate that awaited them. But he knew that Carol was right too – if they tried to play heroes hey would end up as victims instead, joining the others in the back of the Sprinter van en route to the farm.
“Okay,” Walker said. “Time to…”
He was cut off in mid-sentence by a series of short, sharp beeps coming from either the pickup or the Sprinter van, still parked outside the restaurant. Walker and the others looked down that way. The Ghosts had by now bundled their captives into the back of the van. But instead of getting back into their vehicles and moving on, they were standing huddled outside on the street, grouped together in one giant pack.
They were standing stiff and alert, like they’d seen something.
It didn’t take Walker long to realise what it was. And when he did, his blood ran cold.
The Ghosts were looking at them.
Somebody shouted a command and all hell broke loose. The Ghosts hurried back into their vehicles, moving as if it was their lives that depended on it. Seconds later, both vehicle engines roared, like a great god growling in the bowels of the earth. The pickup truck came speeding along City Road towards Bunhill Fields, followed close behind by the Sprinter van.
“Move!” Walker yelled to the others.
They ran into the old burial ground – Carol and Charlie at the front, Barboza in the middle, and Walker at the rear. Everything was black and the warm night air grasped at their skin as they rushed forward. The faint outline of tall trees and large headstones surrounded them, dark spectres standing watch over the dead.
Walker heard the sound of screeching brakes on City Road. The pickup truck and the Sprinter van were pulling up outside the gate of the old graveyard. He heard the doors being flung open, the sound of Doc Marten boots jumping onto the concrete.
Walker and the others ran deeper into the vast darkness of Bunhill Fields. Walker was slightly ahead of the group, searching for anything that resembled a good place to hide.
His eyes worked frantically but although there was enough visibility to avoid bumping into things, it was too dark to see anything clearly. There were too many clouds that night to allow any moonlight from the heavens to seep through into Bunhill Fields. It was just Walker’s luck – almost every other night that summer had seen clear skies.
He veered off the public path, running onto a stretch of long, dry grass. All around, the tall trees bent over them like villainous giants out of a fairy tale. The footsteps of Barboza, Carol and Charlie were close behind him. Walker figured that their best option was probably to seek shelter behind the trees or the headstones and bury themselves in the long grass as best they could. There was no way they could outrun the Ghosts, not with a little boy in their midst. That meant darkness was their new best friend. So too was the vastness of Bunhill Fields, the long grass and the decaying headstones.
The Ghosts must have been confident about catching their prey. So confident that they felt no need to bother with the silent and subtle approach. To Walker, it sounded like a herd of buffalo were closing in on them.
He glanced over his shoulder. Several narrow beams of torchlight were darting back and forth amongst the trees.
Walker felt his heart pounding. There had to be somewhere they could lay low. He saw several rows of old headstones situated on the grass off the main path. They were ancient and had been ravaged over time by the English elements. There were probably hundreds of thousands of people buried in these grounds, dating back many centuries. Some of the more notable monuments had been fenced off to protect them from being damaged by the public.
He led the others towards a crowd of smaller headstones. These were located on a rectangular stretch of grass, off the main path. The headstones in this section of the graveyard probably belonged to the deceased commoners of long ago, people who had been considered less important than those who’d been given the monuments. But Walker would forever be in debt to these commoners if they offered them shelter from the murderous rain.
And that was a big if.
The grass was long and it intermingled with an endless supply of tall wildflowers. Walker and the other adults ducked behind a stone each, sinking down into the grass, burying themselves so deep that they became part of their surroundings.
Carol kept Charlie close to her, both of them ducking behind the same hea
dstone. She pulled the boy tight to her chest, all the while forcing herself deeper into the long grass. Walker looked over and saw the mute terror in the boy’s face. Charlie looked as if he was in a trance, his eyes vacant, not blinking.
Walker and Barboza lay silent in the tall grass. If they didn’t move or breathe – if they could remain as quiet as the hundreds of rotten corpses underneath them, then Walker figured they had a chance.
The Ghosts’ footsteps were fading. Walker could still hear them somewhere in the graveyard, but they weren’t any closer. But he didn’t dare to hope. He just lay there, burrowing as far into the dry earth as best he could. After a few moments, Barboza’s face peered at him through the grass. He nodded, letting her know that they were okay.
For now.
A few seconds later, she wriggled through the grass towards him.
“You think they’re gone?” she whispered.
Walker shrugged. “Maybe.”
Soon there was no sound. There were no voices calling out to one another in the distance. No Doc Martens slapping off the concrete paths. But Walker remained cautious. His best guess was that the Ghosts were searching for them in another part of the cemetery – it was a huge place after all and there was a lot of ground to cover. With any luck, the Ghosts would realise that Bunhill Fields was too big. And maybe they weren’t willing to spend all night searching from one end to another for four people. Not when there was an entire city to plunder.
Walker looked over at Barboza.
“You know something?” he asked.
She scrunched up her face in confusion. “What?”
“My life wasn’t so bad up there on Stanmore Road,” he said. “Was it?”
Barboza shook her head. “I’m sorry Walker,” she said.
“I know.”
To Walker’s left, Carol and Charlie were sitting up a little, poking their head out of the grassy hiding place. Carol looked over at Walker and Barboza.
The Future of London Box Set Page 48