There was no sign of Sooper.
Nearby, Pearl was in the middle of what looked like a prolonged sword battle with one of the female Obituaries. The Obituary had both a spiked club and a short sword in her hand. Walker figured that the sword belonged to either Nadia or the Ostrich.
Walker rushed over to help Pearl. But just before he arrived, Achilles appeared out of nowhere, charging to Pearl’s aide like a rampaging berserker. His face was covered in a mask of blood although it didn’t appear to be his own.
The woman saw Achilles coming. She looked to her left, towards Walker and saw him approaching too. Realising that she was outnumbered, she made a break for it, retreating quickly towards the school gate.
Pearl walked her down all the way. She looked as if she was determined to finish what had started as a fight to the death.
Walker’s heart leaped with joy as he realised that the Giants were close to victory. He counted four dead Obituaries lying on the ground. On their side, the Ostrich was down and Nadia was wounded. Sooper had by now appeared on the other side of the playground; he was charging to Pax’s aide, kicking and punching the Obituary that was still wrestling with his idol on the ground.
The rest of the Obituaries were starting to realise that the day was lost. They were now fleeing at different speeds towards the school gate.
Walker saw two of them running onto Birchanger Road, disappearing out of sight. The remaining three Obituaries quickly followed, making a hasty retreat towards the gate. One of them was pouring blood from a head wound – the others were trying to keep her upright and conscious as they exited the school grounds.
Walker followed the Obituaries to the gate. It wouldn’t have been hard to wipe them out. He could have caught up with some of them easily, but he was content to let them go. No further killing was required, at least not today. Despite everything, he felt no personal hatred towards the Obituaries.
At the same time as the Obituaries were leaving, the Ferals jumped down from their vantage points too. They were clearing out of the area at tremendous speed.
Pax came charging after their vanquished foes, both the Ferals and Obituaries.
“Pussies!” he screamed. “Fucking pussies. Run! Don’t you ever come back here or we’ll fucking crucify you and line you up along the street – you got that? This is Giants territory! Get out of here.”
Sooper was every bit as wired as his friend. He hurtled past Pax, running past Walker on his way through the school gate. He continued onto the road, taunting their enemies and basking in the immediate afterglow of victory.
“Pussies!” he yelled after them. He was jumping up and down in the middle of Birchanger Road like a wild man. “Don’t you ever come back here!”
Sooper turned around and looked at Pax. He held his sword aloft in a victory pose. Pax looked back at him, beaming with pride. He was like a proud father who’d just watched his son graduate from university, taking his first steps towards becoming a man.
Sooper stepped out even further onto the street.
“We did it!” he yelled. He tossed his head back and howled at the red sky. “We won!”
Walker watched the boy. Sooper’s enthusiasm was contagious and Walker smiled as the impromptu victory parade continued.
The smile disappeared when he caught sight of something moving nearby. Something or someone was hurrying across the street, having snuck out of one of the nearby gardens. It was a tiny, dark shape that materialised out of the morning air.
It was a little girl. And she was heading straight for Sooper.
Walker felt a cold tremor running through his body. The girl was carrying one of the spiked clubs in her hand. It must have been dropped by the Obituaries during the battle or after their retreat. Now she skipped towards Sooper, light and carefree, like she was approaching her favourite uncle.
Sooper saw her coming. He turned around, looking at Pax in confusion.
Pax was too dumbfounded to speak. He opened his mouth and tried to say something. No words came out.
Sooper was still looking at Pax when the girl changed pace. Now she charged towards him. She leapt into range, swinging the spiked club at Sooper’s chest with the power of a wild animal.
Walker tried to warn Sooper but it was too late. By the time he could get the words out, the spiked club was already embedded in the centre of his skinny body. Sooper made a grotesque, wheezing sound as the nails were buried inside him. His eyes bulged in horror as he tried to process what was happening.
The little girl reached for the club and twisted it back and forth with relish before pulling it out again.
Sooper doubled over, an agonised bleating coming from his mouth.
“Pax,” he said, looking around for his friend. “Pax.”
Meanwhile somebody in the playground screamed.
At the same time, the little girl laughed out loud. It was a terrible sound. With one last powerful swing, she drove the spikes into the back of Sooper’s head. This time she left the weapon in place and backed away.
Sooper’s eyes rolled back and forth. At the same time, several rivers of blood trickled down his forehead. He staggered backwards and forwards, like a broken robot. His eyes reached for the skies. Still he was searching, for something or someone who wasn’t there.
He reached a hand towards the school, towards Pax.
And then he fell.
The little girl took another step backwards and as she did, a huddle of Ferals gathered behind her; it was like watching a pack of demons step out of the morning mist. They stood there for a few seconds, looking at the Sleeping Giants, dark and twisted smiles on each and every face.
Some of them were pointing and giggling, as if Sooper’s last moments had been part of a one-man comedy act.
The blonde-haired killer looked straight at Walker. And his heart sank.
He recognised those angelic features.
It was the girl from Brickfields Meadow. The girl he was supposed to have killed two days ago.
Chapter 18
The Sleeping Giants took their dead to Brickfields Meadow.
The blood-soaked remains of Sooper and the Ostrich were transported in a pair of rusty wheelbarrows that were kept at the back of the school. Several hours had passed since the battle with the Obituaries. Once the gang members reached the larger of the two ponds, the bodies were weighed down with rocks and dumped unceremoniously in the calm, icy cold water.
Nobody said anything. Everyone was lost in a private, silent daze.
The only sound that Walker heard as the bodies were being submerged was the choked and muffled sobbing of Pax. The man, usually so big and boisterous, looked like he’d aged fifty years in the space of a single morning. The grooves on his forehead were deeper. His eyes were red and exhausted. He looked like a broken thing, standing at the edge of the water, watching his best friend disappear forever. When it was done, he had to be led away by the others.
Achilles said something about getting back to the school quickly, in case the Ferals tried anything else.
Later that day, Kojiro and Walker wheeled the bodies of the four dead Obituaries to a rubbish skip. They were disposed of with little fuss.
It was mid-afternoon by the time these grim duties were finished. All the casualties of that morning’s battle had been dealt with and still the long day showed little sign of ending. For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, the Sleeping Giants sat in a broken circle in the Living Room, each individual member trying to come to terms with what had happened.
The heater – the prize that had cost so much – blew a warm and steady gust of air into the room. Nobody took much comfort in its presence.
Nadia’s wounds had been taken care of by Pearl. The cuts to her leg weren’t as severe as Walker had first thought when he’d witnessed her crawling across the playground that morning. She’d been caught several times in the leg with a spiked club, but they were slashing wounds, short diagonal lines that had been sliced rather than stab
bed. Nadia was doing okay – she could stand up and hobble around and even though it was painful, she’d accompanied the rest of the Giants to Brickfields Meadow to bury the dead. In the evening, Pearl stayed close to her, cleaning and wrapping the wounds as best she could.
Walker spent the day going back and forth between the Living Room, his quarters and the playground. Although he was saddened by the Giants’ losses, he didn’t share their sentimental attachment to the two dead men. When he came back to the Living Room that evening, he was surprised to see that Pearl had brewed up a pot of mushroom tea. The need to escape had apparently eclipsed the importance of staying vigilant.
Walker drank a little tea, just enough to help him sleep. Nobody got high though, at least not in a good way. The circle of Giants sat in silence, their heads hanging low, with the mood slow and hazy. Walker imagined that it wouldn’t have been much different sitting in a roomful of heroin addicts.
Not long after, everyone went to their private quarters.
Walker slept with surprising ease. There were no dreams. When morning came he woke up early, eager to do something and jumpstart the day. He climbed out of the blankets and walked down to the bathroom. Once there he threw some freezing cold water onto his face and brushed his teeth. After that, he grabbed the long-handled axe from his quarters and went out to the playground.
There was no sign of Kojiro, at least not yet.
He spent an hour running through a few manoeuvres, using what he’d learned during the fight yesterday and adapting it to his skillset. His main focus was on improving with the axe and becoming a better fighter. Hatchet was close, he was certain of it. ‘Little Tyson’ had been a formidable looking teenager during the era of the London riots. What was he like as a man? Could Walker beat him if they met today?
He’d find out soon enough. He’d proven his worth to the Sleeping Giants and that meant it was time for Achilles to stick to his end of the bargain. He’d give the gang more time to grieve of course. After that, he’d push Achilles to set up the meeting with Hatchet.
Kojiro didn’t show up to spar that morning. When Walker realised that his sparring partner wasn’t coming out, he cut his own practice short and walked back towards the school. As he did so, he made sure to avoid walking over those sections of the playground still smeared red with yesterday’s blood.
He opened the front door and stepped into the narrow corridor.
Kojiro was approaching from the opposite end of the building. At first Walker thought he was coming out to spar but then he noticed a small rucksack hanging over the man’s shoulder.
They met in the middle of the corridor.
“How’s Nadia?” Walker asked.
“She’s okay,” Kojiro said. “The wounds are clean. She’ll be fine, as long as Pax isn’t the one tending to her.”
“You heading off somewhere?” Walker asked, pointing at the bag.
Kojiro nodded. “For a day or two.”
“Is that wise?” Walker asked. “All things considered.”
“It’s never been wiser,” Kojiro said. “We’ve fought our battle, at least for now.”
“How’s Pax?” Walker asked.
Kojiro shook his head. “Not good.”
“He’ll want to go after the Ferals won’t he?” Walker said. “He’s never going to be satisfied until he’s killed them all. Even then, he won’t be satisfied.”
“He’s already said as much.”
There was a brief silence between the two men.
“Where do we go from here?” Walker asked. “What happens next?”
Kojiro’s eyes lit up unexpectedly. “Something good might come out of this yet,” he said.
“Like what?”
“We just defeated the Obituaries,” Kojiro said, shaking his head. “I never thought we were capable of it, not even when I charged into the enemy lines yesterday. I was ready to die. But we did it. We fought them off and sent out a message. Word will get around of our great victory.”
Walker looked at a smudge of dried blood on the axe head.
“Maybe we got lucky,” he said.
Kojiro pulled his coat together at the collar, warding off the cold around his neck.
“This gang is all we have Walker,” he said. “If our reputation grows out of this, more people will notice us. We’ll look more appealing to outsiders, to wandering men and women with talent. It’s tragic what happened to Sooper and the Ostrich but they were worth little value in terms of overall growth. That’s the truth. When I get back, we’ll start building again. Yes? We’ll recruit some fresh talent.”
“Aye,” Walker said.
Kojiro gave Walker a playful tap on the arm. With one hand, he threw the hood over his head and then moved towards the front door, gliding along the corridor like a phantom. But before he pulled it open, he turned back to Walker. Whatever his expression was, it was lost underneath the hood.
“See you soon,” he said.
Chapter 19
CBC Morning News Broadcast
December 22nd 2020
A blaring news theme plays.
Presenter John Black is sitting behind the news desk, looking like an older, slower version of James Bond. He has the slim build, the blue-grey eyes, and he even has the initials ‘J.B.’ imprinted on the breast pocket of his silver suit jacket.
The intro fades.
JOHN BLACK: Good morning. Complaints have been flooding in this morning about SKAM TV’s ‘Postcards from London’. These complaints revolve around the show’s ‘Live and Unfiltered’ segment, which over the past couple of evenings has broadcast a disturbing series of live suicides in various parts of London.
These suicides are being committed by a number of people labelled as ‘Georgians’. The Georgians believe that the deceased terrorist Chester George is still alive and living outside the M25. By committing suicide live on air, it appears that the Georgians believe that Chester George will be inspired to make a return to public life and to initiate Phase Three of the so-called revolution that began with the London riots of 2011.
Over the past two nights on ‘Live and Unfiltered, at least fourteen people have taken their lives on air and…
The presenter touches his earpiece.
JOHN BLACK: Some breaking news just in. The popular television personality and video games connoisseur, John Clarke, known to millions as Clarkie, has been reported missing. Mr Clarke, aged 46, hasn’t been seen at his Birmingham apartment since yesterday afternoon and was reported missing this morning by his fiancée. Police are investigating the matter and we’ll update you as more news comes in. Just to repeat that piece of breaking news – Clarkie is missing.
Chapter 20
Transcript of a video uploaded to an anonymous Immersion 9 account - posted on December 22nd 2020
Clip begins.
A small room. Light trickles down from a pale bulb hanging on the ceiling.
Sonic the Hedgehog is facing the camera. Next to Sonic, a man is sitting strapped to a wooden chair. His black curly hair is soaking with sweat, some of which has dripped onto his pale blue shirt, giving the appearance of someone who’s just walked in out of the rain. There are small cuts on his face. A dark, purple-blue shadow is forming under his eye.
The man desperately tries to speak to the camera. But a gag has been placed in his mouth and a few muffled groans are all that he can manage.
Sonic points a finger at the camera.
‘Mrs Prime Minister, here it is. From this day onwards, the Good and Honest Citizens request that topics of entertainment and communication are off the menu when it comes to party political broadcasts. In other words, you will no longer use the people of London as a pawn to regain political office.
Watching the Londoners turn into video-game zombies is bad enough, but we don’t want to listen to the likes of you and your political teammates prattling on about how considerate you are to give them such gifts. How benevolent of you to entertain them. What you’re doing it seems is giving them
a means to commit public suicide. And of course, as Clarkie here knows, it’s a great platform for advertising.
Well, think of this as a commercial. We’re selling hope to all the people out there who want to see Clarkie back on TV again. What do you have to do to get it?
Disable the phones. Knock out the grid. No more upgrades.
Do it today.
We expect a response within the hour. If we don’t hear from you, we’ll be in touch with some footage for SKAM to broadcast on ‘Postcards from London’. And you will broadcast it – that’s if you ever want good old Clarkie back again. One hour. Either way, this ends badly. How bad? That’s up to you.’
Clip ends.
Chapter 21
Walker looked through the window onto the bloodstained playground.
“Damn it,” he said.
By now, the winter sky was a combination of pink and various shades of blue; it was a delicate marriage of bright colours that wouldn’t last long.
Why was he still here? What was he doing here in this place with these people? He felt like a trapped bird staring out of the steel bars of a cage. That glorious encounter with Hatchet, it was somewhere else in the city waiting for him. But it had never felt further away than it did at that moment.
He needed the Sleeping Giants – he knew that, of course he did. But it was taking longer than he’d hoped for to get things going. If it weren’t for the fact that Achilles could organise a face to face with Hatchet then Walker would have opened that front door, crossed the playground and gladly walked through the gate, never to return.
“Damn it,” he said again.
With great reluctance, he prised himself away from the window. Then he walked down the empty corridor, his footsteps reverberating across the tomb-like building. He felt like a ghost, trapped within the walls of that tomb, within the corridors of a history that was fading away and taking him with it.
The Future of London Box Set Page 66