“We need to get inside Truman’s base under Stonehenge,” I announced, speaking clearly and distinctly into the silence, and feeling just a bit silly. My words didn’t echo. They seemed to fall flat and lifeless on the still air.
“There!” said Subway Sue, pointing off to one side with a sharp finger. “There is our destination.”
Far off in the distance, a beam of light stabbed up into the dying sky like a beacon. It was bright and clear and glorious, very definitely not a natural part of this world. It shone like hope, like a promise…like a way out.
“This is a dying world,” Giles Deathstalker said unexpectedly. “Where entropy is king.”
“Don’t you start,” I said firmly.
I have no idea how long we walked, under that bloody moon and the disappearing stars, across that sere and blasted plain. The night never ended, landmarks were few and far between, and we soon discovered none of our watches worked. But it felt like forever. I did my best to set a steady pace, leading from the front, circling around the deep craters and jumping across the cracks and crevices. The ground was hard-packed and unyielding under my feet, but strangely there was hardly any impact, no matter how hard I stamped. We made no sound as we walked, and our few conversations seemed to just trail away to nothing, until even the impulse to talk faded away, set against such an overwhelming silence. So we trudged on across the endless plain, while the grinding silence wore away at our thoughts and emotions and plans. Until only slow, dogged determination kept me moving, a simple refusal to be beaten by this awful place.
At some point, we passed a long row of overpoweringly huge stone structures that might have been buildings. Tall as skyscrapers, fashioned from some faintly shimmering, unfamiliar stone. They towered over us like brooding giants, strange, disturbing shapes with deep-set caverns up the sides like so many dark, watchful eyes. The lower reaches were covered with long curling displays of unreadable glyphs. Threats, or warnings, or perhaps just Do not forget us. We lived here and built these things, despite the nature of our world.
And yet somehow these solid signs of life gave no comfort; there was in the end a feeling of cold malice about them, as though whatever ugly things had lived in these ugly shapes would have resented our presence, our purpose, our life. We kept walking, and eventually we left the stone structures behind us.
“Is this what Hell is like?” I said to Molly at some point.
“No,” she said. “Hell is more alive than this.”
As though encouraged by the sound of voices, Mr. Stab abruptly announced, “Something is watching us.”
I stopped, and the others stopped with me. We looked around. Just cracks and crevices and craters.
“Are you sure?” said Molly, frowning.
“No, he’s right,” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms. The more we all talked, the less of an effort it was. “I’ve been feeling watching eyes on us for ages. Haven’t seen anything, though.”
“We are definitely being observed,” said Mr. Stab. His voice was entirely calm and easy, as though proposing tea on the lawn.
“Yes,” said Subway Sue. “There’s something here with us. I can feel it… I told you something had come to live here, and prey on travellers. That’s why people stopped using the Damnation Way.”
“Maybe you should have just changed the name,” I said. “Advertising is everything these days.”
“Not now, Eddie,” said Molly.
Giles Deathstalker drew his long sword and turned slowly around in a full circle. “They’re here. Close. Close and deadly.”
“But who the hell would want to live in a place like this?” said Molly.
We moved to form a circle, shoulder to shoulder, facing outwards. I felt suddenly more awake and alert, as though shaking off a long doze. I glared out across the endless plain, the dull and sullen purple stone, but nothing moved anywhere. Whatever was here had to be pretty powerful, and decidedly dangerous. From what Subway Sue had said, some fairly major players had used this route, and never showed up at the other end. I was looking for something big and impressive and obviously deadly; I should have known better.
This was a dying world, after all. And what do dead and dying bodies attract? Scavengers, parasites, carrion eaters.
They came up out of the cracks and craters, crawling and creeping, on two legs and four, swarming across the dead ground towards us. They were all around us, running and leaping, wave after wave of them, seething like maggots in an open wound. I didn’t know if they originated in this place, or came here from somewhere else, but the nature of this place had got to them. They looked like they were aspiring to be human, but falling short. They looked rough, unfinished, the details of their bodies blurred or corrupted or missing. They didn’t even have faces, just phosphorescent, rotting eyes and sharp-toothed circular mouths, like lampreys.
They surged forward from every side, and there seemed no end to their numbers. I subvocalised my activating Words, but nothing happened. I tried them again, but my armour didn’t respond. I looked at the Sarjeant-at-Arms, and the shock in his face told me all I needed to know. He made grasping motions with his hands, trying to summon the guns that came to him by right, and nothing happened. Molly raised her arms in the stance of summoning, and then looked at me blankly as nothing happened.
“It’s this place,” said Subway Sue. “Complicated magics can’t work here. Or complicated sciences. The disintegrating laws of reality can’t support them. That’s why so many major players never made it out of here. We’re helpless. Defenceless.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Giles Deathstalker. He swept his long sword back and forth before him. “A strong right arm, a good blade, and a forthright heart always work.”
“Indeed,” said Mr. Stab, his long blade suddenly in his hand.
Molly reached down into the tops of her boots and pulled out two slender silver blades. “Arthames,” she said crisply. “Witch daggers. I mostly use them for ceremonial work, but they’re no less sharp and nasty for that.”
She handed one to me. It felt surprisingly heavy for such a delicate-looking thing. The Sarjeant-at-Arms pulled a long blade with jagged edges out of his sleeve.
“Albanian punch dagger,” he said. “Always a good idea to have a little surprise in reserve. For when you absolutely have to kill every living thing that annoys you.”
“Knives won’t work,” said Subway Sue hollowly. “Swords won’t work. There’s just too many of them. We’re all going to die here. Like everybody else.”
“I think this place is getting to you,” said Molly. “Stay behind me and you’ll be fine.”
“Numbers are never any guarantee of success,” said Giles. “Any trained soldier knows that. Stand your ground, make every blow count, remember your training, and you’ll be fine. A trained soldier with a blade is a match for any number of unarmed rabble.”
We stood shoulder to shoulder, our weapons held out before us. Subway Sue sat down suddenly inside the circle and covered her face with her hands. The scavengers were running towards us, bounding across the broken ground, driving forward from every side at once. Wave upon wave, in numbers too great to count. If there’d been anywhere to run, I’d have run. But the bright pillar of light seemed as far away as ever, and we were surrounded. So all that was left was to stand and fight, and, if need be, die well.
Hopefully, someone else would find a way to get to the tower in time, and stop it. I wished…well. There were so many things I wished I’d done, or said. So many things I meant to do … but I suppose that’s always true, no matter when you die. I glanced at Molly, and we shared one last sweet, savage smile. And then the scavengers hit us.
They reached Giles first, and he cut them down with effortless ease. His long blade swept back and forth as though it was weightless, the incredibly keen edge slicing through flesh and bone alike. Dark blood spurted and the scavengers fell, but they never made a sound. Giles laughed happily, doing what he did best, and glorying in it. Mr. Stab reached
out casually with his blade, cutting throats, piercing bellies, stabbing eyes with graceful skill. He smiled too, but there was no human emotion in his eyes, only a dark, desperate need forever unsatisfied. The Sarjeant-at-Arms stamped and thrust with brutal efficiency, killing everything that came within reach. He was frowning, as though engaged in necessary, distasteful work.
Molly and I fought side by side, hacking and stabbing at the horribly unfinished creatures that kept looming up before us. The scavengers had no sense of tactics, or even self-preservation. They just came at us with clawed hands brittle as dead twigs, their rotting eyes glowing, dark saliva dripping from their circular mouths. There was nothing in them but the need to kill and feed. To drag us down and tear us apart, and never know or care who it was they were destroying.
The dead piled up around us, the flesh already decaying, the dark blood eagerly soaked up by the parched stone ground. My whole body ached from the strain of wielding the silver blade without pause or rest, of hacking and cutting through flesh like mud, that seemed to suck and catch at the blade. I was bruised and cut, my clothes torn, sweat and blood running down my face. I could hear Molly breathing harshly beside me, and Giles singing some obscure battle song to my other side. There was something almost inhuman about his cheerful refusal to be stopped or even slowed by the impossible numbers set before him. He killed and killed, and was always ready for more, like a starving man at a feast. It crossed my mind then that, in some ways, Giles Deathstalker was even scarier than Mr. Stab.
And then suddenly, as though some unheard cry had been given, the scavengers retreated. One moment they were attacking with all their silent fury, and the next they were scrabbling away across the dried-up plain, falling back like a retreating tide. Giles flicked drops of black blood off his long blade, and then leaned on it. He looked around him, smiling at the piled-up bodies littered around us, and then nodded briefly, as though contemplating a good day’s work. Molly and I leaned on each other, breathing hard.
“They’ll be back,” Subway Sue said from behind us. I turned and glared at her.
“We have to get out of here. There must be a way. Find it!”
“Yes,” Sue said slowly. “I have been communing with this place. It speaks to me. One of us must make a stand here, so the others can get to the light.”
“What?” said Molly. “Where did that come from?”
Subway Sue looked at her tiredly. “I know the ways of hidden paths. I can see the rules here, written into the dying world. If we all stay, we all die. One of us must make a stand, sacrifice themselves for the sake of the others. So they can go.”
“We should draw lots,” said Giles.
“No,” Sue said immediately. “It has to be a willing sacrifice. A positive act, set against the entropy of this place. It’s not how far you walk, here. You could walk all the days of your life, and never reach the light. But you can draw it to you by a noble act. So which of us is ready to die, so the others can live?”
“There has to be another way,” said Molly. “We don’t abandon our own people. Tell them, Eddie!”
“I’ll stay,” I said.
“What?” Molly looked at me numbly.
“I’ll stay,” I said. “This was my mission, my idea. My responsibility.”
“No it isn’t!” Molly glared round at the others. “Tell him!”
“You can’t stay, Edwin,” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms calmly. “The family needs you to take down Truman and destroy the tower. You’re the man, these days. So I’ll stay. I said anything for the family, and the world, and I meant it. You’re all going to be needed, where you’re going. You’re special. I’m not.”
“Sarjeant,” I said, but he cut me off with a look.
“Eddie, I want this. I want what I do to matter, for once. To be the hero, not just the one who trains them and sends them out. I always dreamed of a last stand like this, defying impossible odds for a noble cause. To save the family, and the world. So, get them out of here, Eddie. Take down Truman and the tower. Make the family proud.”
He walked off without waiting for an answer, heading straight for the nearest group of scavengers. They watched him coming from their craters and crevices, and stirred uneasily. I gathered up the others and we left him behind as we headed for the shining pillar of light, already speeding towards us. I heard the scavengers scrabbling up out of their hiding places behind us, but I didn’t look back. The pillar of light swept through the surrounding scavengers, summoned by the price of a willing sacrifice. It flared up before us, promising hope and life and a way out. But not for the Sarjeant-at-Arms. Molly and Subway Sue plunged forward into the brilliant light and disappeared, followed by Giles and Mr. Stab. And only I paused to look back and see the Sarjeant standing firm against a living tide of flailing, clawing scavengers. He cut savagely about him, throwing bodies to every side with the force of his blows. He stood firm right up to the moment when they swarmed all over him and dragged him down, and he disappeared from sight. He never cried out once. And only then did I step into the light.
And that was how Cyril Drood died, fighting his enemies to the end, dying as a Drood should. For the family. And the whole, damned, uncaring world.
When the light died away, I was back in my own world. It was night, but the moon was bright and full, and the sky was packed full of stars that might last for millennia yet. My wounds were healed, and I felt strong again. The air was bracingly cool, rich with scents, a pleasure to breath. I stamped my feet on the dewy grass, delighting in its solid presence beneath me. The whole night felt alive, and so did I.
I looked around, and realised for the first time that the others weren’t even looking at me. They were gathered around a body lying on the ground. I hurried over to them. Molly was kneeling on the grass beside Subway Sue, who was dead. No mark on her; the scavengers didn’t get her. But dead, just the same. Molly looked up at me.
“Sue didn’t make it,” she said dully. “Too much strain, too much magic; she never was strong.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Not your fault,” said Molly. “She volunteered.” She rose awkwardly to her feet. “We’ll come back for you, Sue. Later. We have work to do.”
“She’ll be fine here,” I said, because you have to say something.
Molly looked at me sharply. “Sue was my friend. She wasn’t always like this. You never saw her in her prime, rich and glamorous and a name to be reckoned with.”
“I know,” I said.
“She was my friend,” said Molly. “She only got involved in this because I asked her to.”
“Yes,” I said. “Lot of that going around.”
“The Sarjeant was a good man,” said Giles Deathstalker. “He knew his duty, and he stood his ground.”
“Of course,” I said. “He was a Drood.”
I looked around again. We were in a great grassy field looking out over Stonehenge, about half a mile away. There was no sign of Harry or Roger, or any of Truman’s Accelerated Men.
“We have arrived only a moment after we departed,” said Giles.
“How can you tell?” said Molly. “Even I can’t read the night sky that accurately.”
“I can tell because the clock implanted in my head just started working again,” said Giles.
“Smart arse,” said Molly. She looked at me. “I wonder how Jacob and Jay are getting on?”
“I doubt we’ll ever know,” I said. “It was one hell of a long shot. Either way, we can’t depend on them to save the day; we’re here, so it’s up to us.”
“There’s an entrance to an underground bunker, not far away,” Mr. Stab announced suddenly. He pointed confidently out into the gloom. He realised we were all staring at him and smiled briefly. “I have many abilities,” he said calmly. “I just don’t choose to display them unnecessarily. Shall we go?”
“By all means,” I said. “Lead the way.”
He nodded and strode off across the great open field, and we all followed. I was
quite happy to have him lead. With the Sarjeant gone, I didn’t want Mr. Stab behind me. He might be a part of this mission, but I was never going to trust him. Not after Penny. He stopped abruptly, staring down at a part of the field that appeared no different than any other. And then he stamped twice, hard, and a large section of grass lifted slowly upwards as he stepped back, revealing a dark tunnel leading down. Mr. Stab started forward, but I stopped him and took back the lead, while giving Molly a significant look. If this really was a way into Truman’s bunker, I didn’t want Mr. Stab up front, making decisions for the rest of us. Molly could keep an eye on him.
Electric lights came on as we entered the tunnel, triggered by some hidden sensor. The walls were curving beaten steel, gleaming dully. Truman had a thing about steel. Personally, I figured he’d just seen too many James Bond movies. But then, so had I. We walked down the steel corridor, which gave way to another, equally stark and bare and unadorned. Our feet clattered loudly on the grilled floor, and I half expected armed guards to appear at any moment, but no one came to investigate. No alarms, no raised voices… nothing. The whole place was unnaturally quiet. Molly pushed in beside me, glaring about her, so close I could feel the tension in her too.
“This isn’t right,” she said quietly. “Truman’s last base was crawling with people. Where is everyone?”
“Good question,” I said. “Bear in mind, this isn’t just a Manifest Destiny base; it’s also a Loathly Ones nest.”
She didn’t look at me. She had to know what I was thinking. There was a Loathly One inside her, growing and developing. Who knew what it might do, now it was among its own kind at last.
I hoped we’d come across some armed guards soon. I really felt like taking out my frustrations on a whole bunch of poor helpless armed guards.
But as we rounded the last steel corner, and glimpsed at last the first open space of the bunker, a huge metal slab slammed down from the ceiling, shutting off the corridor and blocking our way with two tons of solid steel. It hit the floor with a hell of a bang, so loud I actually winced, but still no alarms sounded, and still there was no clamour of raised voices demanding to know what the hell was going on. Where had everyone gone? What was Truman doing down here?
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