The Devil in green da-1

by Marc Chadbourn

  His smile brought gasps from the crowd as understanding of his words slowly surfaced. He gestured towards the reliquary. 'In here lie the bones of Saint Cuthbert. Our brave knights faced undreamed-of dangers to bring them from Durham Cathedral. We prayed over them for seven days and nights. We had hopes… We had so many hopes.'

  With a trembling hand, he motioned for Roy to come forwards. The tearful supplicant knelt before the bishop and kissed his hand with adoration.

  'Word has just reached me of Brother Roy's cure. I was eyes to the blind, and feet was I to the lame.' He rested one hand on Roy's head. Tears streamed down faces on every side. 'Let us hope this is only the first of many miracles. The light of the Lord shines brightly once more across this land of darkness.

  'Even for the devout, faith is not always easy. We are tested at every turn, and over the last year and a half we have been tested more than ever. But now…' He paused for dramatic effect. '… faith has been renewed.'

  A loud cheer erupted.

  'This is the first step in our mission to reaffirm the Word. Once more to bring the love of our Lord to the people. To build Jerusalem in England's green and pleasant land. Let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice: and let men say amongst the nations, the Lord reigneth.'

  The noise was deafening. Many fell to their knees, sobbing openly. Others hugged their fellows or bowed before the reliquary in quiet prayer.

  As Mallory departed, a line began to build as those with ailments ranging from the minor to the debilitating waited to be cured.

  Daniels brushed away a tear as they walked towards the infirmary. 'Things are going to get better.'

  'You think?' Mallory breathed slowly; his ribs felt bruised, not cracked, but it wasn't worth taking any chances.

  'We all need a little hope. That's what I came here for. That's why most people are here.'

  Mallory felt a surprising twinge. He'd locked himself in the present for so many months that whenever any echoes of the old days came back it felt like touching a live wire. 'Do you miss your partner?'

  Daniels looked startled by the question. 'Every day. We'd been together eight years, since university. He was the first person I'd really felt anything for.'

  'Gary, wasn't it?'

  'Gareth.' He paused. 'It feels strange saying his name again. You forget, with all the shit that happens in life. You don't have the time to think about what you shared. That's a mistake.' He wiped his eye again. 'Sorry. I'm a little emotional after all that with Roy.'

  'It's OK.' Mallory felt oddly encouraged that Daniels felt no need to hide his sensitivity.

  'What about you, Mallory? Anybody you left behind?'

  'I don't think about the past. No point. It's gone. Same as there's no point thinking about the future. You just have to deal with what's going on around you.'

  'You see, that's what I'm talking about. I can't agree with that. We need to hold on to the good things from the past, to give us some perspective. Especially now, with all this.' He gestured to the wide world.

  'You just have to deal with things, Daniels. That's all it comes down to.'

  'No, that's wrong. Your memories are your guide. They let you create a framework so you can tell good from bad. Without that kind of compass, who knows how you're going to end up dealing with things} You see society out there: it's fallen apart. No rules or regulations. All we've got is what's inside us.'

  'That's all we ever had.'

  They reached Malmesbury House where the infirmary was situated. The grand Queen-Anne facade sported a remarkable blue and gold sundial, the rococo interior too delicate for the use it had been assigned.

  The infirmarian was a former surgeon named Warwick. He was in his fifties, with a brusque manner and the crystal pronunciation of a public- school education. Without any unnecessary chat, he made Mallory lie on a table in a white-tiled room filled with stainless-steel medical instruments oddly juxtaposed against jars of dried herbs and bottles of odd-looking concoctions. It was as if a modern doctor shared office space with an Elizabethan alchemist.

  Mallory winced as Warwick examined the various bruises and abrasions. 'So, with the back-to-basics thing that's going on here, can I expect some blood-letting and leeches?' he said.

  'As much as I would like to oblige,' Warwick replied tartly, 'we still adhere to the basic tenets of modern medicine. Though there is an element of make-do, depending on what treatments are available.' He checked Mallory's ribs closely then grunted, 'No breaks. Who gave you a going over? Or is this part of basic training?'

  'It was a test.' Mallory saw Blaine's face, felt a dull burst of anger. 'Which I passed with flying colours.'

  Warwick snorted and turned to the shelves that lined one wall. 'Practising medicine in these times is difficult enough without dealing with self-inflicted injuries. If this happens again, you deal with it yourself.' He delved into various jars before wrapping the contents in a small cloth package. 'Infuse these in boiled water and drink it four times a day for the next three days.'

  Mallory sniffed at it; the contents were fragrant. 'What's in it?'

  'Would it really make any difference if I told you?'

  Daniels surveyed the jars. 'Heard any news from outside, Warwick?'

  'Like what, exactly?'

  'I know you hear everything in here. You get a snippet of information from everyone with an ailment. It's like a little spider's web, with you at the centre, collecting information.'

  'Thank you for the flattering analogy,' Warwick said contemptuously.

  'What about the Government?' Daniels asked.

  'Not heard anything.'

  'Somebody must be trying to put things back in place.'

  'Well, they obviously haven't got very far, have they?'

  'No power on the horizon, then?'

  Warwick removed a jar from Daniels' hands and replaced it on a shelf. 'There's no oil coming in. They shut down most of the pits in the nineties.

  And I heard that all the nuclear power stations went off line during the Fall.'

  'Yeah, I wondered why we hadn't had a China Syndrome experience,' Daniels mused. 'I hear you've got one of those clockwork radios tucked away.'

  Warwick shifted suspiciously. 'Who told you that?'

  'I just heard.'

  'You know how they feel about technology here.' He rearranged the jars for a moment before adding, as if as an afterthought, 'I've heard that all frequencies are dead. There's nothing coming in from the Continent at all.'

  'So either everybody's suffering the same all over the world,' Daniels said, 'or England's the only place with people left alive.'

  'Well, that's a thoroughly depressing thought,' Warwick said, with a cold smile. 'The survival of the human race might be down to us.'

  'And aren't we good representatives?' Mallory chipped in.

  For the next three nights there were heavy frosts. The night office, the lauds of the dead and prime were all torturous in the freezing confines of the cathedral, where breath plumed white and the plainsong was disrupted by shivering until the mass of bodies raised the temperature a little. The bishop took the decision to limit the numbers of those who wished to pray before the bones of St Cuthbert due to the queues that built up throughout the day. Many, he said, were not seeking God's help with their ailments. They simply wanted a sign of God's power and it was wrong to test Him.

  It was in the early evening that Miller overheard a commotion at the gates, which had not been opened since the attack. The torches blazing permanently around the entrance area cast a dull red light across the guards who leaned over the walls to talk animatedly with someone attempting to gain entrance.

  The anxious note in the exchange drew Mallory from his path back to the barracks. He had a sense that here was something important, so he stood in the shadow of the nearest hut, stamping his feet against the cold.

  After a few moments' debate, the guards sent word back for advice; they had obviously been told not to open the gates for anyone. The
runner returned with James, who appeared agitated. He listened at the gate for a moment, then insisted it be opened. The guards were reluctant, but they eventually agreed to open the gates a crack so that whoever was outside could slip inside.

  The visitor wore the black vest of a cleric and was shivering from the cold. He appeared so weak that he could barely stand, and his eyes had the glaze of the bone-weary or drugged.

  Concerned, James grabbed the cleric's arm to lead him closer to a brazier that the guards used to warm themselves. The visitor's gait was slow and laboured, and even in the firelight his eyes didn't lose their dead expression. Intrigued, Mallory slipped as close as he could without being seen.

  '-you sure?' James was asking.

  'Near Stonehenge.' The cleric sounded as if he was talking through depths of water.

  James motioned to two of the guards to support the cleric, and then the four of them disappeared in the direction of the cathedral.

  The summoning came at around eleven p.m. when Hipgrave appeared at the door, as bright and smart as if it were the middle of the day. 'The operations room. Now,' he barked. He disappeared swiftly, expecting mockery.

  The operations room was a grand name for a room that contained only a wall map of the local area, a pile of useless phone directories and a few chairs and a table. Blaine and Hipgrave were talking intensely near the window when the others entered. Hipgrave motioned for the new arrivals to take seats.

  Blaine took up position near the map and surveyed them all carefully. 'I hope you're ready for your first mission,' he said in a manner that suggested he didn't think they were ready at all.

  Mallory watched Blaine's face carefully, controlling the flame of his anger.

  'Earlier this evening we received a visitor, a vicar from a parish in Norfolk,' Blaine continued. 'He'd been travelling to join us here with a companion, another vicar from an adjoining parish. With the way things are, it was remarkable they got more than ten miles from home. As it was, they reached Salisbury Plain. Nearly made it.' He shook his head grimly.

  'What happened?' Miller asked.

  'Can't get much sense out of the one who turned up here. Shock, I suppose. Something attacked them on Salisbury Plain, not far from Stonehenge.' He pointed to the map. 'Here. He ran for his life, and I don't blame him. The other poor bastard scrambled as well — his name's Eric Gregory. Our man thinks he saw his friend get away, but he didn't hang around to find out what happened, understandably.'

  'You want us to bring the other one back.' Daniels scanned the vast area of empty space on the map that signified Salisbury Plain. They were all thinking the same thing: it wasn't the fact that they'd be looking for a needle in a haystack, it was the prospect of what might be lying in wait out there in that liminal zone free of human life.

  Back in the barracks, they lay on their bunks staring up into the dark. The atmosphere was thick with apprehension, but there was also a positive feeling that at last they were being given the chance to do something good. Only Mallory lacked any enthusiasm.

  'Do you think we're up to it?' Miller asked.

  'It doesn't take much to be up to a suicide mission,' Mallory said.

  'You're a bundle of laughs, Mallory,' Gardener growled.

  The joke had been too close to the truth. They all fell silent then, dwelling on thoughts too powerful to voice. Sleep did not come easily.

  They were woken before dawn by Hipgrave, who would be leading the expedition. None of them were wholly pleased at that, particularly Mallory who had already marked the captain as someone operating well beyond his capabilities, who knew it and whose desperation to be equal to the post only caused further problems.

  The morning was bitterly cold with a sharp wind sweeping down into the compound from the Plain. Frost glistened on the rooftops of the huts and turned the cathedral building into silver and gold from the conflicting illumination of moonlight and torch. They stamped their feet and clapped their hands while Gardener furtively smoked a roll-up from some mysterious stash of tobacco that never seemed to diminish.

  Eventually, they were led into the quartermaster's store where they were kitted out with thick hooded black cloaks woven by the brethren themselves, backpacks containing basic supplies (the rest of their needs were expected to be scavenged for on the way, as they had been taught in their survival classes) and, most importantly, a sword. These had all been retrieved from the museum's store and from a vast armoury at the Museum of the Duke of Edinburgh's Royal Berkshire and Wiltshire Regiment, which also lay within the compound.

  The swords had all seen use in past conflicts, but the craftsmanship was expert, the balance perfect, the steel flawless. 'Recognise this honour,' Hipgrave said as he handed them out. 'As knights, these will stay with you till you die. Your sword will be as vital to you as your right arm. Treat it that way. Look after it, sleep with it, lavish it with love and it'll look after you.'

  'I prefer my bed partners a little less skinny and a little less sharp,' Mallory said. 'Though there was this model once…'

  Hipgrave fixed him with a cold eye. While the others fastened their scabbards across their backs for easy use while riding, he dragged Mallory over to one side. 'I'll be watching you,' he said, 'especially now you're armed. One wrong move…'

  'And what? You'll stab me in the back in front of all the others?'

  Hipgrave couldn't control an unsure flickering of his eyes. Mallory laughed and joined the rest.

  The horses were brought out from the stables at the back of the museum, all well fed and watered and ready for what could turn out to be a long journey. Three of them had two-man tents strapped to their backs.

  After they had mounted, Hipgrave held up his hand for silence before saying a short prayer. He called for strength and courage in the face of the unknown, and for a safe return. Even Mallory found he couldn't argue with that.

  They'd been locked behind the gates for so long that they would have felt uneasy even if they didn't have to venture into one of die most dangerous parts of the country. Blaine waited at the gates as they rode out, his hands behind his back, his face emotionless. He didn't wish them luck. Mallory had the feeling he didn't really care if they came back or not.

  Chapter Five

  Into Hell

  'Even if you travel everywhere you will not find the limits of the soul, so great is its nature.'

  — Heraclitus

  Darkness lay across the city like the breathing of a sleeping child. Their horses' measured hoofbeats clattered with a lonely beat on the flagstones as they made their way down the High Street. Away to their left, the lanterns of the travellers' camp spoke of comfort and friendship, food, drink and music: life. Mallory peered through gaps in the buildings to the tents in the hope that he might see someone awake. Miller caught him looking and flashed a knowing smile.

  They watched the dark windows carefully, eyed every shadowy doorway and alley. The Devil was afoot, and now they were in his territory.

  'It's better like this,' Gardener said. He already had his hood pulled over his head so all that was visible was the red glow of his roll-up.

  'It's freezing, it's night-time and we're heading for the next thing to hell,' Daniels said gloomily. 'I don't think better is the right word.'

  'I didn't mean that.' Gardener's smoke mingled with the cloud of his breath. 'I mean this.' He gestured to the wider city. 'No cars. No pollution. No bloody politicians or McDonalds or multi-bloody-national companies only interested in cash. Just peace, nature. Like God intended.'

  'There's always an enterprising Young Turk around the corner,' Daniels said. 'What's the matter, Gardener? Weren't you a capitalist in the old life?'

  'I was a binman, you daft bugger. It was my job to clean up for the capitalists. I saw all the filth you left behind.'

  'Oh, you Communist,' Daniels mocked.

  'The Bible says enough about those who worship Mammon,' Gardener countered. 'You don't have to be a Communist to hate greedy bastards.'

&nbs
p; They passed St Thomas's Church, the Guildhall and the market, all still and dark, and made their way up Castle Street towards the ring road. The frost made the streets glitter, as unreal as a movie set. Without the streetlights, and the parked cars, and the stale exhaust fumes drifting in the air, everything seemed fake.

  Beyond the city limits, they rode slowly in tight formation, all eyes watching the surrounding countryside, which was peppered here and there with the silent grassy mounds that marked the spiritual life of the ancients. The ordered fields had started to break down, becoming overgrown, with self-set trees sprouting here and there. The hedges were wild, the birds and animals abundant in the pesticide-free environment. Yet they all sensed there was more going on than they could see. Miller told them of his trials during his journey to the cathedral, of the monkey- creatures and the other things he had glimpsed at a distance. They listened attentively, without comment.

  'What have you heard is out here?' Miller asked in the lull that followed his tale.

  'The Wild Hunt rides at night, collecting souls.' Gardener spoke with utmost confidence. 'A black dog that's more than a dog.'

  'Ghosts.' Daniels picked up his line. 'Spirits… water spirits… tree spirits.' He appeared a little embarrassed at saying these things, yet plainly believed in them.

  'If this is the End Times, why has it been so quiet since the attack?' Miller said. 'Maybe that was just a one-off. Maybe everyone's wrong… getting worked up for no reason.' The note of hope in his voice was almost childlike.

  'It was a calling card,' Gardener said adamantiy, 'just to let us know what's coming up. This is the lull before the storm. Things will be going to hell in a handcart soon enough.'

  'Here we are!' Hipgrave's voice caught them unawares. He'd reined in his horse to point to grey shapes on a rise, almost lost against the background clouds and the rain.