The creature tore chunks out of the windscreen and thrust its head partway into the car. The black eyes ranged wildly in the freckled, pink- cheeked face, the teeth snapping furiously.
‘I can’t use a gun!’ the rider shrieked.
‘Give it here!’ Mallory said with irritation. ‘It’s already loaded.’
The rider snatched up the shotgun and threw it at the driver as if it were red hot. Mallory cursed before grabbing it, and then in one simple movement he shouldered it, aimed and pulled the trigger. The thunderous blast in the confines of the car made their ears ring. The creature’s faceless body flapped at the windscreen like a piece of cloth before the air currents dragged it away behind.
The cold night air rushing through the hole cleared the rider’s senses. ‘Where can we go?’ he whimpered.
Mallory accelerated from the trees along the road out of Salisbury. He pointed to the silhouette of Old Sarum towering over the landscape.
The car died on them on the steep slope to the car park between the high banks of prehistoric ramparts constructed for defence more than 2,500 years earlier. Jumping into the driving rain, Mallory and the rider headed along the road, which ran straight for around four hundred and fifty feet to a wooden bridge across a deep inner ditch. Beyond were the ruins of the Norman castle built in the heart of the Iron-Age hill-fort. Although the car hadn’t taken them far, they’d earned themselves enough breathing space to cover the remaining distance on foot.
‘Shouldn’t be long till dawn,’ Mallory said as they ran, head down against the deluge. ‘They’ll leave us alone at first light.’
The rider was finding it hard to keep up with his twisted ankle. ‘How do you know?’
‘I don’t.’
‘Are you sure we’ll find somewhere to hide out up there?’
‘No, but we haven’t got much choice, have we? Unless you want to stand and fight?’
The rider didn’t answer.
They came to the wooden bridge barred by a gate with signs warning of the dangers of crumbling ancient monuments. Mallory laughed, then hauled himself over, yanking the rider behind him.
The whistling assailed them as they ran through the broken remains of the gatehouse; the wild shapes were already loping along the road past the car park. Lightning revealed the bleak interior of the inner bailey: a flimsy wooden ticket office and shop to their right, and then a wide expanse of sodden grass and ruins that were barely more than four feet high in most places.
‘Shit, fuck and bastard,’ Mallory said.
The rider whimpered. ‘What do we do now?’
‘Firstly, you stop getting on my nerves by whining. Secondly …’ Mallory scanned the site as best he could in the storm, then with a resigned sigh broke into a run. The rider jumped and followed, looking over his shoulder so much that he slipped and fell several times.
Mallory picked out the shattered block of the keep on the far side of the inner bailey. It was useless for any kind of serious defence, but it was the best place to make a stand until the shotgun shells ran out. They found an area protected on three sides by the only remaining high walls on the site, which also served to shelter them from the worst of the storm.
‘We’re going to die,’ the rider moaned.
‘Yep.’ Mallory began to count out the remaining cartridges; there weren’t as many as he had thought.
‘You don’t seem bothered!’
Through an iron grille, Mallory could just make out frantic activity near the gateway. He positioned the shotgun to pick off one or two as they advanced across the open space, then waited. After five minutes it was clear the things weren’t coming in.
‘They’ve stayed at the gate.’ Even as Mallory spoke, the wind picked up the insistent whistling, now moving around the ramparts as if searching for access. It became increasingly sharp, frustrated. Mallory sank back down into the lee of the wall.
‘Why aren’t they coming in?’ The rider looked at Mallory accusingly, as if he were lying.
‘I don’t know,’ Mallory snapped. ‘Maybe they don’t like the decor.’
It was so dark in their defensive position that they could only see the pale glow of their faces and hands. Above and around them, the wind howled mercilessly, drowning out their ragged breathing but not the whistling, which, though muted, still set their teeth on edge.
After a while, they’d calmed down enough to entertain conversation.
‘I’m Jez Miller.’ The rider appeared keen for some kind of connection, comfort, someone to tell him things weren’t as bad as he feared, though he realised instinctively he was talking to the wrong person.
‘Mallory.’
‘It’s lucky you came along when you did.’
‘That’s one way of looking at it.’ Mallory examined Miller surreptitiously. Though in his mid-twenties, he had the face of a man twenty years older, lined through screwing up his features in despair, hollow-cheeked from lack of sustenance, made worse by scruffy shoulder-length hair already turning grey.
‘Where did you get the car?’ Miller asked, plucking at his sodden trousers.
‘Stole it. In Marlborough.’
Miller thought for a second until the realisation hit him. ‘You drove across Salisbury Plain!’ An uninterested silence hung in the dark. ‘You don’t see many cars these days. Everyone’s trying to save petrol, for emergencies.’
‘It was an emergency. I had to get out of Marlborough. Dull as ditchwater, that place.’
Miller couldn’t read Mallory at all and that plainly made him uncomfortable. ‘So you were going to Salisbury?’
‘I heard they were hiring down at the cathedral. At least, that’s the word going around. Thought I’d take a look.’
Miller started in surprise. ‘Me too!’ Excitedly, he scrabbled around to face Mallory. ‘You’re going to be a knight?’
‘If the pay’s right. These days food, drink and shelter would probably swing it.’
‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard! I thought the Church had gone the same way as everything else. You know, with all that’s been happening …’ He struggled for a second. ‘With the gods … what they call gods … all that happening every day … all the time … people said there wasn’t any need for a Church. Why should you believe in a God who never shows up when all that’s going on around you? That’s what they said.’
‘You a Christian, then?’
‘I wasn’t particularly. I mean, I was christened, but I never went to church. I’m a Christian now. God’s the only one who can save us.’ Miller slipped his fingers around the crucifix he’d picked up from the broken window of the jeweller’s.
‘Well, it’s not as if we can save ourselves.’
Miller wrinkled his brow at the odd tone in Mallory’s voice. ‘You don’t believe.’
‘I don’t believe in anything.’
‘How can you say that?’
Mallory gave a low laugh. ‘Everyone else is doing a good job believing. You said it yourself - miracles all over the place. I’m the only unbeliever in a born-again world.’ He laughed louder, amused at the concept.
‘But how can you work for the Church … how can you be a knight?’
‘They’re paying men to do a job - to protect their clerics. The new Knights Templar. That sounds like a good deal. A bit of strong-arm stuff here and there, nothing too taxing. These days, it’s all scratching in the fields to feed the masses, or making things, or sewing - all the rubbish people think’s necessary to get us back on our feet. If I had a list of ways to spend my remaining days, planting potatoes would not be on it.’
‘They won’t have you.’
‘I’m betting they will. They’ll have anybody they can get, these days.’
‘That’s cynical.’
Mallory grunted. ‘We’ll see.’
Miller scratched on the floor, listening to the rise and fall of the whistling as it moved around the ramparts. ‘What are they?’ he asked eventually.
‘No idea.’<
br />
‘Where did all these things come from?’
‘No idea.’
‘One of my mates saw a dragon.’ When Mallory didn’t respond, Miller pressed on, ‘Why are we being made to suffer like this?’
‘You say made as if there’s some intelligence behind it. The sooner you accept there isn’t, the easier your life will be. Things happen, you deal with them and move on to the next. That’s the way it goes. You’re not being victimised. You don’t have to lead some deviantly perfect lifestyle just to get a reward in some next life. You make the most of what you’ve got here. It’s about survival.’
‘If that’s all there is, what’s the point?’
Mallory’s laugh suggested that the answer was ridiculously obvious.
Miller became depressed by Mallory’s attitude. Everything about Miller said he wanted to be uplifted, to be told there was some meaning to all the suffering everyone was going through. ‘Is Marlborough your home?’
‘No.’ Mallory considered leaving it there, but then took pity on Miller. ‘London. I wasn’t born there, but that’s where I spent most of my life.’
‘Is it true the whole place has been destroyed? That’s what people say.’
‘I got out before the shit hit the fan. Went north. Birmingham for a while.’ His voice trailed away.
‘No family?’ Mallory’s silence told Miller this was a question too far. ‘I’m from Swindon,’ Miller continued, to fill the gap. ‘My mum and dad are still there, and my sister. I suppose I could have stuck it out, too. Life isn’t so bad. People are pulling together, setting up systems. They’ve just about got the food distribution sorted out. I reckon they should get through this winter OK.’ He paused as the harsh memories returned. ‘Not like last winter.’
The thoughts stilled him for a while, but he found it hard to deal with the pauses that magnified the dim whistling outside. ‘I had to get out in the end. My girlfriend, Sue … we were going to get married, been in love for ages … couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.’ His voice took on a bleak tone. ‘Then one day she dumped me, just like that. Said she was moving in with this complete moron … a thug … God knows what sort of things he was involved in. And she’d always hated him, that was the mad thing! But she said he made her feel safe.’
‘These are dangerous times. People do what they have to, to survive.’
‘But I didn’t make her feel safe, you know?’ Miller made no attempt to hide his devastation; he reminded Mallory of a child, emotional, almost innocent.
‘That’s what made you decide to come down here, to sign up?’
Mallory obviously wasn’t really interested; it was a friendly gesture, but after the rigours of the night it felt to Miller as if Mallory had clapped his arms around him. ‘Partly. I mean, I’d been thinking about it for a long time. I knew I wanted to do something. To give something back. So many people were making sacrifices for the greater good and I didn’t feel as if I was doing anything at all. I know you don’t believe, but it felt as if God had put us through all this suffering and spared some of us for a reason.’
Mallory made a faint derisive noise.
‘No, really. Sometimes when you sit back and think about it, you can see patterns.’
‘There aren’t any patterns, just illusions of patterns. It’s the human condition to join the dots into something cohesive when all there is … is a big mass of dots.’
‘I can’t believe that, Mallory. When you see some of the goodness that has come out of all this … the goodness people have exhibited to others. They could have wallowed in self-preservation.’ His voice became harder as he went on, ‘Just done things to survive, like you said.’
‘Well, I’m not going to try to change your mind.’
Miller’s shoulders sagged so that the rainwater ran from his crown to drip into his lap. He suddenly looked burdened by some awful weight. ‘It’s hard to be scared all the time, do you know what I mean? Life was difficult enough before everything changed, but now there’s just … threat … everywhere, all the time. It wears you down.’ He trembled with a deep, juddering sigh. ‘Why isn’t the Government doing something? Where’s the army, the police?’
‘I don’t think they exist anymore.’
‘But if it’s left to people like us, what’s going to become of us all?’
Mallory couldn’t answer that.
They sat in silence for a while until Mallory said, ‘Well, it’s not all bad.’
‘What do you mean?’ Miller mumbled.
‘No more Stars in Their Eyes’
Miller brightened. ‘Or Euro-disco.’
‘Or public-school boys getting drunk at Henley, or …’ He made an expansive gesture, just caught in a flash of lightning. The depressive mood evaporated with their laughter.
It was echoed by another laugh away in the dark, only this one was an old man’s, low and throaty. Miller yelped in shock, pushing himself back until he felt the stones hard against him. The shotgun clattered as Mallory scraped it up and swung it in an arc, waiting for another sound to pinpoint the target.
‘I’ve got a gun,’ he said.
The laugh sounded again, slow and eerie, though with a faint muffled echo as if it were coming through the wall.
‘Who’s there?’ Miller whined. He shivered at the haunting, otherworldly quality of the laughter.
‘My names are legion,’ the old man said.
Miller started to whimper the Lord’s Prayer.
‘He’s playing with you,’ Mallory said. ‘Aren’t you?’
The old man laughed again. ‘No fooling you, Son of Adam.’
‘No!’ Miller said. ‘He’s lying! It is the Devil! And he always lies!’
‘There are devils and there are devils,’ the old man snorted. ‘You must know the Devil by the deed.’
Miller hugged his knees to his chest. ‘What are you?’
‘Not of the Sons of Adam.’ The statement was simple, but edged with an unaccountable menace.
Not wishing to antagonise whatever was nearby, Mallory’s tone became slightly less offensive. ‘What do you want?’
‘The question, more likely, is what do you want? My home has looked out over this place since before your kind rose up.’
‘We didn’t realise,’ Miller protested. ‘We don’t want to trespass—’
‘We’re sheltering,’ Mallory said. ‘We’ll be gone at first light, if that’s all right with you.’
‘Perhaps it isn’t and perhaps it is. I would have to say, in this day and age I’m not wholly sure where the boundaries lie. You may be trespassing, and then again you may not.’
‘We’ll pay you,’ Miller said. ‘Anything!’
‘No.’ Mallory’s voice was sharp, cutting Miller dead.
‘You’re very cautious,’ the old man said slyly, ‘but are you as wise as you seem, I wonder?’
Mallory replaced the shotgun on the floor, instinctively knowing it was useless. ‘You like questions—’
‘I like questions and games and riddles because that’s what everything is about, is it not? One big riddle, and you trying to find out what the answer is.’ He chuckled. ‘Trying to find out what the question is.’
‘And you have all the answers, I suppose,’ Mallory said.
‘Many, many, many. Not all, no. But more than you, Son of Adam.’
The wind dropped a little, the crashing rain becoming a mere patter. Mallory remained tense. ‘Do you want something of us?’
A long silence was eventually ended by words that were heavily measured. ‘Curiosity was my motivation. Few venture up this hill in these times. I had a desire to witness the extent of the bravery in our latest visitors.’ A smack of mockery.
Tension filled the air, driving Mallory into silence. It felt as if they were in the jungle with some wild animal padding slowly around them, content in the knowledge that it could attack at any time. Mallory decided it was better to engage the old man in conversation rather than allow any lulls where
other ideas might surface.
‘Perhaps you’d like to provide us with some answers, as we’re so sadly lacking,’ he said.
The old man mused on this for a time, then said, ‘Answers I can give, and questions too. But if you seek my advice, it’s this: keep your head down doing honest work and give offence to none. Avoid drawing unwanted attention at all costs.’
‘What kind of attention?’
‘Ah, you should know by now,’ the old man said with a cunning tone, ‘that when the mouse gets noticed by the cat, it won’t leave him alone … until he’s long gone.’
‘What’s going to happen?’ Miller was whimpering again.
‘Many things,’ the old man said, pretending it was a question for him, purely for the sake of malice. With another chuckle, he added, ‘The wormfood will come up for air, and the quick will go down for a way out, but find none. There’ll be a man with three hands, and one with one eye. Some will be bereft in more profound areas. Friends will be found in unlikely places, but where friends should really be, there will at times be none. And consider this: a religion isn’t as good as its god, only as good as its followers.’
‘Is that supposed to help?’ Mallory said.
‘The joy of a riddle is two-fold: in the solving, or in the enlightenment that comes from hindsight. Riddles are lights to be shone in the darkest corners, where all secrets hide.’ ‘Secrets?’
‘Everybody has secrets,’ the old man said pointedly.
‘Thank you for your guidance,’ Mallory said with irony. ‘We’ll take it with us when we leave.’
‘Oh, you will be back, Son of Adam. Back here, and back there. Sylvie doesn’t love you any more. It’s a hopeless case.’ Then, ‘Your sins will always find you out.’
The Devil in Green Page 2