“Charlie,” Michael King said. “Your timing is impeccable as always my boy. It looks like a late lunch is in order for our guests.”
Charlie stood there, holding onto the plate of food with one hand. With the other, he tugged nervously at the Tottenham Hotspur football t-shirt he was wearing.
The boy was staring at Walker’s axe again.
“You’ve travelled far enough for one day,” Michael King said. “Stay here in Station tonight as our special guests. Take some food and rest. Then pick up your journey in the morning with my blessing. Find Hatchet and kill him – come back and tell me all about it.”
Walker shook his head. As much as the offer appealed to him, he wasn’t comfortable about the idea of hanging around in a place with so many people. He was already starting to feel dizzy. Too many faces, too much noise.
“Thanks for the offer,” he said. “But I think we’d prefer to keep moving. Try and cross the river before…”
Michael King raised a hand in the air, like he was about to take a vow.
“Rest,” he said. “I insist my friends. Staying here with us tonight is better than being out there on the streets. Nowhere is safe tonight, north or south.”
“What do you mean?” Walker said.
“We can protect you in here,” Michael King said. “This is perhaps the one place in London where you are guaranteed to be safe tonight.”
Walker gave the handle of his axe a gentle squeeze.
“I’d like to leave,” he said.
Michael King shook his head. “No,” he said. “You’re going nowhere.”
Chapter 7
“You won’t let us go?” Walker asked.
His eyes darted back and forth across the station, searching for signs of an alternate exit. There had to be something – Liverpool Street Station had been a major transport hub back in the day. There had to be more than one way out of the building. But wherever they were, there was also the small matter of getting through all these people, finding the exit, and then not getting caught as they made their escape through the streets of London. Or Bedlam, or whatever it was called now.
Jesus Christ, it was so hot. Walker felt like his head was going to explode.
But Michael King shook his head, smiling at the two visitors as he did so.
“Please don’t misunderstand my friends,” he said. “Let me clarify. If you truly wish to go then nobody here will stop you. But I don’t recommend it.”
“No?” Walker said.
“Put it this way,” Michael King said. “You’ve picked quite the day to go travelling my friends.”
“What’s so special about today?” Barboza said.
Michael King stretched out a small clump of beard hair between his forefinger and thumb. He looked at it thoughtfully for a moment. Walker got the feeling he was stalling for time, trying to think of the right thing to say.
“If I let you go,” he said. “You’ll both be dead by morning. And if you’re not dead, you’ll wish that you were.”
Walker and Barboza glanced at one another.
“Why?” Walker asked him.
“The bad men are coming,” Charlie said.
Walker had almost forgotten that Charlie was there.
“When the bad men come, we don’t go outside.”
“Charlie,” Carol said, kneeling down beside the little boy, putting her hands on his shoulders. “Maybe you should let Michael explain.”
Michael King looked at the boy and smiled. “Actually Carol,” he said. “I think Charlie explained it rather well. You can always trust a child to tell the truth.”
“I still don’t get it,” Walker said. “What’s going on? Why shouldn’t we leave?”
“Run along Charlie,” Michael King said. “Why don’t you and Carol go and help Joseph fill up the bikes with petrol?”
Fat Joseph bent down and lifted Charlie over his head like the boy was the FA Cup and he was the team captain holding the trophy aloft.
“We can’t fill up the bikes without little Charlie, can we?” Fat Joseph said, walking away from the others. “Let’s go get ’em boy. Give ’em a drink.”
Fat Joseph – with Charlie now sitting on his shoulders – and Carol marched along the concourse. They went back up the stairs towards the front entrance and disappeared through the door that led onto Bishopsgate.
“Charlie’s a good boy,” Michael King said, after the others had left. “Very curious like all children of course. But while we believe it’s important to be truthful with our children, we do keep some of the truth from them. The worst parts.”
“Like what?” Walker asked.
“Like the precise details of what’s happening tonight,” Michael King said. “All Charlie and the other children know for sure is that the bad men are coming up from the south to do bad things. And that we stay out of their way.”
“What’s happening?” Walker asked. “What do the bad men do?”
Michael King looked back and forth between them. Clearly this wasn’t a comfortable topic for him to discuss.
“First you must understand that certain allowances have been made in order to preserve peace between the people in the north and south,” he said. “Nobody wants a war, not us and not them. So we do what we can in order to co-exist. Compromise. That’s how it works – at least for now.”
“I don’t get it,” Walker said. He looked at Barboza, who didn’t look half as confused as he felt.
“Have you ever heard of the Big Chase?” Michael King said.
Walker looked at Michael King and shook his head. “No.”
“The Big Chase – that’s what’s happening tonight. The Ghosts of London are coming north for their annual hunt here.”
“Oh shit,” Barboza said.
Michael King gave Barboza a curt nod. “So you’ve heard of them? You know what I’m talking about?”
Barboza glanced at Walker. She had guilty eyes, like she’d just been caught saying something she shouldn’t.
“Sort of,” she said quickly, turning back to Michael King. “That is, I met someone up north once who was trying to get as far way from the Hole as he could. He’d travelled across the city from top to bottom. He told me about the Ghosts of London. I didn’t want to believe such things were real, but I guess they are, right?”
“They’re real,” Michael King said. “The Ghosts of London are the largest gang in the south. Along with the Bedlamites, they’re one of the original gangs that sprang up after Piccadilly. We were the first to organise, to claim territory, to scavenge for the best of what the city had to offer. We were both smart but that’s where the similarities between us end. We don’t like them. They don’t like us.”
“You said they were coming here to hunt,” Walker asked. “Hunt what?”
Michael King shook his head.
“The Bedlamites live off the Drop Parcels,” he said. “We make it work – we are a large group of men, women and children, and because of this the Drops are of a high quality and volume around here. It’s not ideal but it’s enough to live on and...”
He hesitated.
“And what?” Walker asked.
“The Ghosts don’t want any part of the Drops,” Michael King said. “They get their own food – most of it they acquire during the Big Chase.”
“People,” Walker said.
“Yes,” Michael King said. “The Ghosts have resorted to cannibalism. They nourish themselves on human flesh. It’s how they choose to live.”
“Jesus Christ,” Walker said. “Like the rogues?”
Michael King shook his head.
“Not like the rogues,” he said. “The Ghosts are far more dangerous and what’s more they’re completely sane. In fact, they would have us believe that we’re the ones who are insane for living off Drop Parcels – for relying on the aid of our captors. And some part of me agrees with them, but not everyone is ready to stoop to the consumption of human flesh. That’s not what I want for my people.”
; Walker looked at Michael King.
“But why do you let them do it?” he said. “Why do you let them come up here if this is your territory?”
“Like I said,” Michael King said. “Compromise. We do it to preserve the peace. The Big Chase takes place three times a year. Two of those are down in the Hole but there’s one in Bedlam every summer because that’s what we agreed upon, a long time ago.”
“You made a deal with them?” Walker said. “With people who eat…people?”
“If it wasn’t for this deal,” Michael King said, “then the Bedlamites and the Ghosts would have long since gone to war, fighting over each other’s territory. It’s this deal that preserves the peace. We let them come up here once a year and after that they stay away. No raids, nothing – we don’t see them. They stay in the south, we stay in the north. And we always give warning to the people in the north when the Ghosts are coming. We get the word out and we invite them to come here to Station to spend the night. The Ghosts know that Station is out of bounds – it’s part of the deal. They won’t come near it. That means if you’re in Station during the Big Chase, you’re safe. That’s guaranteed. That’s what Fat Joseph and the others were doing when they found you today – they were warning the locals, inviting them here to take refuge. Many people will come soon. But of course not everyone in the north trusts us – so they’ll do their own thing. They’ll hide somewhere and hope for the best. But the best rarely comes.”
“Bloody hell,” Walker said. “I had no idea this was the sort of thing going on.”
He longed to be back on Stanmore Road, back where he belonged. Let the rest of London keep its madness. He just wanted to go home – was that so much to ask?
“So you see, you’re not safe out there tonight,” Michael King said. “The Ghosts find everyone. Stay with us in Station and continue your journey south in the morning. There won’t be another Big Chase until winter and they won’t be back in Bedlam for another year.”
Walker didn’t want to stay. But what choice did he and Barboza have? After what he’d just been told – only an idiot would go back out there on the street. And even if they crossed the river early, who’s to say the Ghosts wouldn’t pick them up in the Hole on their way back from Bedlam?
It was exhausting. It was frightening. It was too damn hot as well.
“Will you stay?” Michael King asked.
“Yes,” Barboza said without hesitation. “We’ll stay. Won’t we Walker?”
Walker saw the look in her eyes and knew there was no arguing with it.
He turned to Michael King.
“Sure,” he said, sliding the padded shoulder strap of the rucksack down his arm. “We’ll spend the night here.”
Chapter 8
Immersion 9 – Live Chat Forums
#GhostsofLondon #BigChase
* * *
MaryG: Are they moving yet?
* * *
Rock Lobster: Yeah.
* * *
MaryG: And?
* * *
Rock Lobster: What? You ain’t watching it?
* * *
MaryG: No, I can’t stomach it darling. Going to the movies. Plan is to go and see three films in a row or something – anything that takes all night. Then straight home to bed, no FOL, no news, nothing. By the time I wake up it’ll be over.
* * *
Rock Lobster: Yeah well, seeing as how you asked – they’re on the move.
* * *
Immersion 9: (ADVERTISEMENT) Hi gang! Just checking in to see if you’ve purchased the official Future of London app yet? Yes YOU! C’mon! Keep up to date with all of the top stories coming out of Bedlam and the Hole. You won’t miss a thing that goes on behind the M25 if you download the Future of London app TODAY. Comes with exclusive selfie filters for hours of fun. Turn on the FOL app in your camera and see yourself as a rogue, as Michael King, or even as one of the terrifying Ghosts of London. So what are you waiting for? Don’t just watch the Future of London, be a part of it NOW! Download the app from the official FOL website and use FOLAPP Code to receive a 15% discount.
* * *
MaryG: OMG. Why don’t the army just go in and shoot the sick bastards?
* * *
Rock Lobster: Dunno. Non-interference policy?
* * *
MaryG: They drop food parcels. What’s non-interference about that?
* * *
Rock Lobster: Lol yeah. The army are shit scared too I suppose.
* * *
MaryG: Yeah well it’s movie time for me. See ya later Rock darling – I won’t be back on here tonight.
* * *
Rock Lobster: See ya love. Enjoy the flicks.
Chapter 9
Walker and Barboza were given a private space to themselves in Station.
At Michael King’s request, they were put in one of the many retail units that ran down either side of the concourse – an old food place that according to the pictures on the wall – had once served hot and cold sandwiches, wraps and paninis. There was still a poster on display next to the counter, promoting a deal on toasted sandwiches, coffee or tea, which along with a donut or muffin of your choice, you could get for three pounds.
They settled into their makeshift hotel room for the night. Walker assumed that the café had been a trendy little pit stop for commuters back in the day, what with its chocolate brown walls and promotional signs that had been made out of old pallet wood.
They had been supplied with bedding – a large pile of multi-coloured blankets and pillows, enough for ten people. Walker and Barboza piled them up on the floor on the far side of the shop, furthest from the concourse and away from all the other people. Beside their bed, trays of food and drink had been supplied – water, tea, sandwiches and fruit. But there were other things too – hot chicken legs. That blew Walker’s mind. He’d never seen anything like it in any of the Drop Parcels that he’d ever picked up along the New River. His parcels were nothing compared to what the Bedlamites were getting. While he’d been living off the basics for nine years – bread, fruit, water, a little cheese and thinly sliced meat – the Bedlamites were being provided with a banquet feast.
Walker didn’t hold back. He ate as much food as he could, not knowing when or if he’d ever have another opportunity like this one. He didn’t even realise how ravenous he was until he started shoving it down his throat, like a comic book character in a feeding frenzy. And when the people attending Walker and Barboza brought in two icy cold bottles of coke and put them down on the floor – Walker’s jaw dropped. Coke? Here in London? More luxuries followed – crisps, chocolate, and there was even something that looked like a vanilla sponge cake.
Walker lifted one of the cold, plastic Coke bottles in both hands. He studied it like it was a priceless artefact, marvelling at the dark-brown, caramel coloured liquid that swirled around inside.
“I don’t believe it,” he said to Barboza. “Do you? All this stuff they get.”
Barboza didn’t respond at first. Walker noticed that she’d barely touched any of the things laid out for them. She’d only picked at a few items here and there.
“I guess he wants us to be comfortable,” she said.
“A few biscuits,” Walker said. “I considered that luxury for the past nine years.”
“At least you weren’t eating people,” Barboza said.
“Even if I’d wanted to I would have had a hard time finding them,” Walker said.
“Yeah.”
“You knew about the Ghosts,” Walker said. “Didn’t you? I saw your face back there when you nearly gave it away.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I know about the Big Chase, but I didn’t know it was happening tonight. I nearly blew it back there with Michael King. It’s hard pretending to be someone who’s been trapped here for nine years.”
“I don’t think he noticed,” Walker said.
“Hope not.”
Walker unscrewed the lid of the Coke bottle and took a sip. A
s he did so, he screwed up his face in disgust.
“Oh Jesus!” he said. “Has Coke always tasted this bad? Or is it just me?”
“Probably both,” Barboza said.
Out on the concourse, the Bedlamites were going about their everyday business. Walker thought that the scene was vaguely reminiscent of a busy city centre pedestrian zone – shops on either side of the concourse and human traffic flowing down the middle. Occasionally, people would stop and chat like old friends encountering one another on the street. Sometimes they’d even sit down at the plastic tables and chairs, continuing their conversation there. To Walker, it looked like they were sitting at a streetside café, waiting for someone to come and take their order.
In the shop unit directly opposite the one that Walker and Barboza were in, school lessons were taking place in what had once been Burger King. A group of kids of all ages were sitting on the floor with their legs crossed while a tall, elderly woman spoke to them about something that had them engrossed. As she spoke, the woman was gesturing wildly with both hands. Walker wondered if she was telling them a story – an old tale of myth and legend perhaps? Or something more contemporary? Whatever it was, the kids sat there, wide-eyed and hanging onto every word she was saying.
Walker saw the garage too. It was a unit with nothing but parked motorbikes scattered from one end to the other. There was an abundance of tools and spare parts lying around the cluttered floor. Fat Joseph and Rhonda were inside, as well as several other people dressed in dirty black leathers. They were all hard at work, performing routine maintenance duties. Walker looked at the ten bikes he counted in the garage. He wondered where the Bedlamites got the fuel to run their machines. Had they siphoned it from the abandoned cars that littered the streets of North London? That’s what Walker would have done if he’d had a bike like one of those to run. After he’d raided all the petrol garages of course. That would have worked in 2011, just after Piccadilly. But now? It had to be getting harder to find the juice to run their bikes.
The Future of London: (L-2011, Mr Apocalypse, Ghosts of London) Page 44