The Future of London: (L-2011, Mr Apocalypse, Ghosts of London)

by Mark Gillespie

  Walker opened his eyes. It wasn’t a dream. He could still feel the stinging sensation in his left arm. Real pain. This was real life after all.

  “I can’t leave this place,” he said. “This is my home. You said it yourself – it’s my sanctuary.”

  Barboza took a step forward and grabbed him by the wrist. He was taken aback at the strength of her grip and didn’t even try to pull away.

  “I just told you the most twisted little secret in the world,” she said. “That makes me a traitor. And you in here, knowing what you know, that makes you a very dangerous individual. They’re coming for us Walker. If we stay here – we die.”

  Chapter 23

  TFL: Calling London! - Knife Bucket Challenge Special

  * * *

  Two SKAM Heli-Cams are filming from above:

  * * *

  One thousand students have gathered approximately twenty feet ahead of the M25’s inner wall.

  * * *

  The students – sitting in plastic chairs that run in fifty rows of twenty – are taking selfies and enjoying the ongoing festival-like atmosphere. There is laughter and nervous energy in abundance. Loud rock music is playing on a constant loop. All this in anticipation of the record-breaking challenge that’s about to be broadcast live across the world.

  * * *

  Most of the participants are under twenty-five. They grin and wave at the passing cameras, gesturing to both the audience at home and their friends and family who are gathered on the other side of the wall, watching on a large projection screen – twenty-three metres by ten – that has been erected in front of the outer wall.

  * * *

  A small military presence accompanies the one thousand participants. They have taken up position about fifty metres from the Knife Bucket Challenge area near the inner wall. Two armoured fighting vehicles are also on site, but remain stationary in the meantime. These eight-wheeled machines look like the product of some monstrous union between a tank and a truck. Both of them are drenched in traditional camouflage colours of dark green and tan. There is a single-piece circular hatch cover at the top rear of both AFVs, with a circular ring mounted around the hatch for attaching a machine gun to. A ramp door, which lies at the rear, and which gives access to the troop compartment, is open.

  * * *

  A small group of about thirty soldiers stands guard close to the AFVs. So far they appear relaxed and unconcerned by what is going on around them. History tells them that there’s little to worry about. It’s been a long time since any of the London natives dared to venture this close to the M25.

  * * *

  Georgia Perkins, Johnny Castle, and a small number of TFL crew, have joined the one thousand participants and are standing in front of the cameras at the inner wall.

  * * *

  GEORGIA PERKINS: We are live inside the M25!

  * * *

  JOHNNY CASTLE: Inside the M25. Can you believe it? We’re standing on the outskirts of North London – that’s right, London! Nine years later and we’re back in what was once the greatest city in the world.

  * * *

  GEORGIA PERKINS: Guess we’re not in Kansas anymore Johnny.

  * * *

  JOHNNY CASTLE: Coming up – the biggest Knife Bucket Challenge the world has ever seen. Are you lot ready to break the Internet?

  * * *

  The crowd watching on the big screen let out a tremendous roar.

  * * *

  Behind Johnny and Georgia, the remaining students who are still standing take to their seats. One thousand plastic buckets have been placed behind one thousand chairs. The buckets are filled almost to the brim with steel table knives. One thousand paper plates are on site, located in front of every chair on the grass. The grisly remains of an apple, dark red and mouldy brown, linger on the plate.

  * * *

  Volunteers take their positions behind each seat and as they do they give the thumbs up to the officials, indicating that they’re ready. The main duties of these volunteers are to tip the bucket of knives over the student’s head and to make sure that they don’t throw up at the end. Each volunteer standing in front of a participant has a gold flag and this will be raised only when the challenge is successfully completed.

  * * *

  GEORGIA PERKINS: Okay everyone! You have two minutes to complete your Knife Bucket Challenge. Are you ready?

  * * *

  JOHNNY CASTLE: Set!

  * * *

  Georgia blows the whistle and a high-pitched squeal cuts through the morning air.

  * * *

  Family and friends watch on the big screen as a thousand buckets are tipped over at once. There is a tremendous noise – an avalanche of steel crashing onto human skulls. The camera skips back and forth between students, most of them laughing as they rub their sore heads. Some of them raise their thumbs to the camera, maintaining their optimism as they brace themselves for the second stage of the challenge.

  * * *

  Then the first scream is heard.

  * * *

  It is a high-pitched, god-awful shriek that cuts through the broadcast like a samurai sword through rice paper.

  * * *

  It’s Georgia Perkins.

  * * *

  Moments later, everyone is screaming, both the crowd and participants. The laughter of moments ago has in a matter of seconds, transformed into a terrible cacophony of altogether different human sounds – crying, shouting, wailing – a chorus of fear that renders everything else insignificant.

  * * *

  Finally the cameras catch up with what everyone else has already seen.

  * * *

  About twenty or thirty students in the middle of the KBC area have stood up off their seats. They’re moving in a slow deliberate manner, as if to encircle the other participants. At the same time, they’ve lifted up their shirts to reveal explosive devices attached around their waists in the form of a belt. They continue to split up, to spread themselves around the gathering of students like a human barrier.

  * * *

  The other students are aghast, looking on helplessly with their mouths hanging open. Many are sobbing. One young student, a teenage boy of about eighteen, tries to get up out of his seat and is ordered to sit down immediately. He does and buries his face in his hands, hiding his tears from the world.

  * * *

  JOHNNY CASTLE: Oh my God! What the hell? Are we still on air? Georgia? They’ve got bombs attached to their bodies. Ladies and gentlemen, we appear to have a terrorist situation here at the M25. A number of students, perhaps twenty or more, are wearing what look like explosive belts. I repeat – explosive belts and oh God, look Georgia…

  * * *

  One of the bomb-carrying teenagers walks towards the television crew. He is black with a distinctive blond goatee hanging from his chin. He points towards the big screen that’s still playing on the other side of the wall.

  * * *

  YOUNG MAN: Keep filming! Keep broadcasting. You cut us off and we’re going to blow up everyone. We ain’t kidding. This is not a prank – keep filming if you want these people to live.

  * * *

  GEORGIA PERKINS: Jesus Christ Johnny. I know that kid. He was in the audience that day – the one who laid into us remember? Oh Jesus Christ. What the fuck are we supposed to do? Somebody help us.

  * * *

  JOHNNY CASTLE: Look. Somebody’s coming.

  * * *

  One of the soldiers is approaching the young man. An older man in his mid-to-late fifties, he signals to the soldiers standing around the AFVs to lower their weapons.

  * * *

  SOLDIER: What are you doing son? You don’t want to kill anyone. C’mon – there’s no need for this. Whatever you want to talk about we can talk about it. Take the belts off please and stand down. We can do this the easy way and nobody gets hurt. C’mon – what do you say?

  * * *

  The young man laughs. It is a cold sound and the soldier is visib
ly taken aback by this unexpected response.

  * * *

  YOUNG MAN: We will kill these people. Do not think for a second that just because we’re young that you’re dealing with idiots. We’ll kill them, you, all your soldiers and ourselves. You’re not in charge anymore, so drop your weapons and step away from those armoured vehicles. Do it now please.

  * * *

  The soldier looks beyond the inner wall, his eyes searching for a signal – for some much needed guidance from afar. But he can’t make eye contact with anyone there and he daren’t touch his radio to try and communicate.

  * * *

  SOLDIER: Okay, okay. You’re in charge son. What is it that you want? You don’t look like a mass murderer to me.

  * * *

  The teenager’s face is calm. Serene. At first he ignores the question and walks past the soldier, moving towards the AFVs. Some of the others with explosives attached to their bodies follow at a close distance. As they walk, they keep their eyes open for any sudden manoeuvres from the military or anyone else.

  * * *

  The young man turns back to the soldier.

  * * *

  YOUNG MAN: We want your vehicles. Now please.

  * * *

  SOLDIER: The AFVs? What do you want them for? You don’t even know how to drive them, let alone operate them.

  * * *

  YOUNG MAN: Do you really believe I’m that stupid? Do you really think we’d come all the way out here, go through all of this, and then ask for your vehicles if we didn’t know how to drive them?

  * * *

  The soldier hesitates.

  * * *

  SOLDIER: What are you going to do? Talk to me son because I’m not sure I can just give you those AFVs. You understand?

  * * *

  YOUNG MAN: We are The Good and Honest Citizens. My friends and I are going to take your AFVs and go on a little trip into the city. You on the other hand, will be waiting here with my other friends. And if you try anything while we’re away, these friends of mine will detonate their explosive belts. That will make you responsible for a lot of deaths on live television. Although I suspect the ratings will be phenomenal, don’t you Mr Rudyard Campbell?

  * * *

  SOLDIER: What do you want to go into London for? It’s a wasteland. It’s full of dangerous people who’ll only try to hurt you.

  * * *

  YOUNG MAN: There are dangerous people everywhere. But don’t worry about us – we’ll be quite safe in your AFVs. We deem it a risk worth taking. There are people in London who deserve to know the truth about their situation. People who deserve to know why no one is coming to get them out. Yeah?

  * * *

  SOLDIER: You don’t want to do this son.

  * * *

  The young man walks towards the soldier. He looks at the military man in a calm and clinical manner. His eyes are blank. He looks like he’s sizing up an insect crawling over the floor, unsure of whether to kill it or let it go. The soldier knows this look only too well. And he knows that there’s no bargaining with the person standing in front of him.

  * * *

  YOUNG MAN: Don’t call me son. Now move your men away from the two vehicles please. I won’t ask again.

  * * *

  The youth points to the big screen beyond the inner wall.

  * * *

  YOUNG MAN: There are millions of people watching us now. All over the world. Tell your men to step aside or they will see something that will haunt their dreams for the rest of their lives.

  * * *

  The soldier looks at the young man for a second. Then he turns and nods to the small crowd of men behind him. They lower their weapons and follow their leader as they gradually step away from the AFVs. At the same time, about ten young people wearing explosive belts move towards the vehicles, all the while keeping one hand in their pockets on the trigger device. Another ten to fifteen people wearing explosive belts have remained in place at the KBC area, surrounding the students and television crew.

  * * *

  The youth with the blond goatee approaches one of the AFVs. He climbs up, entering the vehicle through the circular hatch as if he’s done this a hundred times. He looks back at the soldier and smiles while at the same time flipping him the finger. Then he’s gone. The others follow, filling up both the first and second vehicle in a hurry.

  * * *

  About a minute later, a thick growling sound comes from both the AFVs.

  * * *

  The vehicles roll away at a steady pace, falling into a single line. They travel slowly towards the abandoned motorway – the original M25. Not far from there, the road will turn onto the old M1 and this is the road that they will take – the road that will lead them south towards the heart of London.

  Chapter 24

  “Walker,” Barboza said. “We need to go.”

  But Walker didn’t respond. He wasn’t prepared to listen to Barboza’s pleas or to entertain the possibility of leaving home. The red mist had taken hold and all he wanted to do was to fuck something up bad – kind of like they’d done during the riots of 2011.

  He’d already managed to kick the living room door off its hinges – perhaps he wasn’t so bad at capoeira after all. And with one strike, he’d knocked the old TV off its perch and sent it crashing onto the floor, cracking the screen in the process. Goodbye forever. It should have been a satisfying conclusion, but Walker wasn’t satisfied.

  The wrecking spree was about to continue with the furniture when Walker stopped.

  It was Alba. She had hopped onto the front window ledge from the outside. The little cat pushed her ears back in confusion as she looked inside. She knew that something was wrong with her human.

  Walker felt ashamed. He was like a drunk in a jail cell who’d just sobered up and realised his wasteful crime. He’d always believed that it was his calm nature that had attracted Alba to him in the first place. He’d heard somewhere that cats were drawn to people who radiated calm energy. But look at him now – a crazy man, out of control and laying waste to the place they both considered home. He saw himself through her icy blue eyes and swiftly the red mist vanished.

  He took a couple of steps back, falling into the armchair with a soft thud. A dull throbbing gnawed at his head, not to mention his hands and feet where he’d pounded on half the living room.

  “Walker,” Barboza said. “We need to go. Do you understand?”

  Walker looked up at Barboza. He saw the fear in her dark eyes and her bottom lip might have been trembling. But instead of responding, Walker got to his feet and hurried past her. He went into the kitchen and pulled the main window next to the sink open about halfway. Then he returned to the living room, walking past Barboza again, and opened the front window where Alba was still waiting. Alba slid through the gap, raising her bushy white tail at the sight of her favourite person, who seemed back to his old self.

  He ran a hand over her, gently gripping the soft fur on her back and holding it there. The sensation triggered a surge of emotion. He turned fully towards the window, making sure to keep his back to Barboza so that she wouldn’t see the solitary tear running down his cheek.

  “This is your house now,” Walker said. “Go easy on the birds and the mice, eh?”

  He buried his face in her warm, soft coat and felt the cat purring underneath him. Perhaps she was soothing him, telling him that everything would be okay. Then Alba turned around, squeezed back through the gap in the window, leapt off the edge and made towards the road.

  Walker watched her go. He’d just said goodbye to the only family he had left in the world.

  “Walker?” Barboza said. “Please listen to me.”

  He turned around.

  “We have to go,” Barboza said.

  “We?” Walker said.

  “I’m dead to the world out there,” Barboza said. “And it’s because of my stupid fucking conscience. So whatever you’re thinking of me right now, remember that okay?”

/>   Walker ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. “But how can they touch us?” he said. “The public must have heard what you said before they cut the cameras. They know it’s all bullshit. If something happens to us then they’ll know who did it.”

  Barboza shook her head.

  “I don’t know how much got out before they pulled the plug,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter. They’ll clean it up somehow. Sure, people will ask questions for a while. But the scandal will blow away – these things always do.”

  “What about the cameras on the street?” Walker asked. “Are they out too?”