The Future of London Box Set

by Mark Gillespie

  The Obituaries were standing at the black gate, in deep discussion.

  Walker took a good look at the people they’d come to steal from. It looked like the gang were made up of four men and five women. They were all dressed in a striking and unusual uniform – some sort of black skin-tight active wear clothing that clung to their bodies tightly, showing off their lean physiques and in the case of the women, their breasts too. Their faces were smothered in ghoulish white make-up, with large black patches encircling their eyes. The jewel in the crown was a row of skull-like teeth that had been printed over their mouths

  Walking, talking skeletons.

  They had weapons too – nasty ones. Each member of the Obituaries was carrying a spiked bat in their hand. These were wooden baseball bats with about ten to twenty nails attached to a head – a head that had been designed to cause maximum damage. Walker could see a dark red stain on the head of each bat, and he was almost certain it was blood.

  A thought occurred to Walker. It was simple and terrifying. What if the Obituaries walked past them as they set off on patrol? Had Kojiro thought of which direction they’d be travelling in? Had he thought of that when he’d chosen their hiding place? It seemed too glaring an error for a man of Kojiro’s intelligence to make. But then again, they were making decisions in a hurry. What if Kojiro didn’t have time to consider the Obituaries’ route?

  Walker glanced beyond the huddle of gang members. The main road was to their left as they exited the gate. It made sense that they would go that way. But what if they had different plans that morning? If they turned right that would bring them to where Walker and Kojiro were hiding.

  And then the shit would really hit the fan.

  Walker looked at Kojiro. Kojiro gave him a reassuring nod while pressing a finger to his lips.

  Walker leaned his back up against the shuttered door. What were they talking about up there? Why didn’t they just go already?

  Finally he heard footsteps, light tap-tapping sounds striking off the concrete. For a moment, Walker didn’t know what direction they were going. Seconds later and much to his relief, he heard those footsteps receding into the distance.

  When the gang were gone, Walker let out a long sigh of relief. As his racing heartbeat began to slow down, he realised how dry his throat was. The last thing he’d had to drink was mushroom tea and that felt like a lifetime ago.

  Kojiro tapped him on the shoulder.

  “C’mon Walker,” he said. “Time to go to work.”

  Walker felt a knot tightening in his stomach.

  “Aye,” he said.

  They crept back up the street towards the black gate. As they did so, Walker expected to see the Obituaries make a sudden reappearance, all nine of them, having turned back for something only to catch Walker and Kojiro in the act of breaking into their home.

  There was no sign of them.

  Kojiro pushed open the gate and it went willingly, like a pair of welcoming arms. There were no barriers, no deterrents, and no guard dogs on the other side. The Obituaries must have been so confident that nobody would do what Walker and Kojiro were about to do that they saw no need for such things.

  Live and learn, thought Walker.

  They hurried towards the front door and pulled it open. There wasn’t much light inside the building and as they closed the door behind them, Kojiro reached into his coat pocket. Walker heard the flick of a switch and saw a thin beam of yellow light appear on the nearest wall. This glimmer of torchlight raced from side to side, a puny glow that wasn’t much comfort but it was all they had.

  “The heaters will be in the Box,” Kojiro said.

  He took off without another word.

  Walker followed close behind, listening to their footsteps thudding against the hard floor. There was no time to be careful or quiet. He focused only on the skinny beam of yellow that lit their way.

  A few moments later, Kojiro’s footsteps slowed to a halt. Walker stopped at his back.

  The torchlight landed on what appeared to be a large room.

  There was no natural light in the room. If there were any windows in the Box they’d been blacked out entirely for some reason. Had it not been for Kojiro’s torch, the two Giants would have been standing in pitch-blackness, where anyone or anything could have been waiting for them.

  “C’mon Walker,” Kojiro said, his voice leaping out of the gloomy surroundings. “We need to be quick about this.”

  Walker turned his attention to the room.

  The Box was a massive space. It had a high ceiling with several lighting rigs still hung up there in limbo. There were a series of spotlights fastened to the rig and they stretched out continuously across the vastness of the roof. Walker saw what he assumed was the Ministry of Sound logo – a spherical gate with a crown on top – hanging from the ceiling. On the other side of the room, the decks were still intact on the elevated stage.

  With the lighting and stage kept in such good condition, it wasn’t hard to imagine what it must have been like on club nights with thousands of people crammed inside, all of them high on music and whatever else was being passed around.

  “Keep your eyes on the floor,” Kojiro said, his footsteps covering ground swiftly. “If I remember correct, they use black box heaters with glass doors – the type with fake coal on the inside for decoration. You know the ones?”

  “Aye,” Walker said. “I think so.”

  Walker’s eyes were slow in adjusting to the dark room. He was convinced that he was going to bang his head off a wall or some random speakers at any second. Probably knock himself unconscious knowing his luck. But that wasn’t enough to make him slow down; he kept searching, rummaging around in the dark, his fingers probing the surroundings.

  “I see one,” Kojiro said. Walker thought he heard a flicker of rapture in his voice. “Walker! Over here. Quickly.”

  Walker looked over and saw the dark outline of Kojiro kneeling down next to something on the floor. He hurried over that way and saw Kojiro hunched over what looked like a massive speaker rack. The rack had a stack of twelve individual compartments built into it, one for each speaker. The stacks were empty, except for a few items, one of which was at present illuminated by Kojiro’s torchlight.

  It was a small black box with a glass panel at the front.

  “Is that it?” Walker said. “It’s small.”

  “That’s it,” Kojiro said. “It’s small, but it’s easy to carry and considering the size of the Living Room, it’ll make a big difference in our lives. More difference than it makes here I’ll bet.”

  “What if it doesn’t work?” Walker asked. “You want to test it?”

  “Good call,” Kojiro said, looking around the room. “But we’d better hurry up. Grab the heater, will you? Bring it to the stage where the plugs are.”

  Walker scooped the heater out of the speaker rack with his free hand. It was heavier than he’d expected and with the axe weighing him down on the other side, he wobbled on unsteady feet as he followed Kojiro towards the stage. They ran onto the elevated platform, accompanied by the sound of their frantic breathing. They’d been in there too long already. Walker desperately wanted to be out of that claustrophobic building, back underneath the sky and on the empty streets again.

  “Walker, let’s go,” Kojiro said. He was down on his hands and knees. One hand was running along the wall at the back of the decks. “Bring it over here, there’s got to be some sockets on the wall.”

  Walker brought the heater over. He dropped to his knees, groaning with relief as he placed the box-shaped object on the stage.

  “Got one,” Kojiro said, turning back to Walker. “Over here, follow the torchlight towards the socket.”

  Walker reached into a gap in the back of the heater and pulled out a short, black-wired lead with the plug still attached. While Kojiro shone a light into the socket, Walker plugged the heater in. His fingers fumbled across the front panel, pushing down every switch he could find on the box. At firs
t nothing happened and Walker felt queasy at the prospect of failure. If this didn’t work they’d have to start their search all over again.

  The Obituaries will be back any second now. As soon as they walk inside, they’ll realise that something’s wrong. They’ll come storming into the Box, their skin-tight clothes and shaved skeleton heads coming straight at you. And don’t forget their spiked clubs with the blood and flesh still hanging off at the end – they’re probably due a fresh coat of red.

  Kojiro leaned in towards the heater. He looked up at Walker and his brown eyes lit up.

  “Hear that?”

  Walker heard nothing at first. Then he listened again. This time he heard a faint humming sound coming from the darkest depths of the machine. He lifted his head up. The fake coal display at the front was turning dark red. Hot air blew out of the vents at the base of the heater. Walker felt it pouring onto his hands and legs and felt like screaming with joy.

  “It works,” he said.

  Kojiro nodded, then pulled the plug on the heater. The humming stopped.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “While we still can.”

  Walker grabbed the lead and tucked it into the back of the heater. The two men then hurried off the stage and ran towards the exit.

  That was the most frightening part for Walker – those last few moments when they were chasing after the jerky strip of torchlight, making their escape from the Ministry of Sound. They were so near. As Walker followed Kojiro, he was convinced that the Obituaries were going to return and foil them at the last minute.

  He could smell the clean winter air outside. But he couldn’t see daylight, not yet.

  They burst through the door into the welcome arms of morning. There was no one else around, thank God. The two Giants rushed through the black gate and then Kojiro stopped to close it properly behind them, making it look like it had never been disturbed. After that, they hurried down the street towards Southwark Bridge Road.

  To Walker’s surprise, he burst into a fit of laughter. Kojiro did likewise.

  As he ran, Walker held the heater aloft, like it was the World Cup and he was the captain of the winning team. It was absurd and yet it was the first time he’d had that sort of fun in ages. Here they were, two men, as happy as if they’d stolen a treasure chest full of gold coins. But this was much better than gold coins. What use were gold coins in London? This was real treasure – this was heat, a thing of priceless value over the coming months.

  The laughter stopped as soon as they’d turned onto Southwark Bridge Road. Walker heard a noise behind them.

  It sounded like feet scraping off the ground. And it was coming from Gaunt Street.

  Walker and Kojiro turned around at the same time. Kojiro’s hand rushed to the hilt of his sword. Walker raised the axe, expecting to see an entire gang of skeleton heads chasing after them, wielding spiked clubs.

  A head disappeared behind one of the buildings on Gaunt Street.

  “Did you see that?” Walker said, pointing his axe towards the building. “Someone’s there. Someone saw us.”

  “I saw it,” Kojiro said.

  “What do we do?” Walker asked.

  “Don’t know.”

  As the two men stood there, Walker heard light footsteps receding into the distance.

  “You think it’s one of the Obituaries?” Walker said.

  Kojiro shook his head.

  “It might have been a Feral,” he said. “They could still be around here you know. It might have been…I don’t know. The Obituaries wouldn’t just let us leave. They wouldn’t let us run off with their property.”

  Kojiro looked at Walker. His eyes were ablaze with indecision.

  “Let’s just hope it was a Feral,” he said. “If it’s a Feral then we have nothing to worry about. Right?”

  Chapter 12

  Immersion 9 – Live Chat Forums

  #FutureofLondon #PostcardsFromLondon

  Machine Gun: Told you didn’t I? Mr Apocalypse is a bloody SCUMBAG! Look at him. Running around with that ponce Kojiro stealing things from other gangs. Wants those skeleton people to freeze to death in their little spandex outfits. What a dick!

  Joanie Rivera: Yeah, you woz right. Bang out of order that is.

  Machine Gun: He’s a bloody murderer too. Have we all forgotten what this man did five months ago? Two dead soldiers anyone?

  Joanie Rivera: Why don’t the army just take him out? Sniper, that kind of thing? Not like anyone’s going to miss him eh?

  Machine Gun: Bloke will be dead by the end of winter – you mark my words. If the soldiers don’t have the balls to do it, the other gangs will take him out when they find out that he’s a thieving lowlife bastard. I don’t know why the hell the GHC bother fighting for RELEASE when all they’re going to be doing is letting scumbags like that back into decent society.

  Pit-Master Jones: Who’s this? Mr Apocalypse?

  Joanie Rivera: Yeah. Doesn’t even use his phone, you see that? After all the trouble they went through to get him one.

  Pit-Master Jones: LOL! Ungrateful sod.

  Chapter 13

  London was basking under a shower of winter sunlight.

  By now, a bright blue sky, full of cotton wool clouds, had settled over the gloomy morning darkness. The icy temperatures of dawn had given way to something a little more tolerable, banishing the bitter cold like a bad dream to the outer edge of memory.

  Less than an hour had passed since Walker and Kojiro had broken into the Ministry of Sound and stolen the heater. After they’d made their initial escape, the two thieves had lain low in a nearby alley for about thirty minutes, hiding behind a row of wheelie bins and keeping silent. They did this in order to avoid bumping into the Obituaries, who were most likely still on patrol in the area.

  After hiding for a while, they set off again, putting distance between themselves and the scene of the crime. The further they walked, the more relieved Walker felt. At last, he was certain they’d made it out in one piece.

  “Do you want to go back to the school?” Kojiro asked, as they walked past an old bus shelter on Southwark Bridge Road. “We should, I suppose. We should take the heater back and warm the Living Room up for others.”

  Walker heard the reluctance in Kojiro’s voice. It made him smile.

  “We should,” Walker said.

  “But it’s early still,” Kojiro said. “We could go north towards the river. It’s not far.”

  “I’m in no hurry to go back there,” Walker said, carrying the box heater tucked under his left arm. “No offense.”

  “Speak freely,” Kojiro said. “Why do you think I go away so much?”

  “They have their phones to keep them occupied anyway,” Walker said. “What’s another hour or two?”

  Kojiro let out a quiet, gargled laugh. He pointed at the box heater under Walker’s arm.

  “Let me carry that for a while,” he said.

  Walker’s left arm was by now feeling a little numb. Even if they took shifts carrying it between them, getting the heater back to Croydon was going to be a solid workout.

  “Thanks,” Walker said, passing it over to Kojiro.

  “You know you should get something to hold your axe,” Kojiro said, tucking the heater under his right arm. “Something that will allow you to tie it to your back or waist. You’re wasting energy carrying it around like that all the time.”

  “Nah,” Walker said, swinging the axe back and forth, like he was winding it up. “This way, I’m always ready. I won’t waste any time reaching for it, right?”

  “You’ve got a point there,” Kojiro said, grinning.

  They travelled north on Southwark Bridge Road for another ten minutes, moving at a slow, steady pace. As they approached the Thames, Kojiro muttered something about taking a brief detour. Walker then followed the swordsman as he wandered slightly off course.

  He was led to a gloriously old-fashioned looking building that was situated close to the river. It had a s
triking white exterior and to Walker’s surprise, a thatched roof. With its circular or octagonal shape, it looked like something straight out of the history books, something so immediately at odds with the banality of much of the rest of London’s modern architecture.

  “What’s this place?” Walker said.

  “This is my favourite place in the world,” Kojiro said, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the building. “This is the Globe – it’s a theatre. Do you like Shakespeare?”

  “I don’t know,” Walker said.

  “This is a special place,” Kojiro said. He was looking at the theatre’s exterior with a childlike wonder in his eyes. “If any trace of the great man’s spirit still resides on this planet then it’s in here.”

  “This was Shakespeare’s theatre?” Walker asked.

  “It’s not quite the original,” Kojiro said. “What we’ve got here is a modern reconstruction based on the available evidence and measurements of the original. The first Globe Theatre was built in 1599 but it was destroyed in a fire several years later. There was another one but that was pulled down. I love this place Walker. I used to come here by myself to see the summer plays. None of my family or friends would ever have come with me, not here. But just being here, watching the actors perform and seeing the response of the audience – it always made me wish that I’d chased my dream and not settled for finance. If only I’d believed in myself a little more.”

  Walker heard the bitterness in Kojiro’s tone.

  “So they rebuilt the theatre?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Kojiro said. “An American man was inspired to recreate it after his first visit to London in 1949. He worked tirelessly for many years on its construction, overseeing every last detail. God bless that man. Sadly he died a short time before it was completed but it’s a tremendous legacy. And thank God it’s still standing after everything that happened in this city.”