Achilles nodded.
“He butchered us,” he said. “Pearl, Pax, even Nadia and she’s a cripple for pity’s sake. She screamed and begged for mercy. I watched him do it. The man is an animal. He’s not the man you thought he was.”
Kojiro was too stunned to speak. He felt dizzy.
“Kojiro,” Achilles said.
Kojiro looked down at his friend. Achilles was staring up at the cloudy winter sky, a half-smile etched upon his yellow face.
“Do you remember?” Achilles said. “Our first day at work together?”
Achilles tried to laugh but it fizzled out quickly.
Kojiro nodded. But he couldn’t speak. His mind was still spinning, trying to process what Achilles had just told him.
It couldn’t have been.
“Right pair of big-shots weren’t we?” Achilles said. “Straight out of university and thrust bollock-first into the world of major finance. Woopsy fucking do, eh? Kojiro, do you remember what we talked about on that first day? On our way to work. When we were walking down by the river?”
Kojiro found his voice, even though it sounded like someone else talking.
“You told me you were scared,” he said to Achilles. “You said you were afraid of making a fool of yourself on your first day.”
“Yes,” Achilles said. “And what did you say? Do you remember what you said to me after that?”
Kojiro smiled sadly. “I said I was scared too.”
Achilles reached a hand out. Kojiro took it and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“Yes,” Achilles said. “That’s right. You…you don’t know how much I needed to hear you say that. The great Zander Kojiro was shitting it about joining the real world every bit as much as I was. Made me feel better about myself. That’s what friends are for right?”
“But it wasn’t the real world,” Kojiro said, looking down at his friend. “That was another lie they told us.”
Achilles looked up at his friend. The fog around his eyes was thickening.
“I’m scared now too,” Achilles said. “I’m scared because I don’t want to die, not like this. What about the Sleeping Giants? What about all our dreams Kojiro? I wish I’d listened to you. It should have been me out here with you in the mornings, not him. I should have killed that murderous bastard on Brickfields Meadow. I knew he was bad news.”
“I’m scared too,” Kojiro said, squeezing Achilles’ icy cold fingers gently.
Achilles’ face creased into something that resembled a smile.
“Kojiro?” he said.
“What?”
“You’ll take care of it won’t you?”
“Take care of what?”
“Walker,” Achilles said. “Don’t ever stop looking for him. Promise me.”
Kojiro didn’t answer even though Achilles was slipping away from this world and time was running out. He was still trying to process what had happened. His world had been turned upside down. Had Walker really been fooling him all along? Kojiro’s blood ran cold – he’d given Walker the weapon that had destroyed his family. How could he have judged the man so wrong? Kojiro was a good enough judge of character that he was sure he’d have picked up on something amiss.
The only thing he knew for certain was that Achilles wouldn’t lie to him, not about something like that.
Now he felt it stirring deep down inside. The hot rage was swelling up like a wound, climbing slowly towards the surface in search of chaos. And yet there was a strange sense of elation intermingled with the fire in his soul. Rapture – a most unexpected guest at this deathbed gathering. It was a feeling that Kojiro couldn’t account for, not at first.
He looked down at his childhood friend – his true brother. Achilles’ eyes were closed. The Giants’ leader was almost beyond this world.
“Go well,” Kojiro said, squeezing the dying man’s hand for the last time.
He leaned in closer, not knowing whether Achilles could hear him anymore. It didn’t matter – he’d say the words anyway. He’d say them for himself and he’d go on saying them like a mantra, until there was no longer any need.
Kojiro whispered in the dying man’s ear:
“I’ll never pause again, never stand still,
Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine
Or fortune given me measure of revenge.”
The End
Kojiro vs. The Vampire People (Book 5)
For those who fight against the odds…
Chapter 1
December 24th 2020
Darkness crept across London like a slow-moving fog.
The blue sky that lingered all afternoon was turning an evil murky grey. Gazing up, it looked like the early signs of rot had set into the world and that soon this rot, like a fast-moving tooth decay, would drain the planet of colour and vitality, turning everything black in its path.
This wasn’t a good time to be outside. When it was dark, the monsters – human and otherwise came out to play.
Zander Kojiro pushed the wheelbarrow through the snowy streets. Several times, he stopped to look up at the gloomy sky. No matter how fast he travelled, the darkness was always gaining ground on him.
He tightened his grip on the handles of the wheelbarrow and continued on his way.
The wheelbarrow ploughed through the snow. The tired wheel forced its way forward, like a ship’s bow cutting a channel through a wall of stubborn ice. Every now and then, Kojiro would slow down, reach a hand over and adjust the sheet of blue tarpaulin that he’d wrapped loosely around the wheelbarrow’s contents sitting in the middle of the tray.
Despite his persistence, a fierce wind blew, lifting one side of the tarpaulin up and holding it in the air for a second. Kojiro grimaced as the hidden treasure was briefly revealed. He knew the consequences of being seen on the streets with this cargo. If the gangs noticed, there would be a price to pay.
Still he was nearly home. It was at least a place to lie low, even if it didn’t feel like home anymore. But where else was he supposed to go? He was tired and too much had happened over the past few days. Rest, that was all he wanted.
Kojiro pushed the wheelbarrow, ignoring the numbness creeping into both arms. It had been a long trip already. He’d started that afternoon in Croydon and now he was closing in on Richmond upon Thames, the borough where he’d grown up. That was about twelve miles he’d travelled across South London and although it felt like he’d been on the road for days, it had taken him a little over three hours so far. Not bad going considering that the roads, paths and parks that he’d travelled through were mostly buried underneath several inches of untouched snow.
He’d kept his head down. His face was hidden beneath the large hood of a black, Gothic style coat that fell down to his knees. He was desperate to be rid of the coat – it was covered in bloodstains and bad memories. But it was the only thing keeping him warm in the winter weather. There was no way he could let it go, so he was stuck with it. For now.
He’d travelled along the A236 out of Croydon. This route led him onto Wimbledon Common and beyond that onto the vastness of Richmond Park, the largest of London’s old Royal Parks. As Kojiro entered the park, it was bleak and beautiful underneath a blanket of unspoiled snow. Oak trees loomed large on either side, their leaves covered in glistening snowflakes. This was where he’d escaped the constant pressures of home in his youth, losing himself in the narrow walkways of The Isabella Plantation, a large woodland garden set within the park. The colourful displays of rhododendrons and azaleas had always comforted him.
But these were long gone.
Kojiro stopped and let go of the wheelbarrow. He turned around, checking for signs that he was being followed. How many times had he done this today?
There was no one there.
He turned back and carried on, walking along the narrow Queens Road, which cut through Richmond Park like a main artery. A short time later, he left the park and walked onto Richmond Hill, his old street.
He was home, alm
ost.
He heard a shuffling noise in the distance, like a child’s footsteps dancing lightly across the snow.
Kojiro’s eyes darted back and forth across the empty street. Again, there was nothing there. He felt sick as he contemplated the possibility of something going wrong at the end. Just when he was minutes away from safety.
Maybe it was a deer crossing the street. A fox? Richmond Park had been full of wildlife and that was before they cut off the city in 2011. It had to be overflowing with animals now and so it was only natural they’d spill out onto the streets.
Despite his best efforts, Kojiro wasn’t convinced.
His eyes fell upon the Royal Star and Garter Home building, which stood like a haunted house on the other side of the street. Kojiro looked over at the elegant red-brick structure, which had been famous for providing accommodation for disabled soldiers since 1924.
Whatever he’d heard, it had come from that direction.
But the sound was gone now. There was only silence and yet as Kojiro stood there, he had the strongest feeling that he was being watched. It was an almost tangible sensation; it was a quiet voice whispering in his ear, telling him that he wasn’t alone anymore. He was surrounded on all sides by an invisible menace, whether it was real or imagined.
Kojiro’s cold fingers reached for the short sword that hung at his waist. He looked past the ghostly building towards a thick row of trees that lined the street, their foliage so dense and intermingled that it looked like one giant, living organism that had sprouted out of the ground.
“Is someone there?” he said.
Kojiro stood there, waiting for something to happen. After a while, he began to doubt that he’d heard anything at all. It wasn’t strange that his imagination was running away with itself. There were a lot of things that could go wrong on a journey like this. So he was hearing things. It was to be expected. He’d been standing in the open too long and even though he’d been back to his childhood home several times over the years, he didn’t know what was going on in the Richmond area. Or who was going on. He was a stranger here.
He took his hand off the sword hilt and blew hot air onto his knuckles. Checking both sides of the street, he grabbed the wheelbarrow and went on his way. He pushed faster, knowing he was close to the end.
It happened again. Light footsteps, coming from afar. It was a chilling pitter-patter noise and it seemed to be coming from the swamp of trees on his left. Kojiro stopped dead and dropped the wheelbarrow. His fingers rushed towards the sword hilt though he didn’t unsheathe the blade. As he looked around, his breath blew out in sharp icy bursts.
“Who’s there?” he said.
Silence.
There was no doubt. Someone was following him along the street. They were toying with him, playing a twisted game in which Kojiro’s role was the helpless victim. He couldn’t be sure if it was one person or whether there were more of them. And were they on both sides of the street or just one? As well as the trees to his left, there was a thick hedge running along the outskirts of the Richmond Gate Hotel to his right. There was plenty of cover on both sides of the street.
“Damn it,” he said.
He let go of the sword hilt and pushed the wheelbarrow forward. All he had to do was reach the house before his tormenters, whoever they were, made their move. He thrust the wheelbarrow forward like he was pushing a plough through a wheat field. The crunching noise of the wheel cutting through the hard snow was painful.
Another gust of cold wind blew the tarpaulin up. Kojiro swatted it down as quickly as he could, tucking the tarp in at the bottom as he desperately tried to shield the contents from view.
“Shit,” he said.
In the distance, somebody laughed.
Kojiro spun around, leaping in mid-air like a ballet dancer. There was a whooshing noise as he pulled the short sword out of the scabbard.
The road behind him was long and empty. Once again, it was like he’d imagined it.
“Cowards,” Kojiro said, loud enough so that they could hear him. If they were there.
He turned back to the wheelbarrow.
Someone was standing on the road a little further ahead. It was a tall, human roadblock with its face shrouded in darkness.
Kojiro pointed the tip of the blade towards the silent figure. Now that he could see someone, his fear subsided a little. “Who are you?” he said.
An elderly man stepped forward, his face illuminated under the glow of the scattered streetlights, which still turned on every evening.
“Don’t hurt me,” the old man said in a hoarse voice. He held both hands up, a feeble surrender. “For God’s sake mister, please don’t hurt me.”
Chapter 2
“You have to get out of here”
The old man walked towards Kojiro as he spoke. Each step was slow and laboured – a battle with his personal Everest, and one that he was losing.
His skin was pale and his body emaciated. A dirty tan jacket was wrapped around his stick-thin body and as he came forward, he looked like someone stepping outside the gates of a concentration camp – malnourished, dazed and with a haunted look in his big cartoon eyes. Kojiro couldn’t help but stare at the man’s ears – flimsy and pathetic like two flaps of paper blowing in the breeze. A few strands of fine grey hair blew from an otherwise bald head.
The old man stopped. Kojiro watched as he scratched at a fresh wound on his neck. It was a small cut and as the man’s filthy nails tore into the mutilated flesh, a trickle of fresh blood and pus ran down his neck.
“What do you mean?” Kojiro asked. “Why do I have to get out of here?”
“There’s a man,” the old man said. He kept his voice down, like he knew somebody else might be listening in.
Kojiro followed the stranger’s eyes towards the swamp of trees to his left. There was no sound or movement but he still felt like he was being watched. There was something in there, hidden out of sight. What did it want? Kojiro felt uncomfortable standing still, waiting to find out. He’d been on the move for so long that day that to do anything else but walk felt dangerous.
“What man?” Kojiro said. He looked at the wheelbarrow. The tarpaulin cover was shivering in the breeze.
“He’s out walking the streets tonight. With his people.”
The withered figure took another step forward. Kojiro noticed that he was dragging his right leg, like it was a dead weight that he couldn’t shake off.
“Have you heard of them?” the old man said. “They call themselves The People Who Hear Music.”
Kojiro knew the name – it was another street gang. Street gangs were as common in London as black cabs had once been. “That’s what the Vampire People call themselves isn’t it?”
The old man shrugged.
“They are The People Who Hear Music,” he said.
Kojiro glanced at the thick wall of trees to his left. Had it been the old man he’d heard on his heels? It didn’t make sense. Those light footsteps had set a snappy pace, something that was surely beyond the tired and broken limbs of the person standing in front of him.
“Did they do that?” Kojiro asked, pointing to the ghoulish neck wound.
The old man didn’t answer. He looked at Kojiro with a blank expression, as if he’d been asked a stupid question.
“They aren’t real vampires, you know that don’t you?” Kojiro said.
“They bit me,” the old man said. “I know that much.” The poor wretch’s hands were trembling and it wasn’t clear if he was cold or terrified. Most likely it was both.
Kojiro unwrapped his fingers from the sword hilt.
“Don’t be frightened,” he said. “There are monsters in this city but they are entirely of the human kind. It’s true, London is ripe for the most extraordinary disorders of human behaviour. The Vampire People are just one example. Who knows? Perhaps one or two of them have a legitimate case of clinical vampirism where the individual has an overwhelming desire to drink blood. For such people, blood
has a mystical quality. In their minds, it can enhance their lives. But we’re talking about common street gangs. Like most of us, they’re just dressing up and behaving like monsters because well…it’s something to do.”
“Doesn’t matter,” the old man said. “They’ll drink from you like they did me.” He pointed a claw-like finger at his neck. “Ain’t you heard? They’ve taken over this territory. That means you’re trespassing, just like me.”
“Is that right?” Kojiro said. “They’ve come up in the world then. Last I heard they weren’t up to much.”
“They’ve come up alright,” the old man said. “They followed their leader and he’s brought them to the big time. He’s an evil bastard alright – he’s the one who told them to do this to my neck. He’s the one who told them to let me go too. Know why he did that? So they could hunt me down again. That’s right. Get out of here mister and drop that bloody wheelbarrow. It’ll only slow you down.”
Kojiro glanced down at wheelbarrow where another stiff breeze threatened to lift up the tarp. His hand was ready to push it down.
“So the Vampire People are in charge now?” he said. “They’re taking control, good for them. Who ran things before that?”
“Taken control,” the old man said. “Not taking. It’s done. Small time gangs, they ran things before. Funny isn’t it? Richmond was one of the poshest areas in the city. It’s not important anymore. Nowadays the action is elsewhere and only small-time outfits, strays and vagabonds stay up here. The People Who Hear Music – they’re in charge. And tonight they’re going through the neighbourhood, cleaning out the junk, seeing what they can find in all those lovely big houses that the looters didn’t touch back in the day.”
Kojiro was looking past the old man, further down the street. He couldn’t see the house he grew up in, not yet. But he could feel it.
“I grew up here,” he said. “I used to live in one of those lovely big houses.”
The Future of London Box Set Page 71