The Future of London Box Set

by Mark Gillespie

  Walker would have been content to go now. To run. He’d slain their leader and made his point, whatever bloody point that was. Deep down however, he knew that it was never going to be as simple as walking away. The Sleeping Giants were a family. They did everything together.

  A voice in his head reminded Walker that Pearl would have seen him bundled into the back of the Ghosts’ van. She would have allowed him to be taken away and to become what? The dead flesh on somebody’s plate?

  There was nothing between them anymore. That’s if there had ever been anything at all.

  When she was within range, Walker stepped forward and with a slick, sideways thrust of the weapon, he impaled the blade deep inside her chest. There was never any question that it was going to be a fight. None of them were at Walker’s level.

  He winced as the iron buried itself inside Pearl’s lean frame. He closed his eyes, just for a second, wishing that he were somewhere else. Walker felt Pearl’s body shuddering violently, like she’d received an electric shock from the blade. Walker pulled the axe out and she fell, dead before she hit the ground.

  Somebody else was running towards him.

  Nadia was dragging herself across the playground, her damaged leg scraping off the concrete like a piece of luggage that she couldn’t drop.

  “Walker!” she yelled. She brandished her sword at him.

  “Don’t!” Walker said to her. He shook his head furiously. His eyes pleaded with her. “Don’t do it.”

  But Nadia was possessed of the same, crazed fury that he’d seen in Pearl. Was it the drugs? Was it the sight of the others being bludgeoned to death?

  Walker saw a look of conviction in Nadia’s eyes – a belief that she could go straight through him.

  She came towards him, still cursing him as a murderous son of a bitch. When she was closer, she tried to stab him with the sword. She thrust repeatedly, tipping herself off balance each time. Walker jumped out of range, but still she came after him.

  He had no choice.

  Walker went in to meet her. He swung hard and fast with the axe, putting all his weight into one God almighty blow that would shatter the earth beneath his feet. It was the only kindness that Walker had left for Nadia – to end it quick. Walker aimed for her exposed neck but the blade fell short, landing instead on her face.

  He gasped as he felt the iron head cut deep into the soft flesh of her cheek.

  Nadia screamed like her skin was on fire. Walker pulled the axe out, horrified at what was happening. His jaw dropped open as if he’d been slapped in the face.

  You should have run, you should have run!

  Nadia fell to the ground with both hands covering her face, which was gushing blood.

  Walker felt sick, but something else took over in that moment. It was the need to end it, to put her out of her misery like she was a wounded animal. Or was it something more sinister that urged him to finish her off? Whatever it was, it allowed him to regain control of his scattered senses. He stood over her and brought the blade down again and again, only daring to stop when the terrible screaming had stopped.

  Walker couldn’t look at her. His hands were shaking violently. He felt sick.

  But it wasn’t over yet.

  Walker turned around, knowing that there was one more left.

  Pax was standing on the other side of the playground next to the gate. He’d been watching everything and there he was, wide-eyed at the sight of the corpses of his comrades lying on the ground. His eyes were ablaze, an explosive combination of terror and rage that had paralysed him. He looked like he wanted to charge at Walker, but also run away from him at the same time.

  Pax dropped his phone onto the concrete. Walker heard a faint, cracking noise as it shattered on the hard surface. Pax had a hand on the handle of his sword, but he was moving backwards towards the gate. Clearly he was wrestling with his fight or flight instincts. His eyes scoured the playground, as if looking for someone to come running to the rescue at the last minute.

  Pax made his choice. He turned around and made a run towards the gate. The psilocybin haze still had him on wobbly legs however and as he ran, he staggered and was on the brink of falling over.

  He was screaming, begging, pleading for his life.

  Walker came after him, striding across the playground with grim focus. There was no doubting voice in his head this time, no one judging or calling him a monster. The thing was he wanted to kill Pax. He’d wanted to kill Pax since they’d first met.

  When Pax saw that he couldn’t outrun Walker, he turned around and drew his sword. He swung at Walker like a man possessed. But this flurry was slow and crude, not to mention out of range.

  “Fuck you man!” he yelled, his voice drowning in panic. “No, no. Please don’t do it. No!’

  When Pax realised he was hitting nothing but thin air he stopped. His body visibly sagged and he was breathing heavy.

  He was a sitting duck.

  “You should have practiced Pax,” Walker said, with a leering grin.

  He swung hard, burying the axe deep in Pax’s exposed chest. Pax yelped with agony as he felt the blow go in. His eyes nearly burst out of their sockets. His legs gave out underneath him and down he went, like a toppled statue falling onto the blood-soaked playground.

  Walker wrenched the axe out of the man’s body. It made a thick, squelching noise, which was strangely satisfying this time around. He looked down and saw that Pax was still alive.

  “No!” Pax screamed, looking up at Walker. He was clawing up at the air like he was trying to burrow his way back to his feet. “Please no. Don’t do it, please!”

  Walker stood over the fallen man. He took a deep breath and then he swung the axe overhead, bringing it down repeatedly onto the Giant’s upper body. Walker envisioned Pax’s loathsome grin and this gave him the fuel to keep the attack going, long after the man had stopped moving.

  Then silence.

  It was a deafening silence that filled the playground. Only the sound of Walker’s breath dared to interrupt such an intense stillness. He took a staggered step back from Pax’s corpse, the axe unsteady in his trembling grip.

  He was about to drop to his knees in exhaustion. Then he heard someone groaning behind him.

  Walker turned around to face the school. One of the bodies was still moving.

  It was Achilles.

  Walker approached the fallen gang leader while the snow fell harder from the sky. Achilles was lying flat on his back, his arms and legs stretched out on both sides like he was trying to make a snow angel. His breathing was slow and laborious. Both hands were covered in the blood that still leaked from the wound on his chest.

  “You bastard,” Achilles said, looking up as Walker approached. He lifted his head and then dropped it again, screaming in agony. “You coward. You never would have done this if Kojiro had been here.”

  Walker knelt down beside the dying man. He looked at the shattered body; the man was a goner for sure.

  “C’mon Nigel,” Walker said. “None of this would have happened if Kojiro had still been here. Isn’t that right? And even if it had, Kojiro would never have fallen for such a cheap trick.”

  Achilles laughed – a painful cackling that shot up from the back of his throat.

  “You’re fucked Walker,” he said. “Fucked. You don’t know what you’ve done here today. The Ghosts will come after you for this. Haven’t you learned anything while you’ve been here? We’re under their protection remember? Outsiders can’t waltz in here from the north and do this. You’re going to die for this.”

  Achilles’ eyes rolled back in their sockets. It looked like he was hovering on the brink of unconsciousness. Then he came back again.

  “Listen to me,” he said to Walker. “If the Ghosts are looking for you, everyone is looking for you. They’ll hunt you down like a dog. All the gangs, all the wandering men and women – everyone in the Hole will be coming for you.”

  Walker leaned in closer. He could smell the dy
ing man’s breath on his face. It was hot and weak – a once raging storm that had lost its power.

  “You’re in pain Achilles,” he said, looking at the man’s wounds. “I can fix it for you.”

  Achilles’ eyes betrayed him for a split second.

  “Tell me where Hatchet is,” Walker said. “Where can I find him? Tell me that one thing and there’ll be no more pain.”

  Achilles forced his head up off the ground as much as he could.

  “Come closer,” he said. “I’ll tell you.”

  Walker lowered his head, going down to meet him halfway. Achilles waited for him to get closer and then spat a comet of blood onto Walker’s face. This was followed by a gurgling sound at the back of the man’s throat. It wasn’t a laugh this time.

  “Don’t worry about Hatchet,” Achilles said, fighting to get the words out. “He’ll find you. They’ll all find you. They’re all coming for you Walker. Maybe Hatchet will find you first, yeah? Don’t be too smug about this. Don’t look too pleased about what you did here today. You’re going to be dead soon, just like me. And I’ll be waiting for you at the gates of Hell. That’s a promise.”

  “Where’s Hatchet?” Walker said, wiping the blood and spit off his face.

  Achilles made a weak hissing sound. “Fuck you,” he said.

  Walker sighed. He straightened back up and then got to his feet. With one last look at the dying man, he walked towards the centre of the playground.

  Once there, he sat back down again. He crossed his legs like a blood-soaked Buddha and stared into nothingness. He took several deep breaths, keeping a firm hold of the axe in one hand.

  Walker pulled the hood off his head. As he did, he felt something soft and cold landing on his face.

  Snowflakes.

  It felt good. It felt clean. Gradually, his heart began to slow down.

  All around the playground, the bodies of the Sleeping Giants lay silent. All that is, except for the ghost of Achilles, whose words Walker couldn’t get out of his head.

  “He’ll find you Walker,” said the vengeful Giant. “They’ll all find you.”

  Chapter 28

  Immersion 9 – Live Chat Forums

  #SaveClarkie #FutureofLondon

  Billie the Fish: Clarkie’s free!

  Johnny Matogoo: He is?

  Billie the Fish: Yeah it’s coming up on my I-9 News Feed right now. It’s happening man. He’s been dropped off in the middle of Birmingham city centre. Hold on – yeah, thrown out of a moving van according to eyewitnesses.

  Johnny Matogoo: Poor bloke. He’s going to be messed up for life.

  Tokyo Cowboy: SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HE’S KILLING THEM ALL! ARE YOU WATCHING? SCREEN 22! MR APOCALYPSE IS KILLING THEM! HE’S KILLING THEM ALL!!

  Johnny Matogoo: Eh? WTF?

  Billie the Fish: OMG! He’s done the women in too. Oh fuck. I feel sick looking at that. I actually think I’m going to puke.

  Johnny Matogoo: I can’t believe it.

  Tokyo Cowboy: See! I told y’all!! To all you people who think he’s some kind of hero or that the army and government have it all wrong – THERE YOU GO! He’s a sick, twisted murderer and now it’s happened live on TV. We didn’t get the soldiers being murdered on camera but we got this one.

  Johnny Matogoo: You’re right. I defended him in the past but I was wrong. Mr Apocalypse is a monster.

  Chapter 29

  Zander Kojiro peered through the falling shower of snowflakes. The heavy winter clouds dwarfed the dark outline of the school up ahead. But the school was still there – nothing looked out of the ordinary.

  He’d only been gone a few hours at most. He would have been gone still if something hadn’t pulled him back to St Thomas Becket Catholic Primary School and cut his trip short. He couldn’t explain what it was that brought him back; it was something in the darkness of his mind, a faint voice that whispered of trouble and like a stubborn dog with its teeth in something, wouldn’t let go.

  With everything that had happened it wasn’t surprising he was a little jumpy. He should never have suggested going away in the first place, not when the gang was in mourning.

  It was selfish. But he’d known that all along, right?

  He was closer now. The school crept slowly out of the grey, gloomy afternoon. Million of snowflakes continued to descend upon the city, created thousands of feet up in the clouds, now destined to spend their short existence in London. The area surrounding the school was like something out of a Christmas card. The rooftops of the local houses were marked by a thin layer of pure and unblemished white, as were the gardens, the hedges and everything else in between.

  Kojiro kept his eyes on the school, looking for signs of anything out of the ordinary. But there were no plumes of black smoke rising on the horizon. Nobody was screaming for help.

  Was it the Obituaries? Had they orchestrated a sudden revenge attack upon the Sleeping Giants? Kojiro was certain that their enemies wouldn’t try anything so soon after the battle yesterday. But was he wrong? If the Obituaries came back, they risked further humiliation and then extinction. And that’s what all the gangs in the city feared the most – the obliteration of their name and to shrink from memory forever.

  The Obituaries would come back some day, Kojiro was certain of it. But these battles were far ahead of them.

  And yet nothing could quieten the voice in his head.

  Kojiro hurried towards the school as quickly as the weather would allow him. His feet sank into the ground. The crisp, crunching noise of footsteps on virgin snow travelled with him all the way to the school gate.

  He stopped outside the gate. The winter clouds hung low like anxious spectators descending from the sky. Kojiro’s hand was wrapped around the handle of the sword and the blade raised about an inch out of the scabbard.

  He took a deep breath. Then he opened the gate and stepped tentatively into the playground.

  The terrible sight made Kojiro drop to his knees.

  Everything stopped in that moment. The falling snow hung in mid-air, suspended over the playground. Kojiro’s breath – a lean jet of mist, was now a permanent extension of his mouth. It was like the gods had pressed the pause button on his life.

  The bodies of his friends were lying everywhere.

  Kojiro stood paralysed by the horror of what he was looking at. It was like standing in front of a gruesome waxworks display exhibition. His fast-blinking eyes scoured the playground, taking in the bloody sights. He saw the little things at first: the braided hair of Pearl as she lay face down in the snow, the broad shoulders of Pax, and Nadia’s beautiful brown eyes staring like doll’s eyes towards the heavens. Dark bloodstains encircled her body and had bled into the snow, a violent marriage of colour that was grotesque and beautiful.

  Pax was lying flat on his back, his arms and legs almost submerged under the snow that was slowly burying him. Kojiro stood over him for a second, lost in a daze. Quickly he hurried over to the bodies of Pearl and Nadia, hoping that a trace of life existed yet, even though in his heart he knew that both his sisters were dead.

  Kojiro looked towards the final body. The one closest to the school.

  His heart nearly burst when he saw that the body was moving. Barely, but it was moving. Whoever it was, one arm had lifted itself a couple of inches off the ground, as if to signal him over.

  “Achilles?” Kojiro called out. “Walker? Is that you?”

  He raced over to the body, almost slipping on the soft ground more than once. Whoever was on the ground, the hood was pulled up and their face was covered. Kojiro noticed there was a massive tear in the middle of the jacket where the flesh had been sliced open. Bloodstains peppered the snow around the fallen man.

  Kojiro knelt down. Reaching a hand over, he pulled the hood back to reveal the man’s face.

  “Achilles!” he said, his voice trembling. Gently, he lifted Achilles’ ghostly white face into his hands. It was like lifting something made of freezing cold paper. The life force was draining
out of his old friend by the second. Achilles’ eyes were foggy. His face was pale and shrinking back into itself.

  Achilles groaned in agony, but the sudden movement revived him.

  “Achilles!” Kojiro said. When Achilles closed his eyes again, Kojiro gave his friend a hard slap on the cheek. The sound rang out across the playground. Then he leaned in closer. “What happened? Who did this to you? Was it the Obituaries? Ferals?”

  Achilles’ eyelids fluttered wildly. He opened his eyes and looked up at Kojiro kneeling beside him.

  “Thank God,” Achilles said, with a weak smile. He was whispering so quietly that Kojiro had to lean in closer to hear him. His ear was almost pressed up against Achilles’ mouth. “Kojiro. Is this a dream or are we both dead?”

  A tear slipped out of the corner of Kojiro’s eye.

  “No,” he said. “It’s not a dream and you’re not dead. Someone attacked you. The Sleeping Giants have been wiped out – Nadia, Pearl and Pax. Tell me what happened. Did the Obituaries come back?”

  Kojiro’s eyes roamed the playground, searching for something else.

  “And where’s Walker?” he said. “What happened to him?”

  Achilles’ blood-soaked chest heaved up and down like he was on the brink of a seizure. Kojiro knew that he was watching his friend dying in front of him. He was horrified, but he was equally horrified that Achilles would die without telling him who was responsible.

  Once more, Kojiro slapped his friend on the cheek, harder this time.

  “What happened?” he said.

  “Walker,” Achilles said, his face contorting in agony. “Walker happened.”

  “What do you mean?” Kojiro said.

  “Walker attacked us,” Achilles said, speaking very slowly. “He attacked us Kojiro – he waited till you were gone and then he turned on us.”

  Achilles coughed and a jet of dark red blood spurted out of his mouth. Slowly it trickled down his chin.

  Kojiro wiped the blood off his friend’s face with the back of his sleeve. “What did you say?” he asked. “Walker didn’t do this. You’re not thinking straight Achilles.”